srce moje...tracing the journey.

my beloved is in the process of leaving the Balkans, where he has made his home for the past three years. where I made my home for one glorious, complicated year.  and so my heart is in the process of reminiscing, looking back and letting go of the comfort of having that intimate link to a place i came to love so much, even though it broke my heart sometimes.

thinking of when i first arrived in Sarajevo in the middle of August and was instantly in love with the [wordiness alert, this is from my journal:] "clear sweet sunny days backdropping the gorgeous colorful mountainous landscape and the beautiful multicultural milieu of people in the cafes and goods in the markets and church bells ringing and minarets lighting up at night and imams intoning calls to prayer and the river flowing on and on under many bridges through the middle of it all..."

and the day i made to the journey from Sarajevo to Belgrade, reassuring myself that "as i leave this beautiful scarred city, i know i will survive and maybe even learn to thrive in the one i will soon arrive in... i think i am already growing in my ability to recognize the cyrillic letters and sound things out correctly when i see it.  bouncing inside the bus, through tunnels, alongside rock faces, past pine forests and fern patches, we have now come down from the high hills to a more rolling landscape of fields and small towns. hello hay bales and humble houses and huts. the little trickle that started hugging the road's curves in a shallow ditch a while back has since gradually widened into a lively stream and then a broad channel in a gorge below us - and oh - now we have crossed over it on a bridge and i can no longer see it from my side of the bus, but i know it is still there, feeding this land, quenching the thirst of people and creatures, carving its cool, calm power ever deeper and wider, branching off into new waterways, to spread the gift, the youth, the life."

i didn't always feel very youthful or lively for my first few months there. despite some wonderful moments, overall i felt more like this:

i struggled under some shadows of uncertain expectations and rocky living situations and frequent colds and sickness and feeling like a failure a lot of the time.

sure, i smiled in the sunshiny joy of my language lessons, my daily work of caring for little children with special needs, my mini-adventures of walking and navigating public transportation around the city, and texts like this from my coworkers when i was too sick to go to work: "ok dont vory bi god love you"

but it wasn't until, oh, about November that i finally started feeling comfortable in my skin and surroundings again.  i realize this is fairly typical cross-cultural transition timing, but there were also a few real changes that made a big difference.  i moved to a new apartment and "woke up under the skylight, blue sky with wisps of clouds floating by, the sound of the streets being washed and the pigeons flapping about. i tiptoed to look out to the adjacent rooftops where they perch and greeted them this morning...i went to the pijaca/market and had friendly exchanges with the people from whom i bought: a chunk of pumpkin, a bunch of paradajz i luk (tomatoes and onions), some mandarin oranges, pola kila pečurka (half a kilo of mushrooms), i 250g brusnica (dried cranberries)...and trudged delightedly back up the hill...passing Everest Kafe, and the Crna Kornjača, and a Zdrava Hrana (health food) shop, and some creative graffiti...i LOVE MY NEIGHBORHOOD!"

i started having more opportunities to travel around the region...to hike to a waterfall and play in the fall leaves or the snow or the spring flowers in Kosovo/Kosova...to go to concerts in Novi Sad...to spend time with MCC partners and regional directors in Sarajevo, and go hiking in the hills there...

life really blossomed.  blooming and growing, like edelweiss, the hills are alive, with the sound of music... :)

and i had awesome Canadian neighbors who moved in to the apartment below mine, and who invited me to share in their weekly crepes and their city-exploring adventures and their Christmas and Easter celebrations just like another daughter/sister...(and who dressed up as this endearing totem pole for the kindergarten's multicultural dress-up day!)

and i had a gig with a choir, a gospel choir! the only gospel choir in Serbia! who were the warmest, loudest, lovingest :) spiritual community i could possibly have been welcomed into. we sang all over Beograd, and in a few other cities, too.  music. friendship. joy.

and i had, unexpectedly, a boy, who tenderly cared for me when i was sick...who encouraged me to be gentle with myself and see the beauty in my role with the children...who traveled with me all throughout that "land of raspberries and honey-bees, hills and haystacks, abandoned houses and bullet holes, churches and mosques" ...who held me and helped me poetry-slam a bob dylan ballad when my grandpa and another dear friend in the U.S. died on the same day in May...who asked me if he could ask me to marry him yet, and then saw me off on the plane back to the States in July without a definite answer...who said YES YES YES YES YES when I asked him over Skype a couple months later!  who put the perfect eco-friendly vine-shaped ring on my finger this past December...who returned to the Balkans in January and has persevered through these final months of his term there... and who is coming home to me SOON.  srce moje...now we'll journey together for the rest of our lives.  God.es.good.

hope for the very first time.

hopes shows up in some of the most surprising places.

it's often when you're pressed against a wall that you finally find hope.
sometimes hope has wings and a halo and you can just see it so clearly.
sometimes hope is a little grittier and harder to make out.

hope doesn't always have the prettiest background...sometimes you can see it best when everything else is crumbling around it.

it's kind of funny how the same thing can spell hope for some people and mean nothing to others. (nada means 'hope' in Serbian, and 'nothing' in Spanish)

hope might be hiding just around the corner from you...

hope is everywhere...

