Springtime (sort of)!

Hello, and Happy Spring! Well, in theory it is spring. We are still getting our fair share of rain here in the Portland area, but I do think that there is hope. Trees are beginning to bloom and we have a few roses already opening up on our rose bushes. I am hoping that we’ll start seeing more of the sun in the very near future, but my idealism is tempered a bit by natives who tell me spring may not make its official entrance until we’re well into June. Anyway, I hope that you’ve all adjusted to daylight savings (it did a number on me this year) and are feeling revitalized as the weather warms up a bit.

At Crown Point in the Gorge. Beautiful view!

I had a special visitor recently when Papa Wolff made his West Coast debut with a visit to Oregon for the weekend. I was so grateful that he overcame his serious travel anxiety to visit me, and we had a delightful time together. He arrived last Thursday evening, and I picked him up at the airport and guided us to Edgefield, where we had a delicious dinner and stayed for the night. The hotel was quaint and adorable. I’d love to go back sometime. We also had a yummy breakfast there the next day before heading off for a drive through the Columbia River Gorge. We were blessed with the best weather we’ve had in several weeks—a gorgeous sunny day! We had a decent view from Crown Point and a lot of fun stopping off at the waterfalls along the way to Multnomah Falls, our final destination. The 600+ foot drop makes the Falls the second-tallest in the United States, and it’s really a very stately scene. We took plenty of pictures of water (see Picasa site) and our faces and several photos of water and our faces together.

Multnomah Falls

Dad’s visit just so happened to coincide with the first Friday of Lent. Desperately seeking a Midwest-style fish fry (as opposed to the ones out here which employ salmon, mahi mahi, haddock, etc. instead of perch and walleye), I stumbled upon a true treasure and possibly the only establishment this side of the Mississippi where lake fish are served. So, we headed to the Corbett Fish House and Dad treated us to a delicious, delicious meal. It was such a good time. Lizzie, Jose, and Lindsay’s sister (also visiting) joined the eight of us, plus Dad, and we ate and drank our way to happiness, Wisconsin-style. I am so appreciative of both Dad and Jose for picking up that monstrous tab, and I was ecstatic about the fact that I got my Friday fish fry.

On Saturday morning, Dad and I headed out early to go to the coast. Cannon Beach is about two hours from Gresham, and the drive is beautiful because you have to go through a pass. Suddenly, once you get through the western Portland metro area, there’s snow on the ground and on the tree branches hanging over the winding road. The scenery alone makes the drive worthwhile, but Cannon Beach is never disappointing as a destination. It was pretty windy, foggy, and chilly, but even still we had an amazing time. We happened to arrive at low tide, so we got to walk all the way out to Haystack Rock (normally more inaccessible) and play around in the tidal pools. We discovered anemones, starfish, snails, mussels, and other critters. It was amazing! Dad’s first visit to the Pacific Coast left him pretty mesmerized, I think. Another beautiful drive followed as we made our way to the cheese factory at Tilamook (we had to bring cheese curds home for my housemates, of course!) and then back to Gresham. We took it easy that night and saw a movie because we were pretty satisfied from our seaside lunch (I had some delicious, delicious honey mustard salmon and he had yummy prawns) and tired from a long but wonderful day.

Cannon Beach! That's Haystack Rock in the background.

The weekend flew by so quickly. On Sunday, it was already time for Dad to head home. But first, we made a stop at OMSI (the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry) and checked out the exhibits on genetics and “Lost Egypt” before heading to Alberta Street to have our last lunch together—at the Grilled Cheese Grill! I’ve been wanting to take Dad there since my first visit because a) the grilled cheese is PHENOMENAL and b) I have a very vivid memory of roasting chips and eating PB&J on a gutted-out school bus that happened to be on our hunting land in Adams Co. back in the day. The same memory came back to Dad while we ate, and we had a great final lunch before heading to the airport. It was hard to say goodbye, as it always is, but I’m so, so thankful that I got to spend so much quality time with him and that he made the trip despite the fact that traveling is not something he enjoys. So, thank you, Dad, and I love you lots and lots!

Dad and his sandwich on the Grilled Cheese bus.

The Tuesday after Dad’s departure, Erin and I went to the Alvin Ailey production featuring the famous piece, “Revelations.” We inherited these tickets out of luck and generosity (as we’re so often overwhelmed with here) because Karen and her husband Dave were unable to go to the show after purchasing tickets far ahead of time. So, while they were busy in Guatemala on a service trip, Erin and I basked in the beauty of the incredible production from Karen and Dave’s incredible seats at the Schnitz. It was such a wonderful show—hard to describe here, really—and because I haven’t seen all that much dance in my life, I had a wonderful experience. Once again, we found ourselves unable to properly thank or “pay back” the people who take such good care of us here.

Life continues as usual otherwise. Work has been alternating between crazy-busy and pretty calm. I coordinated an energy assistance outreach event that allowed us to give utility help to about 20 families using the County’s money! Woo! We’ve had dental vans, medical vans, legal clinics, and other such things to coordinate and facilitate, so EPH has been a happening place. Yet, I had a few slow afternoons this past week, which aren’t always a bad thing. I get a little antsy when I don’t have anything to do, but because Sandra is back and there is plenty of work on her desk, I am usually given a task pretty quickly. I spent a lot of time this past week translating case notes and looking over files in preparation for an audit that is coming up.

Anemones and a starfish in the tidal pools at the beach.

Also, I had the opportunity awhile ago to speak in front of a city council regarding a community block grant that we’re hoping to get. We have received this grant multiple times and, in fact, it funds specifically all of the work I do in the drop-in center. I had about two minutes of air time, but the words just sort of came to me. I found myself nearly choking up as I talked about my clients and their commitment to our agency. Many of the “viejitos” who frequent our center came along to the meeting just to be a presence, and I referenced their commitment (they couldn’t even understand what was being said!) when speaking to the committee. I was a bit surprised myself at how passionate and emotional my words were, especially because I hadn’t rehearsed anything ahead of time, but it made me realize that even when my job is boring, or frustrating, or extremely stressful, this community has really weasled its way into my heart and I find it very fulfilling at the same time. I’m inspired by our clients and by my coworkers, and although this isn’t a position I would want to have for many years, I think that it continues to be a good placement for me this year.

Alrighty, time for a Skype date with Cati!! I hope that you’ve all been well, that you’re having a good Lent (if that is something you’re doing), that you are happy and healthy and finding fulfillment in your own lives. I love hearing from all of you, and I keep you all in my thoughts and prayers. I’ve also been very moved by the current events in Japan and in Libya lately, and my hearts go out to everyone affected by the earthquake and tsunami and by emerging civil war. Sometimes, there is so much heartbreak in the world—and in my backyard—that it’s hard to stay optimistic about things. This, for me, is where faith come in… and where all of you come in. Thank you for being a light in my life! Know that I am sending love from afar. And Happy Spring!

