While getting ready on the morning
of our departure from Washington, DC, each other, and this trip, I was thinking
about how to put it all together. Not only the many visits, stops, and
experiences we had scheduled in the itinerary, but the relationships that
formed, and my own personal reaction to the trip as well as family struggles
unrelated to the trip, that were unfortunately unfolding at the same time.
There was a thought I had been trying to fully form since our group reflection
time after we spent Sunday morning at the Church of Epiphany with many homeless
men and women (mostly black men). We ate breakfast, attended services, and
talked with them. Instead of walking past them on the street, we sat next to
them. They sat next to us. I don't know how to avoid the whole "us"
and "them" dichotomy, so I won't.
People
cried and teared up, and I felt myself getting emotional as well. I was trying
to focus intently on forming this one thought I had stirring so that I could
share it with the group, but my eyes kept blurring with held back tears, and I
was unable to get my words out. What I was thinking about was how we all need
other people. For support, throughout our lives, at one point or another. Maybe
we need people when we are fragile, and these people help keep us from
breaking. Maybe we need people when we are strong, and these people keep us
from stumbling. But, we all need people, don't we? On this trip, I didn't
really realize until the end, our need for each other. I think being surrounded
by people at all times, by about Thursday or Friday of the trip, many of us
were thinking that we would just like some time to ourselves. And there is
value in that, certainly, but how much do we learn when we are by ourselves all
the time? How much do we grow? How much are we really forced to think, to
question, and to care? For this, and for many other things in life, we need
help from others.
At
church I sat next to and talked to a man named Sean. Sean and I talked about
his travels and mine; he knew the little town in California where I grew up, I
knew some of the routes he had taken. He asked me if I knew the Bible, and I
told him, not very well. He went to his bag and pulled a new Bible out of a
covering, and handed it to me. He said he didn't want to give it to just
anyone. The night before I was having a rough time with some news I had
received, and in my typical fashion, isolated myself from the group that
evening. Of course, when you're locked in to a church for the night with
warnings of security systems and alarms going off, there's only so many places
you can go, and I guess I didn't really try that hard, because two friends
stumbled upon me pretty quickly. They asked if I was OK, I said no. I cried,
they sat down with me, a simple act, and I felt cared for. I took that with me
when I sat down next to Sean the next morning. These same two friends, saw me
struggling and leave the room during our Sunday morning reflection, and came to
find me, on purpose this time. I had to smile. By the very end of the trip
these friends would have only known me for ten days. I don't think they knew
how much it meant to me (or how their act tied into the bigger picture of this
trip for me). A simple act of caring.
So
the following morning, getting ready to leave the city, I was still trying to
put my thoughts together, as I'm still struggling to do now. We all learned so
much intellectually and affectively, personally and professionally, but I did
not expect a lesson in caring to be one of those things. In writing this reflection
and trying to get down my thoughts, I think what I've been doing wrong is
trying to form an answer when what I've got right now are my own experiences,
and questions: How long does it take to care, and what does it take to sustain
that caring?
How
many times do you have to talk to someone, or walk past someone, before you
care? About them, about their cause, about what they care about. And once you
do, if it takes one conversation or one year of being asked for change by the
same man on the street, how do you make that sustainable? When it comes to
these big issues, like food insecurity, homelessness, poverty, abuse; there's
always a question of finding sustainable solutions. Charity is not sustainable,
I think all of us on the trip know that now. "Trying to end hunger with
food drives is like trying to fill the Grand Canyon with a teaspoon," (A
Place at the Table, 208). And more and more what we're hearing is that
politically, at least, it's not so much a matter of sustainable funding for
food assistance, but sustained caring. We see time and time again, the nature
of caring is to come and go. But I think there is a threshold, a point at which
caring for someone or something becomes unwavering and with us forever. How do
we capture it, and keep it, knowing it can change the world?
Waco morning/ lifesaver (not the fruity hard candy)/ birthday dinners/ froyo is always a good idea
night cat/ Aurora/ Cafe Cap has ginormous pancakes/ salad feast
stripes and chambray/ Pittsburgh kitty/ bowls for $1/ lamp for more than $1 (but still clearance!)
backyard at sunset/ Waco downtown farmers market/ kayaking/ Saturday cat naps
dress love/ cucumber love/ pens love/ sunrise love