(photos by Amy Wood, Peder Wiegner, and me)

it's so easy being green...

especially with my newfound freedom of having a monthly transportation pass instead of having to find a kiosk and buy tickets every time i need to hop on a bus! feels so good...thanks to one of the kindergarten teachers who graciously took care of the process for me today and brought back my official Beograd transit system ID beautifully laminated with a space to put in the monthly ticket. yay!

so, now it is definitely easier to 'be green', in the sense of not wasting the paper of those tickets i would otherwise continue to buy, and the fact that i am traveling by public transportation vs. adding another individual gas-guzzling vehicle to the traffic jams, which i felt so guilty about doing every time i went into Philadelphia last year with our community van; however, that is not why i chose the title (which, if you're wondering, does refer to Kermit the Frog's lament that "it's not easy being green"). Zelena is actually the first color-name i learned, and still the easiest one for me to call to mind, for reasons that will become clear in the rest of my story. :)

i used my amazing pass for the first time this afternoon on the tram from the kindergarten to my language teacher's apartment, and during our session it turned out that i started having many amazing "aha!" moments of things clicking in the language center of my brain, sticking in my memory, and actually making sense when they came out of my mouth. i could also sense a significant decline in the number of times i felt compelled to fill in blanks with Spanish, although she still had to correct me to say ili instead of o for 'or'. there was much laughing involved, and some surprised/delighted looks on my teacher's face when i started making up my own sentences beyond what was in the book or what she initially asked, and even making some intentionally funny statements, as well as her patience and cooperation when i was trying to convey some slightly complicated ideas in a very roundabout way with my limited vocabulary. bravo! super! odlično! she tells me.

so maybe this will sound lame, but i know this was exactly how i needed to spend this friday evening: i felt like walking, so i decided to retrace all the steps we took last time i was escorted to church, to make sure i know my way there and back and have a sense of direction even if i decide to go a little off track. first i came from my language teacher's house to Zeleni Venac, a GREEN-domed plaza that serves as a hub for many buses, including the ones that take me to and from Zemun. from there the self-test was on. onto a popular pedestrian avenue, with numerous cafes and street artists and sladoled/icecream vendors. stopped to watch a guy create a glossy poster with spray paint techniques that eventually looked like some kind of graphic design with planets and pyramids and stars. kept going, past one fountain, past another fountain, then saw a brightly graffiti-covered wall that looked familiar, turned there, gained confidence a few blocks later when i passed a certain shop i recognized that sells fantastic fish sandwiches, i hear. :) somehow my mind's eye and body memory took me through every turn, just like we had done when i was half-blindly following my fast-walking friends the other day. past a park, around a couple of quick corners, down a residential street where i had to watch my feet for dog droppings, and finally i caught sight of a little blue placard with the street name on the corner of one building: Ulica...yesss, it's the right one!! SLAVA, HALELUJA!!! i wanted to jump up and down and punch the air in triumph and pride in myself, for now i really had a feel of exactly how far around that route was, and also had a very clear map in my head of how to return to the green dome by a much quicker way, permaneciendo (making permanent?) my personal landmarks in my conscious visual-verbal memory rather than just my subconscious bodily-kinetic memory. as i passed the church and read the sign, i gave it just a brief extra gaze and wink of gratitude, and continued on up the street, past a theatre and a monument, back to the pedestrian boulevard, and successfully through a little maze of turns and stairs at the point i had marked in my brain as a shortcut back to Zeleni Venac. now i was really on the verge of having my head float away like a helium balloon and my chest explode like a volcano with all the smiley feelings building up in there...

of course i kept a straight face...i feel like i'm constantly struggling to do that here...u Americi, my default setting when i pass someone on the street is to look at them and smile and possibly say hello, if they acknowledge me, too. not here...everyone seems so serious and professional, or if they're showing more emotion then it's solely focused on their friend or lover. i respect that, it could be a healthy thing, to not spread your emotional energy thin with trying to acknowledge every stranger on the street just for the sake of friendliness. although i think that can bring a certain joy and energy with it, as the effort to extend friendliness starting with a facial expression of goodwill can potentially cultivate a healthy outlook on life. ali, nema problema, mogu da učim, i can learn to contain myself, hopefully.

i think the moment of today i am most grateful for, however, was right when i was at the height of my pride-swell, halfway down the stairs that go under Zeleni Venac towards my bus stop, i glanced to the side and saw a little girl, probably 2 or 3 years old, with skin several shades darker than most of those swooshing past me, lying asleep in the arms of her mother who is sitting crouched against the side wall of the stairs, also more tanned than the norm, with uncombed dark hair...must be Roma. Gypsy. the wind in my sails quickly died down into a pang of silent guilt/misery/sympathy. as i understand their position (someone correct me please if i'm wrong or overstating this), their reputation and the often harsh conditions laid for their survival in society, they seem to be the European equivalent of the Indian 'untouchables' caste, the Dalits. for this little girl and her mother, life is not easy. the green dome and passageways under Zeleni Venac may provide a bit of shelter from harsh weather, but they don't get an EZPass out of the harshness of poverty and possibly homelessness. of course there are Roma who have 'made it' into a comfortable life and even fame as folk singers or politicians or scholars. but this lady sure looks like she hasn't made it, and God only knows if her daughter will get any better options.