Amanda 

PS Happy belated St. Patrick's Day! I hope you celebrated as we did-- with Irish Car Bombs, corned beef and cabbage (despite a crock pot catastrophe, it turned out alright!), and some good Irish tunes. 

Dig in: an Ash Wednesday reflection

Ash Wednesdays are like birthdays of a certain sort. I can visualize my life as a hazy string of foreheads with dusty crosses. This is part of what I love about being Catholic; these seasons, these built-in opportunities to pause, are catalysts for reflection and self-improvement that, year after year, hold a mirror up to the person I’ve become. Although, my Ash Wednesday began a bit earlier this year. On Sunday, I participated in a traditional Dakota sweat lodge ceremony with the Red Wind community near Mt. Hood. We’d been talking about going to the sweat lodge ceremony for months, but it worked out nicely that we finally got there just before the start of Lent.


“Return to the Lord with your whole heart.” Those are the words we hear from the prophet every year on this day. Return. It’s my favorite mantra during the Lenten season, but sometimes it’s hard to make a return—and maybe even hard to determine to what I am returning because things look different. T.S. Eliot wrote, in “Little Gidding”, “We shall not cease from exploration/ And the end of all our exploring/ Will be to arrive where we started/ And know the place for the first time.” We’ve been around the block a few times when it comes to this; but we are never the same, so Lent meets us where we are, at the place we have arrived after our 365-day journey, and we’re invited to do Lent once again— but always differently. “Once again, yet deeper,” as I read once somewhere. This means going back to the essence of who we are, even if the Truths are clothed in new and varying contexts. Ashes, we’re told today. We were dust and we will make our return to dust, no doubt about it. That’s at least one thing that remains the same always.

The guy who was pouring our sweat lodge (i.e., leading us in this ritual so foreign to me) is called Nupa. Some of the first words he said to us as we sat, somewhat terrified, awaiting the entrance of a pile of sizzling rocks, were these: “It’s a good day to die!” Just like that. Exclamatory. And I begged to differ. But he meant that this day is a fine day for putting aside the parts of ourselves that we’ve outgrown, that are no longer helpful or healthy, that hold us back from the inner peace and the sense of harmony that we desire with our Creator, our brothers and sisters, our ancestors ,and our own deepest longings. We crawled like babies into the sweat lodge, a make-shift tent constructed from sixteen willow branches and some thick blankets and only tall enough to ensure that our heads didn’t scrape the inside of the roof as we sat, cross-legged, on the earth. We were returning, humbling ourselves, recognizing where we came from and where we’d ultimately end up—in the belly of the Creator, the womb of Mother Earth. Dirt. Ashes.

We needed to crawl on our hands and our knees into this dark lodge because sometimes it’s too hard to hear your own thoughts on the “outside,” especially while maintaining some lofty ideas about who we are, a project that can suck the life out of us if we’re not careful. We crawl to Mass every Sunday for the same reason. And this is also why we need to be reminded every year that God is constantly whispering, “Come back to me”—because we can’t maintain serenity in the storm without periodically returning to a center, preferably a substantial one. I love to talk about Yeats’ famous poem, “The Second Coming” because it is so often true that in life, “things fall apart” and the “centre cannot hold.” But that all depends on what you consider your center. I suppose God is the exception to that, and if we come back to Square One with God every so often, it helps stabilize us even as the world twirls like the spiral accessory on our teapot’s spout.

We, as physical beings, need something tangible to remind us to pause and take a breath, just one breath. We need [something akin to] a tent full of sweaty bodies and hot rocks and stifling steam and terrifying darkness to pull us out of our quotidian rhythm. We need a cross on our foreheads in the midst of a normal busy week. We need purple banners at our otherwise second-nature Sunday Mass. We need all of these things, and Crucifixes and Labyrinths and the Sign of the Cross, because our physicality is so inseparably connected to who we are as spiritual beings, and God knows that. This is why Jesus became “The Way” for us. As a Jesuit priest at St. Ignatius reminded me recently, Christ is the “word God speaks to us, the hand God outstretches to us” in a language we can comprehend, when we have wandered a bit farther away from that center and need a way back. Jesus, the ultimate example of God-made-physical (AKA a Sacrament!) is a bridge for us. So we get it. Because otherwise we might never return.

As I sat in this tiny tent, sweat cascading down my face like the water at Multnomah Falls, I had two simultaneous thoughts of equal clarity, the first being “I’m going to die,” and the second being a tranquil certainty that the Divine sat with me in those moments of suffering and terror. I tend to see the world as a blend of the earthly and the Divine, separated by the thinnest of veils. Kind of like the smoothies Lindsay makes—all mixed together, but you can still kind of distinguish the flavors if you try. Mr. Renner, my revered English teacher from high school, once spoke of death as a thin, vaporous curtain that we pass through. We’re always that close to Backstage. We’re always that close to God, but it’s sometimes easy to overlook our daily divinity.

There are days when I feel like I’m seeing the world in Technicolor, feeling every sensation with an almost painful acuteness, but there are also days when the sky is gray and that’s it. When I’m just plain tired or hungry or annoyed, and there’s seemingly nothing holy about it. Fasting today is uncomfortable for me. Being in the dark, claustrophobic tent and struggling so hard to take on breath of that hot air was nearly unbearable. I could just stop there, but I think that these are the out-of-the-ordinary spaces I need to create sometimes to give God a little room to work.

I need to empty myself, be it through deprivation of lunch today or an outpouring of sweat and tears and fears in the lodge ceremony. When I isolate these physical parts of me, my need to focus on something else, something deeper, something beyond the earthly, becomes pretty evident. We, as spirits embodied, are Sacraments. God touching earth. The Divine in a form that we can understand. We’re not Jesus, and we’re not Holy Communion, but we are and have the potential to be God incarnate to others, even in our imperfect states. The extent to which we are able to notice the Spirit flowing through us depends on a lot of things: our stopping to listen to and look for God, our willingness to take a step back from the busyness and noise of our lives and simplify a bit, our receptivity to God’s call, which—as Elijah learned—doesn’t always come in a thunderous, look-at-me, sort of way but often in the form of a still, small voice, so subtle that we may miss it if we’re always waiting for something major (1 Kings 19).

Maybe this is why we start with Ash Wednesday and why it catches me every year, throws me off balance a little bit—just enough that I take note. We need to begin once again, as children crawling in the dirt (and yet never all alone) into the dark places where, if we want to and even sometimes if we don’t, we can meet God. We need to empty ourselves by fasting on days like today and by purging our lives of clutter, material or otherwise, so that we can breathe. We need to create a space, even if that just means I remove dessert from my life for 40 days because that will remind me of the season. And when we strip off these layers, we find ourselves pretty spiritually naked before God. We open the door and invite in all sorts of craziness. We ask to be probed and prodded, and that vulnerability takes courage and trust. We pour out everything we have (you should have felt the heap of emotions that our sweat lodge group dispelled!) and we sit, empty vessels waiting to be filled not only by the food and drink and stimulation of this world but by the peace and forgiveness and compassion of the next. This isn’t necessarily comfortable—I truly thought my life was coming to an end in that lodge—but sometimes it isn’t supposed to be. If it were easy to walk the path of Enlightenment or follow that sacred bridge, we wouldn’t need to refocus like this.