meanwhile i get to my bus stop and board the bus with a heavy heart, yet also with hope. i am grateful to be working for an institution that puts a high priority on accepting special-needs and at-risk children, including Roma children, into its unique peace-cultivating education program. it is good to be reminded of how against-the-grain that is here; since it is all i have seen so far, it is hard for me to imagine the state-run kindergartens and schools where apparently there is much less care shown for kids who are 'different', and where a 'words not weapons' approach to conflicts is not necessarily modeled or expected to develop in the children. i am grateful that i get to be part of showing a different option, the peace-making option. the blessed option, that malo po malo, little by little can bring into being a bit of the dream of the blessed, beloved community, right here in Beograd. every morning when i enter this special kindergarten, i can sense that it already has.

and as the bus crossed the bridge, i was treated to a view of a sky ripening with various shades of pink and purple and peach, like a loving artist was just watercolor-painting them there as we rolled along, each passenger contained in their own private world, no way to tell who was noticing the beauty and who was just enduring their everyday routine ride home. i kept my secret awe held inside, all the way home, anchored by that green dome, the deep dark Dunav, i moj Gospod.

on a walk with one of my friends in Zemun

peace art: journey to an endangered garden

one lesson i've learned so far at St. Anthony's is that a family-inclusive, weekend field trip is always a tricky thing...as much as you send letters home, ask for permission slips by a certain date, and call parents to confirm that they understand what's going on, you STILL never know if the people who signed up will actually come or not, or if they'll show up with extra parents, step-parents, cousins, older siblings, babies... yes, we encountered all of these last Saturday when we offered free admission to the Camden Children's Garden for 30...well, that was our original, optomistic goal but it turned out to be OVER 70/SEVENTY/SETENTA children and family members.

Miss N. and I had our hands full and our brains on bilingual overload trying to coordinate this unexpectedly gigantic group of mostly-Spanish-speakers. we knew it was going to be crazy, from the first moment of loading them on the bus, getting lost on the way there, arriving and unloading and meeting some families who drove directly to the garden, gathering them together outside the gates, assigning small groups of kids to chaperones, getting a final head count, buying the extra tickets, explaining the details of the day, handing out the maps and tokens for various attractions around the park, plus the disposable cameras so that each child could take some 'artistic shots' of things that interested them. and then finding out that we forgot to count one group in that 'final count', so going back in to the office to buy their tickets and hand them their materials... what a relief once they were all finally waved through the gates and set free to roam around on their own (with their chaperones at all times, of course! right? well...lucky for us, the Children's Garden staff seemed to all be looking the other way when some of them started wandering without their assigned adults!)

after all of that initial craziness, as Miss N. and i found some shade in a somewhat 'hidden' corner of the garden to sit and breathe in, we just had to marvel at how somehow, there were almost eighty people enjoying this little haven of the worlds of nature and art and education and pure fun all blended together - people who otherwise couldn't necessarily afford such an experience for their whole families.

once we caught our breath enough to start walking around, we saw some kids learning how to transfer plants into pots; some kids sticking their hands in compost and finding worm friends; some kids riding a train through a garden; some wandering through the butterfly greenhouse; some hiding in dinosaur eggs; some creating collages from recycled materials; crawling through rock tunnels and hopping on log stepping stones in the 'fitness garden'; riding the garden carousel; playing hide-and-seek in an 'underground maze'; hanging out in a treehouse; licking popsicles in Peace Plaza; and snapping plenty of pictures everywhere they went.

it was a beautiful day, and a beautiful sight to see not only the wonders of this garden designedfor children, but even more exciting than that, to see the garden of children growing, exploring, discovering, right before our eyes.

and here, here is a glimpse for your eyes to see...

this place is Camden's hidden treasure...not always accessible to the most hardpressed families, but still there and trying its best to stay affordable, and still providing seeds, starter plants, lime, fertilizer, and gardening advice and support to hundreds of community gardeners around the city. the Camden Children's Garden has been serving the community for 26 years as a non-profit organization with funding from the state of New Jersey, fully matched by private donations and grants. the agreement with the state is such that the state is supposed to reimburse the Children's Garden for funds already spent, in three installments throughout the year. they received the first reimbursement last fall, and were supposed to receive the second one in February, but instead received a letter from the state in March saying that they would not receive any more payment.