Lent, like the sweat lodge ceremony, seems to be about sitting in the hard places for a bit and just seeing what happens. Filling up on that unending supply of love and mercy and letting that be our nourishment and our motivation. And finally, crawling out of there, nearly breathless, and carrying that feeling around with us. Not everyone has this opportunity, I’ve realized. The sometimes glamorized process of simplifying our lives, of sitting in discomfort and difficulty, isn’t something about which many people (most people) in our world have any choice. My sole meal today will be a simple plate of rice and beans which is, for others, a daily reality. And if I need to do this every once in awhile to feel myself move closer to God, then how close must the poor, the hungry, and the oppressed already be to our Creator! [This, of course, is the fundamental tenet of Liberation Theology—the concept that these are the folks who are closest to the heart of God, and that God’s favor rests on them in a special way. Thus we, desiring to be like the God, will live our lives with a Preferential Option for the Poor as well.]

During the sweat lodge ceremony, I experienced some pretty intense moments of clarity when I was able to put aside my fear. I felt held, I felt challenged, I felt a loving—always loving— gaze resting on me. I emerged soaking wet, absolutely exhausted, and pretty hungry but with focus and an authentic understanding of why people do this. The space was an effective mechanism for prayer, in spite of but also because of the physical obstacles that it entailed. All along, Nupa encouraged us from the darkness—in a voice barely audible amidst the chanting and drumming—to remember why we had come. To dig in, and to re-commit. To place our trust in the hands of something bigger than ourselves because without a grander focus, we couldn’t continue to endure such a physically unpleasant experience. Do this, he told us, and breathe, take one breath.

Lent is all about remembering who and whose we are. All about re-committing our lives to God and to the service of God’s children. We’re like salmon (OK, this is the Northwest imagery making its appearance) who wander faraway and then endure a grueling, and ultimately deadly, journey upstream to the place they started because they know exactly where they want to end up. That’s the goal: explore, explore, explore, return, return, return. Different. Ashes. We recognize that we don’t have forever on this earth, that things aren’t easy and we aren’t perfect, that there’s a lot of work to do. So we dig in, and the digging starts here, on a Wednesday (the worst of days, don’t you think?), as we trod through our daily mud, amidst all this noise, perhaps on an empty stomach. And we’re supposed to find God here! We’re supposed to make our way back, even if the journey is unpleasant and painful. Even if it rains 15 days in a row. Even in the dark.

Today is a good day to die. A good day to remember. To return, with our whole hearts—or at least take one step in that direction. So we begin Lent once again, yet deeper, aware of the labor that lies ahead and also the peace that we might find if we create the space for it. We start our journey upstream. We take one hot, hungry breath. We dig in.

We need faith for the same reasons that it's so hard to find. --Josh Ritter

Hello, all.

What happened to February?! My prediction at the end of the last post was accurate: this month flew by so quickly. Anthony’s Area Visit went smoothly, followed quickly by retreat, which was restful but not as intellectually stimulating as I had hoped. The topic was social justice, and the presenter, Kathleen Myers, is a teacher at Jesuit High School. She pretty much has my dream job (well, one of them) because she teaches Prayer and Sacraments and Justice and Peace, two classes that sound pretty amazing. She spoke to us about charity and justice, and the necessity of doing work that falls into both categories, and she encouraged us to think about our ideas about the people we work with. Do we really see our clients/guests/patients as “other,” “lesser,” or “powerless”? She pushed us to be honest and to address any problems that those subconscious thoughts pose in terms of solidarity and collaboration.

It wasn’t anything that I hadn’t already thought about, especially in Fr. Massingale’s class last semester, but it was still a worthwhile topic. I had hoped we would hone in on a few social justice issues in particular rather than remaining so vague about “social justice” as a whole, but I think that retreat for me turned out to be the weekend I needed rather than the weekend I was anticipating. I got a lot of rest, I got to catch up with Beth and see Lizzie, go for a beautiful run and a really refreshing hike, and spend some quality time with my community. In those ways, it was really worthwhile.

The top of Angel's Rest, a nice 5-mile hike up to this vista.

Unfortunately, like many of my housemates and coworkers, I’ve been battling a pretty nasty cold. We had Presidents’ Day off, which I really appreciated as I needed so badly to rest and recover. I actually went to Urgent Care that weekend and found out I had bronchitis and an ear infection—great. The antibiotics have definitely helped, and I really took it easy this past week as much as possible. I mustered up some energy to do a hike on my day off, though, and the view at the top of Angel's Rest was gorgeous!

This weekend, though, has been a blast! A quick run-down: On Wednesday, I went to the Josh Ritter concert with a new friend, Jose. It was such a wonderful evening. I’d been looking forward to the concert for months and it’s always such a good show; Josh is incredible. I had planned on going alone until I met Jose at a JOIN fundraiser (that’s where Colleen, Daniel, and Linds work) and found out that he likes Josh Ritter too. It was much nicer to go with someone, and it was great to share my excitement about Josh with another person! Due to the quarter-inch of snow that lightly dusted the streets of Portland, cancelling school and delaying my workday one hour, we had no Youth Ministry that evening, so it worked out nicely because I didn’t have to miss out on anything. On Thursday, Jillian and I made a delicious quinoa casserole with spinach, broccoli, and mozzarella. Yum!

On Friday, we went to the Art Museum again because it was free (every fourth Friday). After that, I had a beer at Deschutes Brewery, one of Portland’s many microbreweries, and hung out with Daniel, Jenna, and Jose before seeing “Hood to Coast,” a documentary that follows four teams completing Oregon’s epic Mt. Hood-to-Seaside relay race (12-person teams with each member running three legs ranging from 3-7 miles or so, traversing various terrains in daylight and in pitch black). It only made me want to participate even more; too bad it’s at the end of August and I most likely will not be here! Last night, we saw some jazz and hung out downtown again. It has been a pretty eventful weekend, and I’m enjoying a chill Sunday afternoon in Southeast right now with Jenna at a coffee shop.

This week will probably be another busy week at work. I’m in the process of organizing an energy assistance outreach event at our office, and we also have a Dental Van day coming up and a Legal Aid clinic, both of which I am responsible for facilitating and overseeing in some capacity. Sandra, who has been in Mexico for the past three months, is FINALLY coming back (yay!), so that will be exciting and refreshing because I’ve had to take on a lot of responsibility in her absence. I’m grateful for it, actually, as I’ve been able to get a better grasp on the “big picture” at our agency and I’ve had to push myself to figure out the answers to questions on my own. There are still things that surprise me and stump me on a daily basis; on the whole, I really do enjoy my job, although sometimes it gets pretty stressful and/or emotionally heavy.