WHATTTT are they thinking???? has anyone who controls that state money ever SEEN the Children's Garden or the children growing in it and because of it??? have they ever even driven through a corner of Camden to see the difference between the thousands of trash-strewn abandoned lots vs. the ones the Garden has helped rehabilitate into flourishing sites of urban agriculture that are helping to address hunger, obesity, and food security in one of the poorest cities in the country??? have they ever talked to any of the 7000 city residents who have taken part in the community gardening program just this year, or any of the 15 at-risk youth who have been employed each year in their job and leadership training program??? how can the Governor honor the Garden with a Community Hero Award at his inauguration in January 2010 and then yank their funding RETROACTIVELY less than a month later???

what do they expect the Garden to do? they can't just take back all the salaries that were paid to their employees' bank accounts; they can't just yank thousands of vegetables and greens and flowers out of hundreds of gardens around the city; they can't just go back and erase all their operating expenses for the past six months, for which they were promised reimbursement.

here's the real rundown if you're interested in a more technical account of the situation, or if you're interested in calling or writing the Governor's office on behalf of the Garden...por favor!!!http://www.njsacc.org/wordpress/?p=3872

paz y bien

i.saw.Jesus.blushing.today.

i was so proud of myself this morning. i got up, got ready, and was out the door TEN WHOLE MINUTES before the meeting was supposed to start! and it only takes FIVE minutes to walk there! i was so proud. i was gonna be there EARLY. and it was OPTIONAL, too, an optional seminar for current and alumni FVMs on fundraising and sharing our stories about the impact of this year on our lives. and i was gonna show up all ready and ON TIME, looking so responsible...

and then, just as i walk through the gate onto church property, five minutes early, i see a familiar face. a face that i saw and pitied my first week here, when he was asking at the friary door for food, and i was told that he came there all the time, he's homeless, we feed him sometimes and sometimes you just have to ignore him, and be careful because he's schizophrenic and can get violent sometimes. one of my first fist-clenching moments of frustration with the seeming futility of efforts to 'fix' Camden stemmed from being advised to ignore him when he was asking if he could use the bathroom. where else is the guy gonna go? if the church won't care for him, who will? if the church won't care for him, how will he know that Jesus does?

over the next several months, i would see him sometimes, strolling around the neighborhood or hanging out on the church steps, sometimes rocking out to a CD player, sometimes walking a dog. sometimes he seemed 'okay', apparently when he was being good about taking his 'good meds' for schizophrenia. sometimes he seemed strung-out, hard-as-nails, and downright angry, ready to lash out with obscenities if anyone so much as said hello. any spoken wish for him to "have a good day" or "take care" was met with muttering and resentful head-shaking - you don't understand, i CAN'T have a good day, i'm in CAMDEN and i can barely get by alive, much less take CARE, are you kidding me?

i heard that he sometimes had lapses back into the grip of his 'street meds', the ever-available destructive doses of tantalizing escape-tricks called 'crack' and whatever else. i think it was during one of these periods that i had one of my most electrifying encounters with him: i was walking the four blocks home from St. Anthony's one day, and saw him walking toward me, in the middle of the street, looking hard as nails, muttering to himself. it didn't seem like the time to start a conversation or be too bright and cheery, but i also didn't want to ignore him and possibly make him upset at that. i decided to try a simple friendly "hello" when he was a few feet away. at first he said nothing, then gathered up his breath and hurled a "FUCK YOU!" at me over his shoulder just as we passed. all i could do was keep walking, keep a calm exterior, keep heading home and hoping he was continuing on his own way in the other direction. inside i was reeling from the almost physical blow those violent words had produced in my gut. my trembling pounding heart somehow felt connected to every woman who has ever been demeaned, abused, belittled, threatened. i hurt more for him, for his mind clenched in anger that would lash out like that, than for whatever shock effect his words had on me.

the next time i saw him was at the Francis House Thanksgiving meal, where he still seemed to simmer with resentment at not being a part of all the tight-knit families around him, but at least he was civil to everyone, and barely acknowledged me when i walked around his chair at the table. i continued to see him sometimes, hanging around the friary, and we acknowledged each other with varying degrees of friendliness/grudgingness. i heard that he had been hurt by lots of females, that he didn't trust them anymore. okay, that makes sense, i thought. all i want is to be one tiny example of a female that is at least genuinely friendly and acknowledges him as a person with dignity and worth. Lord, show me how!

so i see this familiar face this morning. i haven't seen him around for a while lately, not since the week Brother Jerry died, beginning of March. he had a special relationship with Brother Jerry, one of those gruff-on-the-outside, but inside you know they've got some pretty deep soft spots for each other. Jerry was the one who most often signed off on the 'David Rivera feeding' record sheet. made him sandwiches, gave him bags of bread or boxes of pizza or salad stuff grown from his own garden. stood around and chatted with him for hours on nice days outside, or sat inside the church with him after daily mass in the morning, staying warm on brutal winter days. the last time i saw David was the day after Brother Jerry died, in the church parking lot, holding a bag of some food stuff. he looked like he had gotten a make-over, with a clean haircut, glasses, a baseball cap, and a hipster puffy green vest over black longsleeve shirt, i almost didn't recognize him apart from the usual layers of sweatshirts and greasy jeans.

we didn't talk that day in March; he was hunched over his food, and i had places to go, things to do, funeral music to get ready, etc. etc. besides, i didn't know what to say. i didn't know how he was taking the news of Brother Jerry's death, or whether he was even fully aware of it. so i kept my distance. and haven't seen him since.

until today. he was just standing there in the parking lot, with a pizza-box-full of cinnamon rolls that i recognized as a donation from a local bakery, which the church social worker had probably given him earlier that morning. great, he's got food for the day, i've got a few minutes to say hi to him and then i can be on my way, almost still on time for the FVM meeting. okay, he looks friendly today, more mellow than usual. i can do this.