The other day, I found myself in an efficient rhythm as I helped a client with an energy assistance application. The final step of the process is to have her sign her name, so as I made copies and flitted about, I tossed the paper across my desk, made her an X and said, “sign here.” When I came back a few minutes later, she was still writing her name, moving her pen so painstakingly slowly. I was a bit shocked that this could possibly be taking so long…until I saw that she had pulled out a small piece of paper and she was copying her name based on that. She had to look at each letter to remember the order of the letters and how to write each one. I just watched her hand moving so slowly across the paper, and I stopped moving for a few moments, stopped processing her application and shuffling papers and stapling things together. What must it be like to go through life without even knowing how to write your name? I see clients all the time who can barely sign papers. They write slowly, like this woman, and the result is a kindergarten-level, printed signature that bounces all over the line. Think of how quickly you slap your John Hancock on a paper without a thought. Sometimes, I just have to stop and remember that I take so much for granted.

Last week, I actually did cry at work. I had been helping a lady named Dolores who was being evicted from her apartment because she couldn’t make her rental payments. The wait list for low-income housing is so long that we had no chance of getting her in anywhere affordable in time (she only had two weeks to find a new living situation). I called everywhere and there was nothing she could afford. Last week, we helped her communicate with some distant relatives in Seattle, and she left on a train (we bought her ticket) to go live with them for awhile. But she was so sad. Even though it seems like this is a good turn-out, she was still so upset that she had lost her apartment, and she and her husband took what little belongings they have (a few duffel bags) and reluctantly got into the car to head to the train station with my coworker. He is so proud and does not feel right about living with these relatives, and she is just so heartbroken. I couldn’t help but feel awful that, in the end, there was nothing much I could do for them. I hope to see them again. I hope they stay at their family’s house long enough to figure out their next move, though I can totally imagine them leaving, feeling guilty, and living on the streets. There’s no way I can make their decisions for them or “fix” their situation either, and sometimes that realization is too much for me to handle.

This constitutes a snow day in OR.

Look at our snow! Pretty funny.

Insert theological brainstorm: The priest at St. Ignatius last weekend (I went with Bruce, my friend from Youth Ministry—it was his first experience of the Contemplative Mass although he has lived in Portland for thirty years!) gave a beautiful homily. He spoke directly to me, it seemed, reminding me of what grounds my spirituality and how I am seeing that lived out everywhere this year. He talked about the phrase “the way,” as in Jesus is “the way, the truth, and the life.” I had never really understood what this meant until he said that Jesus is “the word God speaks to us, the hand God outstretches to us,” a manner in which God can communicate to us. Jesus is the bridge, then, that helps us connect to a God who sometimes, perhaps because we’ve wandered, seems so far away. And how do we travel on this “way”? How do we move back to God, to our center, to something that holds, to holiness?

The priest, supported by Matthew 25 (my favorite!) said that, in working for justice—in small and in grandiose ways—we also work toward holiness. Jesus’ example was that of someone who aligns himself with those who have been rendered voiceless or those who have been ignored or oppressed. If we follow that example, if we try to love not only our friends and family but our enemies and those whom we perceive as “other,” we move along that “way” and we find ourselves working for justice, traveling closer to closer to God and to holiness, a perfection that we can never achieve but are nevertheless called to strive for. I don’t know why this made sense to me in a new way this time, but it’s so helpful for me. It grounds me. Even if I can’t explain it in logical terms.

Jose and I were talking about religion, and he told me that he can’t accept it, not with all the unanswered questions and the seemingly illogical nature of it all. I can’t argue against that; it is inherently irrational in a lot of ways, which is where faith comes in. He didn’t disagree; faith is the “crux of it all,” he told me. Having faith is not easy when I look around and see so much hopelessness, when God (whoever God is) seems so far away. But I think there’s a reason why I keep asking certain questions, why I am still so moved by the example of Jesus and the idea of Jesus’ example as a blueprint for finding my way to some center, that center being God for me, a God who is limitless in all ways—Father AND Mother, Creator, Connection, Compassion.

Snow on the flowers. So pretty!

Molly and I, as she prepared for her Finding God in All Things retreat that was this weekend, talked extensively about where she finds God. She was able to put something together that I hadn’t been able to articulate. I often say, “I see Christ in that person,” and it’s true. But Molly pointed out that she finds God not only in people but in that common humanity, that nearly inexplicable, intangible yet palpable sense of kinship that we feel with one another. Sometimes it’s easier to feel it than other times, and it’s true that our ideas about others (do we think we’re smarter? that we can know what’s best for someone else? that we can fix their problems for them?) can cause us to miss out on that moment of connection, but there is definitely something Divine in that current that runs between two human beings, however different, and Molly wisely called that God, something I’ve been thinking about quite a bit since our conversation. Jesus, The Way, is that connection between us and others. Between me and Molly. Between me and all of you, my friends and family. Between me and my clients. Between me and my housemtaes. I see Christ in all of the above individuals, but I also see God present in the spaces between us, the silences, the thing that I can’t touch but can feel, which causes me to desire closeness with others and to keep working toward a reality that recognizes the dignity of every human being and the way in which we are all linked. If we tune in to that, how will that change how we treat one another? The planet? Our bodies? Etc.

Once again, thank you all for putting in the effort to keep up with me. A belated birthday to Kelly, a happy birthday to Peg, an early birthday to Terese, and a Happy March to all of you.

Dad, see you in two weeks!

Love,

Amanda

Wasted time and other graces in the middle.

 Dear ones,

First of all: I'm sorry if some of you got multiple emails about my updating this blog. I had some formatting/publishing difficulties. I think it should be OK now!

I hope that those of you in the Midwest have weathered your various blizzards and storms alright. It was crazy seeing all of that snow via text photos and the news. Part of me is a bit jealous—Marquette got a snow day, and I missed what appears to be the biggest snowstorm in quite some time! Still, I can’t lie: it’s quite nice to be running outside on a fairly regular basis even in January. Last weekend, I went for a lovely run on the trail near the Bucks’ house and I saw three deer. They were about thirty yards away and beautiful. I stopped, paused my iPod, and just looked at them for a few minutes. Other days, I am still running to L.A. Fitness in the morning. It’s hard to get myself out of bed and run to the gym in the dark, but I catch some pretty amazing sunrises on the clear days when I’m running back home. I appreciate that Lindsay is my gym partner most days (I think it holds us both accountable) and that the gym isn’t too far away. We have our favorite 7am gym characters by now—the 60-something guy who spends the whole time on the ab cruncher machine (we call him “Frat Boy”) and a barely-clad lady who looks like a cheerleader and works out with her hair down, to name a few.

Oxbow Park hike with Jim, Mary Ann, and Anthony :)

Even though we’re still getting plenty of rain, we had a colder streak for a couple of weeks and actually got quite a bit of sun. It has since warmed up again (back to the 40’s!) and now the rain has returned. I think the way to deal with it is to take Vitamin D and make a decision not to let the rain get to you. Today, we went on a Silent Hike in Oxbow Park (I saw a woodpecker, three salamanders, and a herd of black-tailed deer!) and even though it was sort of misting, it was really a nice day. The weather was balmy and the moss-covered forest was so beautiful. We were joined by Jim and Mary Ann, who are just such wonderful people. They hosted us for dinner this past Thursday, something we always look forward to. The dinner was Oriental-themed and we actually ate on the floor at a glorified coffee-table. Mary Ann’s food is always so delicious; for me, the star of the show this time was a lime pie with some sort of sour cream topping—I don’t know how she does it.

Dave and Karen, Daniel, Jillian, Colleen and me snowshoeing!

As I think I mentioned, Karen and Dave recently took a few of us on a snow-shoeing outing, which was also a lot of fun. We’re so spoiled to know several awesome couples who take such good care of us! We weren’t able to see Mt. Hood clearly that day, but we did get a gorgeous view when we finally reached the highest point of our hike. After a climb through a wooded area, then a clearing, then up a forest road, we reached a flat spot for lunch and made a snowman that just might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Karen and Dave were kind enough to pay for our snowshoe/boot rentals, purchase some treats for us at Joe’s Doughnuts (a necessary stop en route to the trail), and scale back on the level of intensity for those of us with foot problems and/or lack of experience. It was a really fun day.

This week, Anthony has been with us again (he’s our Area Director) for another area visit. He hangs out with our community, talks to each of us one-on-one, and then on his last night makes some observations/suggestions/challenges for us as a house. Always on the tail of his visit is a retreat, and I’m looking forward to the Social Justice-themed retreat coming up Feb 11-14. I actually have a lot to look forward to, as I just found out that Dad is coming to visit for a weekend in March and my mom and sister have booked their flights as well for their Memorial Day weekend visit. ALSO, quite unexpectedly, there is now a serious possibility that Katharine will be able to visit because she’s going to be in California for a short time for work. That’s a whole lot closer than D.C., so we’re really trying to work something out. It would be WONDERFUL to see her.

In other news, I don’t have too much other news! To be honest, I was in a bit of a funk for a few weeks recently. I think what happened is I realized that we’re exactly in the middle of our JVC year. That freaked me out. I’m pretty good at beginnings—I like the challenge of trying to find a new rhythm, a new routine, a new balance. I always enjoyed rearranging my workout and lunch schedules around my classes, working in extracurricular activities, and putting my test dates in my agenda in college. Yes, I’m a bit of a nerd. But I also like the end of things, and I do a good job mulling over stuff, reflecting, looking ahead to what’s next. In short, I find it hard to just be… in the middle.

Of course, this is what most of life is. When things are just “fine.” When I’m “OK.” When there’s not too much new. I can’t rearrange my life every four to six months as I grew accustomed to doing as a college student. I have to get better at just SITTING in this moment, the part where things are just sort of flowing. But I struggle with it, and I don’t think it helps that that halfway point (when I’m no closer to the beginning than I am to the end and I don’t know if I should look forward or backwards) came in the dreary days of January and February, which are hard in and of themselves. We’ve had a few months of consistent rain, it’s dark, and so on and so forth.

Daylight savings is just around the corner, though, and I have noticed that it’s much lighter than it was even a month ago when I’m walking home from work. The rain is better than frigid temperatures, so I can’t complain all that much about this winter. I’m pulling myself out of this funk by refocusing and by also letting myself squirm a bit because Erin was right when she told me sternly, “Don’t you dare join a new group or take up a new hobby right now! You sit here, Amanda!” I do have to practice being alright with being alright, even when nothing too stimulating or dramatic or novel is happening. I don’t think it’s a BAD thing to have things on the horizon; in fact, I usually do have several things on my calendar and I enjoy working toward exciting benchmarks.

Sandy River

But I also want to say that there’s a lot that goes on when nothing is going on. Anthony and I discussed this last night during our one-on-one because I told him that I think the best way to describe community life is that it’s a ministry of presence. It’s about being around even when nothing’s going on because all of the “pointless” conversations and the “wasted” time I spend with my housemates seems to accumulate and ultimately evolves into meaningful relationships. I’ve gotten a lot closer with several members of my household lately, and I attribute much of that to the fact that there hasn’t been all that much going on and we’ve had a lot of moments, the cracks between the things that do consume our time and energy, where growth has happened. Those are special, too. There’s something to be said about being uncomfortable in the middle of things—and there’s a lot that I don’t want to miss here in the middle.

So, I’m finding renewed energy around my work and my community, around simple living and spirituality. My spiritual director, Joyce Ann, has been a really helpful influence. I always look forward to our monthly chats because bouncing thoughts off of her is a way to mirror those thoughts back to myself; I hear myself speaking about the fact that my prayer life looks different this year than usual and then I hear myself in her words when she tells me, “But all of that—your work, your community, the reflections you just shared about all of that—it’s all prayer! You are praying, but you’re not calling it prayer!” and I feel reinvigorated by that new insight and that new perspective. Simple living is something that continues to challenge me because it seems like it’s easy to figure out, but if I check it off my list and declare that “got it” too soon, I know I’ll miss something. I can go deeper with simple living, and Anthony just pointed out one way: my relationship with time. I have no problem staying within our $80/month budget or doing other tangible “simple living” things that are worked into the program, but isn’t there more to this whole simplicity thing? I think so, and I’m experimenting with simplicity not only in a financial sense or a materialistic way but also in the sense of time and energy.

I'm proud of this woodpecker shot from today.

And, speaking of “wasted time,” I recently spent ten minutes waiting for a bus, only to get dumped off after about twenty and having to wait twenty more minutes for another bus that took me all the way to my destination (another twenty minutes away). So much wasted time! With three housemates with cars, I definitely could have called for a ride. But the point is, sometimes this year, to do the inconvenient or more difficult or more annoying thing and to be OK with it. It often happens in our house that when we have fifteen minutes to burn, we end up having a really important discussion that factors into relationships later on and turns out to matter a lot more than we might have anticipated. Similarly, by not always doing the “default” or the “easy” action, I open myself up to little moments or interactions that might stick with me long after the second bus drops me off at home.