"Hi, David! how are you?"

he does a double take. and starts talking, like i've never heard him talk before. i find out that he's diabetic, so he actually shouldn't eat all those cinnamon buns... i suggest that he can share them with his friends, and he looks at me like i'm crazy. tells me that he's forgotten how it feels to be around people, that every place he tries to stay, every female he tries to tell her he cares about, people just keep rejecting him, making an example of him as someone who just can't get anything right in life, who has no hope but to fuck himself up with drugs, but he doesn't want to do that anymore, he doesn't want to chase females, he just wants to be there for one person, but nobody seems to want to stay faithful to him, they all run off with other people and leave him out in the cold, again and again and again. he's standing there with this box of cinnamon rolls and is asking me, "hey, i don't know what to do. what do i do? you know, i don't usually do this, i don't ask females what to do, i don't even really know you, but i'm askin, what to do? what is there for me to do? ehh, i know you don't know, it's okay, sweetie. yo no se tampoco"

"and who are you, sweetie? i know i've seen you around, but what's your name, honey? i'm tellin you all this shit (excuse me, excuse my language) and don't even know your name, what's your name?"

i find out that he's about to turn 42, he has a daughter who's 21 and just had a baby girl, his granddaughter! and lives in North Camden, but he can barely see them. he has a cell phone, but it keeps breaking, and every time it breaks he has to walk all the way downtown to go to the place to fix it or get a new one. his ankles hurt from constantly walking. "would it help to put ice on them?" "honey, i don't have no ice. there's some people in a house down the street that sometimes let me use their refrigerator, but the same thing happens, they leave me out, they forget, i can't get in there. i don't have no ice. no lo tengo." "i'm sorry."

"man, why you standin here talkin to me?! don't you got things to do? i don't wanna be wastin your time, sweetie. man, you keep smilin, you're always smilin! you're makin me blush, sweetie, you see that?"

no, David, i don't really see it, but okay. and i can't help smiling! i know i'm blessed in a lot of ways, but even i've had some incredibly lonely times in my life, times when i've wondered why am i even alive, why does it matter, what's the point. and i know you can't always depend on people, even people you thought would always care and be there for you. but there's one Friend i've found...do you know him? isn't it CRAZY how GOD came to earth and had to be born in a stable with ANIMALS??! "i like animals" okay, me too. but then even in his life, he didn't really have a home, and people rejected him...isn't that crazy?? he knows what you're going through! he knows YOU!!! and loves you, David.

"i know, i know. you're makin me blush. but oh, man, these cinnamon rolls are getting heavy. what am i gonna do? i've got pizza somewhere that they gave me, too, but you can't live on just this stuff, you get sick... and i'm thirsty, too, you think i can get a drink?" i don't know David, maybe if you go to the park, maybe there's a water fountain there? [again, he gives me a look like i'm crazy, even though he had just said that he might go sit in the park]

every once in a while in the conversation, he throws out a phrase in Spanish, and one time he asks me, "comprendes?" and i say, "si, comprendo un poquito", and he's like "whoa! you got a cute accent there! how many languages you know?" "solo dos" "whoa, that is really cute. i mean it. you gotta talk more. that is a damn cute accent, excuse my language." now look who's blushing!

so, for over an hour, we stand there, talking, smiling, blushing. i'm getting a little hungry, because i had been planning to get to the meeting and take part in the coffee and refreshments. of course, this little soul-exchange has been more refreshing than any food or drink could be, but still, my stomach is growling a little. and he is holding a box full of way more cinnamon rolls than he can possibly eat. "David, can i have one of those?" "oh sure, sweetie, sorry, i didn't know you wanted one, i would have given you.." "oh don't worry, i didn't want one until just now. thank you!"

and so we break bread together. smiling. blushing. something incomprehensibly special has happened here. he insists i take another cinnamon roll to go with me, "take that one, the biggest one, in the middle, there you go sweetie". so now my fingers are all sticky, but i don't want to leave without some tangible touch to make this real.

"David, my fingers are sticky, i can't shake your hand" "oh sweetie, it don't matter, go ahead, shake my hand" "but - um - " [i try to lick my fingers off but i'm not fast enough] "David, can i just give you a hug instead?" "oh - sure - "

i will remember that moment forever, i hope. a moment of feeling so profoundly inadequate - i don't have the counseling skills, or the social work systems knowledge, or the medical contacts, or the authority with the church's resources to give him any tangible guidance or material things. but i could listen, human being to human being. i could assure him with all my heart that he is worth being alive, that he is and can be one of the good apples of Camden, that my hope is that he finds people who will consistently care about him and not pressure him to do things he doesn't want to do; that he can share his gift of singing with his baby granddaughter; that he continues to come to St. Anthony's when he is in need. "oh, i'll be back, sweetie, don't worry! you just made my day!" "David, YOU just made MY day."

and two blushing faces turn and walk on their way.