Community, as you might have guessed, has been a really profound experience for me, one that seems to tie together everything else happening this year. The people in my house are not all people I might have ended up being friends with if it weren’t for this program; and yet, they have become some of the most important people in my life. Right now, they’re the people seeing me on a regular basis, the people seeing me after a hard day at work or an exhilarating run or a frustrating Mass or an uplifting conversation with someone from home. We get on each other’s nerves sometimes and I think there has been a bit of tension here and there as of late, but there’s still this sense that our house is a safe place for the sort of growth that we’re all trying to do on a personal level this year. This affects and is affected by my relationships at work...

From my window. *Sigh*

The other day, after a stressful appointment, Karen and I had a quick vent session and we both said something along the lines of, “it is exhausting to work with people with a second-grade education.” We both love what we do, but it’s sometimes really, really tiring. And it’s easy to forget the fact that a lot of the adults we are talking with have only two or three years of education, if that. The way they look at the world is so much different. When they show up to their appointment late or completely unprepared (this is the norm rather than the exception), it is obviously frustrating. When they don’t have the answer to a question I see as being pretty simple, I sometimes want to pull my hair out. But the patience, compassion, and forgiveness that we need to practice in our home are also things I have to draw on during my workday.

Seeing the whole darn thing as one big prayer has been a helpful approach for me lately, so I appreciate that nugget that Joyce Ann gave me during spiritual direction. A quick morning offering (something like “God, this is all for you, the joys and the struggles and the highs and lows of the day, please be with me and help me serve you”) book-ended by some sort of examination of the day before falling asleep helps things feel cohesive and centered even in the midst of a whirlwind of emotions and things to do. God is all over my day, and I am able to see those moments—sometimes—while they’re happening because I’ve already sort of offered all of them up, as a collection, in my morning prayer (which often happens during my extended mascara ritual). Sometimes, I don’t notice the presence of God or the Holy Spirit until I look at the experience or the interaction in retrospect. Then, suddenly, it makes sense. It seems to have happened for a reason. It seems to be exactly what I needed (and didn’t know I needed) at the time. Being aware, being here, being open—these are things I continue to work on because that is when I’m actually able to see the things that are happening, feel them, and use them to grow. There’s still a lot to mine from this experience, and I am grateful for the challenges as well as the delightful moments because I think it’s all part of some big picture that I’ll be piecing together for a long, long time.

Alright, you all. Thank you for reading—do people seriously still read this?! It makes me happy to know that at least a few of you do, and I am thankful for those of you who even bother with half of this because it’s really not a very good blog. Blogs are supposed to be quick blurbs of insights or wit, and mine is instead an extended commentary on my thoughts of the moment. But, whatever this is, it is enhanced by your reading, reflection, and commentary. So thank you, dear friends and family near and far. I love you all. And lately, I’ve been more homesick than usual. I miss all of you and I think of you all often. Finding a balance between keeping in touch with everyone but also staying present in this experience here is a continual challenge. But recently I’ve been able to catch up with a few of you—Lizzie Traudt, Catí, Jill, Kelly, Bee!—and that is much appreciated. I’m so grateful to have such a strong network of love and support, even if it is now a network spread out all over the country.

Have a wonderful, wonderful week. Enjoy the Superbowl (I have no comment on this game) and this short month of February, which will be gone before we know it!

Love,

Amanda

PS Shout-out time, in case you care to stay for the closing credits:

Congratulations to Lindsay for completing the MCAT!!!! We celebrated with drinks at Kells. Very exciting.

Thanks especially to Katharine and Molly for comforting me this week and for your ongoing support and love. And thank you, $13 Chilean cabernet sauvignon. Worth it.

And to Erin for those sad piano songs and that comfy shoulder. And for not asking questions.

Thanks to my mom for randomly sending a box of delicious cookies. Always appreciated and always delicious. And thanks to my dad for booking a flight to come see me even though you won’t enjoy getting here. It means the world to me.

Sort of a scary sight, actually.... but they're so cute!!

Extra prayers for garrett on these final days of his 30-day retreat, for Nicki, Beth, and Terese and their communities at home and at their placements, for Chile on Monday-- the one-year anniversary of the 8.8 earthquake-- and for Jill as she begins the next, exciting phase of her life. 

Finally, prayers and happy thoughts to two of my coworkers, Minerva and Cecilia, in the final month or so of their pregnancies. We celebrated with a baby shower (at my house!!) last Friday. Yay, babies! 

Love to all of you.

Happy Birthday, Dad!!!

Hello, and Happy Friday!

I am writing on my lunch break (a rarity), so I’ll have to do my best to keep this short. Let’s just get right to the point: Molly and I had a BLAST last week—of course!—and I want to tell you all about it. If you don’t want to hear about how much I love this girl, you may want to consider skipping this entry.

So, Molly was SUPPOSED to get here last Tuesday evening, but she had some setbacks. Her plane out of Detroit had to wait for a few people making a connection in addition to the de-icing process that also delayed them a bit. Because of this, Molly missed her connection in Salt Lake City; in true Wolff Travel Luck fashion, this plane left EARLY (when does that ever happen? Seriously) and did NOT wait for the travelers trying to make their connection. Molly ran through the airport and missed the plane by approximately five minutes. She called me and said she’d be spending the night with some pretty crazy companions in a little place called the Crystal Inn. Not cool. We were both pretty upset, but I was happy that she arrived safely and on time the following morning. Starbucks in hand, I greeted her with MUCH enthusiasm and we jumped on the train, already in full-blown chatter and giggle mode, and headed back to Gresham.

After a delicious Lebanese lunch (you should have SEEN this pita bread), I had to go to work for the afternoon. This was actually alright in the end because Molly needed to rest and take a shower. So, after work, I came home and woke her up. I dragged her with me to Youth Ministry, which I think she actually enjoyed. She was particularly fond of Ricky, the kid who is a bit of a challenge but nevertheless quite hilarious. Molly worked with eighth-graders last summer at UCC (where I also worked), so she knows the ins and outs of this particular age group and she has the right attitude for dealing with them. Youth Ministry is life-giving because the kids are awesome, but they’re still kids and it’s still exhausting. As often happens, I was in the mood for a drink afterwards, so Molly and I headed to 4^th Street Brewery with Erin, Crunchy, and Margaret for a brew. I actually had a beer and then a few rum and cokes with Molly, which resulted in my being quite silly… my tolerance these days is embarrassingly low—cheap date! Anyway, we headed home all giggly and happy and snuggled our way to sleep. Was that too much information for the general public? Ah well. I digress.

Thursday, Lindsay joined us on a lovely run past Jim and Mary Ann’s. Before heading into the wooded part of the butte trail, we stopped to say hi to our support couple, who happen to be two of the cutest individuals on the planet. Jim gave us each a cup of blueberries to snack on and then proceeded to show us, with the enthusiasm of a kindergartner, his new projects. He has recently taken up whittling, so he has some beautiful wood creations on display, ranging from a cute little bird to some kitchen accessories worthy of the Pampered Chef label. He also showed us a painting he had commissioned from a local artist, and he paged through his catalogue of seeds, pointing out the ones he’d recently ordered in preparation for his garden this spring. At about that point, Mary Ann came down the stairs and talked to us about HER new hobby—making doll clothes! These two are just the cutest people ever. Eventually, we headed out and finished our run. This was Molly’s first glimpse at the Northwest wilderness and I think she was about as amazed with the dozens of shades of green in the forest as was I the first time I ran this trail. It was a really nice way to spend the morning.