Good Friday: mi hijo, mi hijo!

most of it is familiar by now. i sing. i sit. i stand. i kneel. i bow my head to receive a flinging of water from Father Jud. i sing again. sit again. stand. kneel. sit. stand. watch a line of people file forward to kiss the crucifix. sing again. hold hands to pray the Lord's prayer. share the sign of peace via hugs, handshakes, air-kisses, and the two-finger wave. sit. stand. sing. watch line of people file forward to receive the Eucharist. sit. kneel. stand. bow head to receive the benediction. cross myself because i really do want to be a living moving loving image of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. amen.

and then i am whisked downstairs and given a white robe. told to sit while several women hover around my head, wrapping it in a blue sheet, and draping another blue-green sheet around my shoulders. Maria, Maria. now you are ready. si? vamonos!

we go outside, to the front of the church where la gente, the people are gathering. a fire department van is parked on the curb, door open and microphone at the ready so the readings and reflections can be heard by the multitude. police were supposed to come at 1:30 and block off River Road so we could safely walk the route of La Via Crucis, Stations of the Cross, but they're late, so a few usher-men with muscles stand guard at the edge of the crowd, waving traffic past us slowly, one at a time.

la primera estacion: Jesus is condemned to death. Pilate asks what the people want and the crowd cries, "crucificalo! crucificalo!" i shake my head helplessly, "no, no".

the second station: Jesus carries his cross. los soldados, the soldiers prod him on with stinging flicks of rope. i follow several feet behind, surrounded by a group of similarly-draped women. wailing. someone i love is going to die.

la tercera estacion: Jesus falls for the first time. i feel the clatter of the cross on the pavement in my bones. the women around me whisper, "llora, llora mas fuerte, Maria; cry harder, Mary". it is not hard to do as they say.

the fourth station: Jesus meets his mother. me. by this time the women are holding me up, physically supporting me through the convulsions of mourning, protesting against what is being done to my son. suddenly i break out of their arms, screaming, "!MI HIJO! !MI HIJO!" grasping towards him, let me touch my son! but the soldiers push back, grab my arms and return me to my place with the women, who rub my back and soothe my shuddering frame. i didn't realize how much grief energy that would actually evoke from me. i kneel. Maria, Maria. madre de Dios. ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte, amen. we move on. the rest of the walk goes by in a blur of feet and grass dimly seen through the bunch of blue cloth that i can't tear away from my face as i whisper, ?porque, porque sufres mi hijo? why do you suffer, my son?

la quinta estacion: Simon of Cyrene carries the cross.

the sixth station: Veronica wipes the face of Jesus.

la septima estacion: Jesus falls the second time.

the eighth station: Jesus meets the weeping daughters of Jerusalem.

la novena estacion: Jesus falls the third time.

the tenth station: Jesus is stripped of his garments.

la undecima estacion: Jesus is nailed to the cross. crucified. the crowd is electrified. we women keep on weeping, weeping.

the twelfth station: Jesus dies on the cross.

la decimotercera estacion: Jesus' body is removed from the cross. and placed on MY LAP. "were you there when they crucified my Lord? oh sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble..."

the fourteenth station: Jesus is laid in the tomb and covered in incense.

INTENSE.

i had no idea it would be such an experience.

such an honor and such a penance.

may we all recognize and choose to walk the way of the cross in our lives.

may we take the chance,

may we walk, stand, sit, kneel, run, cry, dance

the way, because we know the story doesn't end there. see you on the path, amigos. ;)

year.glass.half.full.

it is almost exactly the halfway point of my year of service in Camden, and my cup has already been filled to overflowing, more times than i can count. all i can do is name a few grains from the hourglass of this year's passing, a few drops from the River Grateful:

- St. Clare House, where i live with three other Franciscan Volunteer Ministers (FVMs), now has a prayer room! with sage green walls we painted ourselves, cheap gray carpet we installed ourselves, a comfy couch from craigslist, a bunch of pillows from Goodwill for sitting on the floor, a small table populated with candles we've been given, a space heater we were given by someone at church who had an extra, a zen garden populated with rocks from the recent demolition of the most hazardous house in our neighborhood, a little lamp, a framed picture of Jesus laughing, and a frame containing four watercolor pictures created by each one of us FVMs. it is already a life-giving space for us and it is exciting to think of how it will be a blessing to future volunteers, too.

- Francis House continues to be a haven. a family. a breath of fresh air. a healing prayer. a place where we remember, in the (slightly modified) words of India Arie, that the worst disease in the world is not cancer, it's not AIDS; the worst disease in the world is fear and hate, and the cure is love. and love certainly lives here. it is a place where those whose lives have been unalterably affected by HIV and AIDS come and are invited to experience that healing love and spread it to others. and they definitely spread it to me, every day i walk in the door to spend time there.