After breakfast, we headed to OMSI, the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry, where my employee badge got us in free! Score. We entertained ourselves with some of the logic puzzles and interactive games and eventually made our way to the Identity exhibit, which features fetal development models and all sorts of quizzes and displays that help you figure out what makes you you. It was fun because we both have an interest in genetics, although Molly knows considerably more about this topic. We had some smoothies to tide us over but eventually worked up a hunger and headed across town to VooDoo Doughnuts (after a quick stop at Powell’s, of course!) to sample two of Portland’ best-known doughnuts. I am certainly no doughnut connoisseur, but they were tasty indeed and VooDoo is a legendary must-see in all its quintessential Portland weirdness. We headed home after that because we were on dinner duty with Jenna. Our evening meal was a delicious butternut squash risotto (Mom, be impressed! I also cooked solo last night and made a yummy cheesy parsley polenta!). We had a beer while cooking dinner and listened to some good music, and everyone enjoyed the risotto AND the cake we had that evening in honor of Jenna’s birthday.

We had a quiet night on Thursday, playing some games with Daniel for awhile and then just hanging out until bed. I had to go into work for a bit on Friday due to a dental van and staff meeting that required my attendance, so I let Molly sleep in and hang out at Café D for a few hours. At noon, I found her and we had a quick lunch before jumping on the train to the Oregon Zoo. This girl has a certain passion for zoos, so I had to show her this one even though it costs $9 to get in—and that’s WITH the $1.50 discount for taking public transportation! It was worth it, though. The Zoo is really quite pretty with all of the trees and moss, and even though it was a foggy and sort of rainy day (the weather every day of Molly’s visit, actually), we saw a fair amount of animals. The regional exhibit was probably the prettiest. We saw a bald eagle and an owl and otters that were making another otter right before our very eyes… that got awkward after awhile. After a pleasant afternoon, we decided it was time to eat again.

So, we jumped on the train and made our way to my favorite place in Portland: the Alberta Street Grilled Cheese Grill. I think I’ve mentioned the gloriousness that is this food cart in past blog posts, but honestly—anyone who visits is guaranteed a phenomenal sandwich at this quirky little spot. We met up with Lizzie for a beer (you should really count the beers in this post—this is number three, I think, all of which have been local microbrews) and then a grilled cheese, which did not disappoint. After a glorious dinner, we had to make our way back home to see what the evening plans would entail. But by the time we got back, we realized that we didn’t really have the energy for going BACK into Portland for only a few hours and then having to catch the last train home. So, feeling a bit lackluster about our transportation options, we decided to stay in, but it really doesn’t matter where we are because we always find something to giggle about anyway!

GSham Gaga-ing it up.

We woke up on Saturday at a leisurely pace and continued said leisure for most of the afternoon until deciding that we wanted to go see a $3 movie at the Laurelhurst. First, we had a beer (number 4) at a kooky café nearby where the waitress was too Portland-cool to actually wait on us. She brought us our DELICIOUS pita and hummus platter and I said, “thanks,” to which her hipster response was “okay.” Still, it was a nice warm-up to the movie. At the Laurelhurst, you can eat and drink pizza/wraps/salads and beer while enjoying your show, so we got some more food (but not beer!) and then headed into “Love and Other Drugs.” Don’t see it—it was pretty lame. We played logic puzzles on the bus home and were in high spirits when we made our beer run and headed home to prepare for the big party Gresham hosted on Saturday night. We were hoping for a better turnout, but most of the Portland area JVs still made an appearance at our fiesta. To be honest, I think I talked to other people for a total of about ten minutes. Most of the night, Molly and I were playing beer pong (my skills have somehow improved tenfold since college despite zero practice— this is the part where we stop counting beers) and tearing up the dance floor AKA the living room. We had a blast. Oh, and I forgot to mention that Molly was dressed in my YOGA MAT and I was wearing paper flowers that had previously been wall decorations. Our house theme was Lady Gaga, whose creative costumes basically mean that our wardrobe consisted of anything but clothes.

Multnomah Falls!

Sunday was Molly’s last day, and because she had booked a late flight out of Portland (11:45ish), we had all day together. I know her journey home was probably pretty exhausting, but I was so grateful that she’d planned the trip that way. Jim and MaryAnn had GENEROUSLY allowed us to take their CRV for the day, so at about 10am (impressive for a post-party morning, no?!) we loaded into the car along with Lizzie, Jenna, and their mutual friend Scott who was also visiting. I drove us out to the Columbia River Gorge which, although fogged over, was absolutely epic as always. We took the Old Highway for most of the way and the views are storybook-esque. The mossy trees and the waterfalls at every turn are too much to take in, and then you look out the other direction and see the dramatic landscape of the Columbia River snaking its way through the hills. It’s truly gorgeous. We stopped at several waterfalls before eventually making it to Multnomah Falls to take in the view of the 600-foot tall cascades (Oregon’s second most popular tourist attraction…after a casino). The most amusing stop was the first, when we hopped out of the car to run downhill for a minute or so before reaching the closest view of Latourell Falls. For whatever reason, this waterfall was RAGING. The water was muddy looking and it was absolutely flying off the waterfall with some crazy impressive force. We got drenched standing there, but we were so high off of life at that point that no one cared. There’s a certain adrenaline rush involved, I guess. We were all screaming and skipping and running up and down the sloped walkway. When we finally made our way back to the car, we were five wet dogs who had no Maid of the Mist sort of excuse… we had just gone a bit ballistic.

The outing concluded in a yummy lunch at Edgefield, which I’ve talked about before. We had good food (the Cajun-seasoned tater tots! The sweet potato fries!) but awful service. I complained on behalf of our group and we got a $25 gift card. We proceeded to go to a different bar on the estate and purchase the dessert I had come for: the Terminator Cake. It was as good as I had imagined, made with the best beer EVER (their own Terminator Stout) and consisting of at least four layers of rich, dark, incredible chocolate. Phenomenal.

Crown Point lookout point. So glad she got to see this!

I was not happy about having to pack up Molly’s things and think about leaving, but our evening ended nicely. We went to Contemplative Mass at St. Ignatius, a service I’m glad she got to experience. Then, in search of coffee and/or food for Molly, we found our way to the Starbucks at Pioneer Square and sat there for a bit, enjoying some hot drinks. When it was time to go to the airport, we made our way there with no problems. We hugged and hugged and I cried before Molly finally waved goodbye and headed into PDX. She made it home with no problems and is back in the rhythm of classes, and I had off MLK Day and then had a busy few days but am now looking forward to another weekend! I am so, so grateful that Molls made the trip, and even though I’m pretty sad about the fact that we now have a six-month stretch before we see each other again, I know that there’s nothing to worry about because our friendship is so incredibly special. We’ve grown and matured (actually, that’s questionable), but so many special elements have remained the same. Molls, you are a treasure and a light in my life and I am blessed to have you as a soul sistah!