- i already know the names of all my new students in both the morning and evening ESL classes, which just started a new term this month. so far, they seem to understand when i communicate in Spanish, and they seem to be growing in understanding and confidence of how to communicate in English, and they even seem to enjoy the comic relief of when i get mixed up and things come out in Spanglish :)

- the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd graders still ask me if they can sing the songs i taught them for the Advent Pageant and for Martin Luther King Day. some of them swarm me when i enter their classrooms on Friday mornings, and some of them are constantly complaining that someone else is talking, and some of them ask to go to the bathroom every five minutes, and some of them burst into renditions of "we will, we will, rock you" whenever i have them start tapping or clapping a beat, and yet all of them have memorized how to sing "hello" in eight different languages and seem to proudly raise their voices as we start each class with this greeting to "all the children of the world!"

- i now have a chance to call upon my choral/vocal experience in order to lead breathing exercises, high sighs and sirens, and other warmups with the new choir for middle schoolers, as i assist a fellow FVM in directing them on Wednesday afternoons. we have started off our repertoire with a favorite of mine, "Siyahamba/we are marching in the light of God", and they seem to be rolling with the syncopation pretty well and even shaping their phrases a little bit. watch out, Chanticleer.

- the Camden Peace Art Project has been re-visioned by another fellow FVM and myself to integrate music and peacebuilding activities along with the primary focus on art skills and projects. AND, we have received several generous gifts and an important grant that is enabling us with not only the resources but the essential element of hope that we need in order to continue offering this biweekly after-school program for the children of this city.

- last week was Christian Unity Week in Camden, organized by CCOP. the kick-off was on Martin Luther King Day, with a workshop series throughout the day at St. Anthony's, all about community organizing, because that's what Dr. King did so phenomenally and got in trouble for, not just community service, not painting walls or picking up trash or serving in a soup kitchen, as helpful and necessary as those things may be. each evening there was a worship gathering at a different church around the city, and a different pastor/priest/preacher delivered the 'word', and different community members read the scriptures and prayed the prayers and made the announcements. BUT, the same choir, the Camden Christian Unity Choir, led the music every night. and i was in it. :) we sang mostly some contemporary gospel standards, but they also invited me to teach them a couple of songs in Spanish. claro que si, cantamos "alabare, alabare, alabare, alabare, alabare a mi Senor!"

Monday night at Camden Bible Tabernacle

Wednesday night at St. Bartholomew's Roman Catholic church

St. Bart's

Thursday night at Faith Tabernacle Church

Friday night at Antioch Baptist Church

feasting.for.peace.

so, this past weekend i experienced a major milestone in the Franciscan calendar and in the life of the parish of St. Anthony of Padua here in Camden: the Transitus and the Feast Day of St. Francis.

the Feast day was on Sunday, Oct. 4, so all three morning masses were dedicated to celebrating Francis' life and example to us as a lover of Christ, people, and all living things. afterwards, many people brought their pets to the front steps of the church to receive a prayer of blessing from the priests - what a lively riot of cats, birds, hamsters, and dogs of all shapes and sizes! and what an act of mindfulness and gratefulness to God - this decision to intentionally, publicly dedicate even the animals in the household to the purposes of God, to acknowledge how all living things can point to the beauty and creativity and love of God. even the Francis House birds, which sometimes stink and squawk our ears off... they got blessed that day, and they can be a blessing, too! and maybe by their very helplessness, their constant demand for attention and care and cleanup, they may help us to practice love and cultivate humility...let's hope so!

the Transitus was Oct. 3, this past Saturday. the occasion, commemorating the date of St. Francis' death, was marked by an evening liturgical service. the Bible study group that i have been attending with my fellow FVMs and several families from the church, called Quest, was asked to prepare and lead the service, so i was privileged to participate in:

- welcoming people at the door

- handing out programs and candles to each one

- walking silently and joyfully in the opening candlelight procession into the church

- watching a slideshow/video of the story and sayings of St. Francis as he faced and welcomed his death by inviting his fellow religious brothers to his bedside and encouraging them to love God and be faithful to the Gospel

- listening to the same passage from the Gospel of John 13:1-17, which Francis asked his friends to read to him right before he died

- listening to Deacon Fadi, a Franciscan friar from Jordan, share a reflection about St. Francis' life of peacemaking, particularly his efforts to care for creation and to befriend the Sultan of Egypt in the middle of the Crusades

- eating the fresh, soft roll of bread that was handed to me and to each one there, so we could communally remember and experience the way St. Francis wanted to share abundantly with everyone in need

- introducing the intercessory prayer along with my roommate, Norma, who said: "In the spirit of St. Francis, we pray for peace in the world, in our city, in our church, and in our spirits, by lighting these candles and speaking these words that mean 'peace' in 14 different languages." and then i said: "esta noche, oramos por la paz en el mundo, por la paz en nuestra ciudad, en nuestra iglesia, y en nuestros espiritus, mientras que iluminamos estas velas y decimos estas palabras que significan 'paz' en catorce lenguas diferentes. entonces, en el espiritu de San Francisco y en el nombre de Jesucristo, oramos: paz y bien (spanish), salaam (arabic), shalom (hebrew), amaithi (tamil), shanti (hindi), amani (swahili), mir (russian), hoa binh (vietnamese), he ping (chinese), paix (french), frieden (german), pace (italian), irini (greek), peace." as i said each word, one of the Quest group members placed these prayers for peace in front of a candle and lit it, and when all were said and lit, everyone said together, "Gracious Lord, hear our prayer"