So, this weekend I’ll be attending the baptism of Ketzaly, my coworker Sara’s baby who I’ve been obsessing about to my mom for the first month of this child’s life. I’m excited to experience a Spanish-speaking baptism. Then, on Sunday, Karen is taking me and a few of my housemates on a snow shoe outing at Barlow Pass. I’ll take photos for sure!

Have a wonderful weekend, all of you! A happy, happy, happy birthday to my dad!! I love you and wish I could give you a birthday hug in person, but—just like your gift—you’ll have to come get it!

XOXO,

Amanda

MOLLY'S COMING!!!!

Hello again,

I hope these first days of 2011 have been good to you all. Does anyone besides us still have their Christmas tree up? Ours has certainly become a serious fire hazard. It hasn’t had water in at least a week or so, and I think we really need to take it down soon (this is one of those things we talk about a lot but never actually do) before it burns down our ol’ convent. There was a suggestion to leave it up until our Martin Luther King, Jr. party (which we’ll be hosting next Saturday), but I seriously think it needs to go before then.

Anyway, it has been a good week. I found myself more exhausted than usual almost every day, which might be me getting sick—I hope not!—like some of my housemates, or perhaps it means I’m in some sort of cloudy-weather, post-holiday stupor. Either way, I gave myself a good ten hours of sleep last night and woke up today feeling pretty rested. A nice run through the woods and on the Springwater Corridor trail was a wonderful way to start my Saturday (at 1pm, mind you), particularly because it actually hasn’t really rained today. Mt. Hood isn’t out at the moment, but I’m hoping that we get a few clear days next week because I have a special guest coming and I’d like her to see the mountain! Which leads me to this extremely exciting fact: Miss Molly Henry will be arriving in Portland on Tuesday evening. She’ll be with me throughout the week until Sunday night, and I can barely contain my enthusiasm. It has been WAY too long since I’ve seen her, and I am so so so so so so so excited!!! You’ll surely hear from me again after her visit, which is bound to be a good time.

Ready to party!

It turned out to be a pretty good New Year’s here. After I wrote last time (following my lovely solo hike), I went home and painted my nails all sparkly. Then we ordered pizza and got ready to go to Portland Morris House’s party for a bit. After dancing around with Lizzie for awhile, I left there with Erin and Daniel and went elsewhere. We rang in 2011 at a crammed club with confetti falling around us and a Lady Gaga-Madonna mash-up playing. Interesting, but a good time. On New Year’s Day, we all took it easy. After a day of lying around, though, I was happy when Colleen asked if anyone would like to go with her to do outreach. 

Colleen works for JOIN, a drop-in day shelter for Portland’s homeless community. Daniel and Linds work there too—they’re the Immersion Coordinator and the House Director, respectively—and this is where Colleen ended up after her first placement didn’t work out. She loves her new job, and I have heard a lot of stories about her evening drives around Portland to distribute blankets, chat with the men and women sleeping on the streets, and spread the word about JOIN and other resources/shelters available for them. I miss interacting with this community, as working with Milwaukee’s homeless was a huge part of my Marquette experience. So, Colleen and I headed out.

As I told my mother, rest assured that we were very careful. Usually Colleen goes out with one of the guys from JOIN who has many years of experience and street credit, and we were well aware that we are two women with no other protection than our pepper spray. We were cautious and didn’t approach anyone if the situation seemed possibly sketchy. Most of the people we talked to were settled in for the night, or trying to settle in. They were in sleeping bags or covered with blankets under bridges, in doorways, and on the street. We drove around, stopping when we saw someone, asking if people needed blankets or hats or socks. Colleen was already familiar with a lot of the people we encountered. It was a moving experience, though, driving through downtown Portland on a lively Saturday night. Instead of looking into bars or clubs or wondering what live band was playing a show in one of the above, we were perusing the streets for people who were going to spend the night in the cold.

We helped one guy get to an emergency warming shelter, we intimately covered another man with three blankets while he slept under a bridge (per the recommendation of another homeless man nearby who told us that he was warm enough but that “the guy over there” might need a blanket or two). We tried to talk to one woman whose camp was a total mess; there were rats scurrying in and out of the bushes, squeaking and eating the woman’s dog’s food. She seemed unfazed, and her lethargy was almost frightening. But for the most part, everyone we talked to was friendly and very kind. They told us when they needed something—and we helped if we could—and they also told us when they didn’t—and often guided us to someone who was in need. It was a really beautiful, very REAL, evening.

Interactions with people on the streets are so elemental, and there is something really refreshing about chatting with someone like that. I see now why outreach is an escape of sorts for Colleen. Sure, this work is heavy and emotional and discouraging some days, but it’s also some kind of rush. And you see the difference you’re making, however small, because it’s immediate. JOIN’s approach of sending outreach workers out on the streets is really cool because most situations where I’ve interacted with homeless people were set up so that they were the guests—at the shelter or the meal program or the drop-in center. This way, we were the guests. We tread carefully, announcing our presence as we neared someone’s camp and metaphorically “knocking” before entering their home. We were the vulnerable ones. We were the ones relying on their humility and hospitality, which they offered graciously. It was a different sort of interaction than any I’ve had, and very different from the work I do on a daily basis, so I was happy I got to be a part of it.

Colleen was at her best and brightest, which moved me just as much as anything that night. I told her this afterwards. Everyone deserves to be seen when they’re in their element. She was patient, compassionate, understanding, and graceful, and I was so impressed with her. You can tell that this work gives her life. So, another gift of the evening was certainly seeing my housemate through this lens because I feel like seeing that part of her was seeing her as complete as I’ve seen her this whole time, and even without too many words exchanged, it feels like we’re closer than we were when we left for outreach that evening.

Last night, we had a sleepover in our living room (although I think we all ended up going to bed in our actual beds after awhile). I love my housemates and I love spending time with them. We came to the realization that life will never be so “fluffy.” Yes, we’re doing hard work, but we’re also able to come home and just hang out. We make dinner, we do youth ministry or other evening work, but really…we have a lot of downtime to just enjoy each other’s company. Pretty amazing.

Alright, time to get ready to celebrate Jenna’s upcoming birthday. We’re headed to Edgefield again! I wish you all a happy Sunday and a wonderful week. Thinking of you, Peg, Ken, and Beth, in particular, and sending much love to Catherine begins her second year as an International Jesuit Volunteer in Chile… with her new community!

XOXO,

Amanda