- witnessing the blessing of a relic of St. Francis, which was a small scrap of cloth set in a metal medallion with a clear glass front, which was further set in the center of a gold cross, similar to these pictures:

- holding hands with everyone in the congregation to pray the Lord's Prayer

- shaking hands, hugging, or cheek-kissing everyone who recognizes us FVMs on our way downstairs for the refreshments after the end of the service

- sampling various treats including a home-brewed hot chocolate with cinnamon, cubes of 'pasta de guayaba' (guava jelly/paste) with cheese, pumpkin spice mini-muffins from a local bakery, and a peach jello-cake with cool whip and fresh blueberries on top (made specially by one of my fellow FVMs, with my help frosting and designing the blueberry placement pattern :)

- going home inspired to read more about the life of St. Francis

also on Sunday, i was able to visit the First Baptist Church of Moorestown, a wonderfully welcoming little community, which was celebrating World Communion Sunday. so, the children's sermon featured several baskets of traditional breads from various countries and cultures of the world, and the grown-ups' sermon emphasized the message that even though there are so many different traditions of how to share in the Lord's Supper/Communion/Eucharist/etc, and so many different explanations or doctrines about what actually occurs in that mystery of broken bread and poured drink and human bodies-minds-hearts and God's presence all meeting together somehow...even though all these divisions seem to exist and complicate our existence, still we can meet together, we can share the experience, we can be shaped more and more into the fullness of who God means us to be, to be like Christ, to affirm with our whole beings that there are many kinds of feasting, but "there is one body and one Spirit - just as [we] were called to one hope when [we] were called - one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all." (Ephesians 4:4-6)

what a vision of unity; wholeness; peace. i'll feast to that.

spanish.crashcourse.coming.up.

so, the sweetest thing happened to me last night right before ESL class - this tiny, well-wrinkled yet wiry Mexican lady comes into the church basement where we have the classes, and we think she's there to register for english class, right? no. she points straight at me, so i come over to her and she wraps me in a giant hug (although she only comes up to my armpits, well maybe shoulders, almost, she fits under my chin for sure), calling me "mi hijita, mi hijita", and when she finds out my name is Anna she says "ahhhhhhh! anita, anita!!!", and says (in spanish) she wants me to teach her to read and write in Spanish, and will i tutor her twice a week for two hours? well, i looked at my schedule and i really only had one afternoon a week where i could do that, so i offered that, and she was overjoyed but kept teasing me to make it two days a week, but finally we agreed to start with one day a week, and... i'll see her on monday! to teach her spanish literacy and grammar! craaaaazinessssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and she wrapped me in several more hugs and chattered away to one of the other ESL teachers who speaks Spanish, before she left, trailing a bubble-bath of smiles. she had just disappeared out the door when i realized i didn't even know her name!!! luckily she was still on the stairs, so i caught her and got her phone number and found out her name, etc.

so here's what i know: i will be spending two hours a week with an absolute BUNDLE OF JOY. i am... inexplicably excited about this. who knew i would be doing this?? who knows if i even have the ability to??!!! but somehow, i feel more confident about this small assignment that i am certainly NOT qualified for (only remotely, at best), than i feel about the three main ministries i've chosen that i actually have some college education in. go figure. pray for me!

keys.to.life.?.

my dear friends, here is a good tip for life: try not to lock your keys in your car. but if you do, try really hard not to leave your cell phone in the locked car, too. oh, and if all else fails, just please, PLEASE, try not to have it happen on a day when you have to be at a meeting within an hour and a half with the Refugee Education Committee at the Department of Education, where you have never been before, with your internship supervisor and about 10 other education professionals all in attendance there.

but, even if that whole scenario is absolutely unavoidable by this point, and you've trekked over to an office where they let you use a phone, but you can't get ahold of the people across town who could potentially bring you your extra set of your car keys.....you never know if it could turn out to be the highlight of your day. you know, you might even make a new friend.

i did!

well, just so you know, it's especially helpful if that friend is a friendly, assertive lady who has leased cars for 8 years from the same dealer your car happens to be from, and knows exactly where the closest dealership is, and calls them and finds out all your options. especially if she finds out that it will take about 5 minutes and 5 bucks to cut a new key, instead of the 55 minutes it would take your other friends to drive to you with your key, or the 45 minutes it would take for a roadside assistance professional to come and break open your car for $50. and it's kind of great if she offers to take her lunch break and drive you to the dealership, and if she tells you all about her high school sons who she says are strong Christians and good at everything under the sun, and her 20-something niece who has traveled all over the world and speaks French and Chinese fluently and sounds like she could be the President someday. annnnnnd if you check 'yes' to all of the above, then hey, it's probably a good idea to buy her lunch on the way back, even though that is a totally inadequate thank-you for all she's done for you.

but if all this is true, then you may find yourself in a state of some dismay that she doesn't seem to want much thanks at all. you get the feeling that what she really wants you to do is to thank God.

which is, really, by that time, all you can do.