Faith in Advent

I’m understanding more and more that faith is about showing up.

That’s all I’ve been able to do this first month in country. Show up. This is because, by and large, I’ve spent most of my time recently waiting.

Between May and November, I waited for my departure day.
When I arrived here, I spent the first two weeks visiting the different Jesuit works here (three schools and an afterschool center for kids in need). I waited to move in with my host family.
I moved in with my host family, spent days at my school, Miguel Pro: in meetings, observing classes, practicing teaching. I waited for Christmas.
I spent Christmas with my host family, and I waited to move into the JV house.
I moved into the JV house, and I’m waiting for mes de misión, a month-long service project in a small mountain/desert town with kids from the school.
I’m waiting for school to start in March, when I’ll know my students, classes, etc.

All the while, I’m waiting to feel at home: for the day when language, friends and work come a little more naturally… it’s the “feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.” –Teilhard de Chardin, S.J.
Clearly I’m praying for patient trust.

How appropriate to have spent my advent season waiting! It’s hard to wait because there isn’t a lot you can do while you’re waiting. I still don’t know a lot about life here, so I’m really limited. I can’t even prep for my classes because I don’t know what/if I’ll be teaching! Unable to see the “final product” (after all, like Romero says, we’re the workers not the master builders) and anxious to encounter some sage-like version of myself that will emerge in a few months or even a couple years, there is one thing that I can do every single day. I can show up.

Sometimes I bring a lot to the table, like when my Spanish is inexplicably on fleek. These are the days full of possibility, and I’m excited by the magic of this desert.
Sometimes I show up with very little, like when I’m feeling down or broken.
These are the days I do the best I can and let God and the people around me take care of the rest. But each day I show up- without knowing what I’m doing or where I’m going. Truly, this is an act of great faith.
I’m praying to be a better worker (Romero).

And each day, I encounter God. I see God in the far-off Andes mountains during a bus ride. In the kindness of my coworkers. In my welcoming community mates. In the wind. In feeling peaceful or at home. Most of all, I see God in all that She has to teach me here. God is in the opportunity, in the hope.

God is with us in the suspense, helping us show up each day as we wait for the coming of His son. And so we can rejoice in the anxiety of feeling ourselves in suspense and incomplete! This is the time we discover the joy of God helping us (Psalm 13). While being frustrated with the waiting, how we falta (lack) with our humanity… suddenly we are given reason to celebrate humanity. This is the greatest reason of all- the birth of Christ. So at midnight on Christmas Eve, break out the panetón (a Christmas season staple in Peru… sort of like a fruit cake), chocolada (hot chocolate), cuetes (fireworks), besos, abrazos and of course
La Paz

Maddie

The Why Question

I feel like I have a capacity for great light, but it feels accompanied by a deep darkness

  

When I tell people what I’m doing for the next two years, they usually ask “Why?”
It’s a good question. Not many people choose to leave the comfort of home and enter into the unknown: culture shock, a new job, foreign language and a volunteer lifestyle. But I never really understood the why question. Oftentimes my discernment process to enter the Jesuit Volunteer Corps actually felt painfully obvious. I identify so closely with the values of the program (social justice, simple living, spirituality and community) so closely that it felt as if they were a part of my being. Therefore, this seemed like the best way I could offer my gifts to the service of God. Obviously this would be how I could come to know God, the poor and myself. These seemed like important things to get to know better. I felt sure. Better yet, I felt called, a deep conviction to live life as an international JV for two years.

Then comes the follow-up question, “But aren’t there people closer to home you can serve?”

This question too was understandable but unwavering for me. I never saw a difference between people close to home and people here in Tacna. People are people, and there is one human family. Simply because some people are closer to me in location does not mean that they take precedence over others. God gave me the gifts and the desire to serve people’s needs here in Tacna. Therefore, those are Her children I will accompany right now. 

Three weeks into the JV life, I finally understand the why question. This is because I now ask myself “why” every single day. It didn’t hit me- the doubts- until I boarded the plane. Since opening the gates, the doubts have flooded in; they invade my spirit.  It took me a while, but I finally settled into post-grad life at home.  And I grew to love and appreciate my home community more than ever. That great community of support, of loving family and friends, waiting for me a plane ride away makes doubtful times feel treacherous. If I can serve God and others closer to home and- better yet- also serve my family and friends, why am I not doing that?
God, why am I doing this?   

Even more dangerous- what is so wrong with me that I need to go so far for so long in order to encounter (God, the poor, myself)?

The invaders exhaust me- more than the language and the newness of everything. Throughout the internal confrontations, the ups and down, there is this small, peaceful part of myself. This part, which I often choose not to listen to, is enough to help me pray for hope. I hope for greater faith- in God and in myself. I pray for the patient trust to listen to this part of myself. This peace must be Grace because it certainly does not come from me. (This extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us. 2 Corinthian 4:7) With this light comes the responsibility to allow myself to be a ray- to let God’s light shine through me. When two years feels too extraordinary, I am thankful for God’s sustaining power. God’s grace would never take me to a place it could not sustain me. I hope I can believe in the slow work of God enough to allow for so much light that there can’t even be shadows of doubt (much less darkness).

Departure date

Departure date is here. I burst out laughing when I told a friend that I’m leaving. I’ve been waiting so long… saying in a few months, in a month, in a few weeks… the words felt like a joke. At this point, I want to share some words of gratitude for my time home as well as speak to the nerves filling my stomach. And of course I want to do so through prayer. One morning of orientation, we prayed with the gospel story about the widow who gave her few coins to the church’s donation. Jesus told those who gave large sums of money that this woman was the greatest because she gave from her lack. The others gave from their surplus. We were challenged to think about how we as volunteers can give from our poverty in the next two years.

I was stumped.

JVC felt like the perfect place. It’s values align with mine so closely, It is so me! Furthermore, I got a great placement where I feel like I can use the gifts God gave me. I felt like this is where I shine—giving from an abundance of talents. I’m literally giving from my surplus because I have the time and opportunity to volunteer.
Stumped.

It took six months at home to remember my abundance: my family and friends, my city, my communities, my whole network of support. I am grateful for this time because I fell in love with my home again. I come from a good place full of good people who care for me. I want to thank everyone who made this time so special. Thank you for your unceasing love and support.

This blessing of gratitude also comes with a gift of nerves as I face my poverty. I’m now acutely aware of exactly what I’m giving up for the next two years: my unbelievably loving home.
Family and friends, you are my abundance. My cup overflows! (Frankly, on departure day, I feel pretty stupid for leaving you.) Giving up this abundance of life-giving water is how I’m currently giving from my poverty. I hope that my choice to give from my lack will be a (very) small act of solidarity with those who are forced to give from their poverty.

Paz,
Maddie

The Summer Update

As the first winds of fall finally trickle into the deep south, I am reminded to finally post the summer update. It’s about kids, dogs, the Jesuit identity and, por supuesto, mi Diosito. {of course, God}

            For me, the big event of the summer was the Big-O, orientation for my class of international Jesuit volunteers. On that day, my journal entry started…

“July 8. This date has been on my calendar for a long time. The flight I’m sitting in has been booked for a long time. And yet the past couple days I’ve been nervous laughing that I am so ill-prepared to go to orientation. I pictured myself as the most copada {cool} girl around going into orientation… But I’m just scraping by. I’m doing by best, and most of the time I’ve been feeling like my best isn’t good enough. Which concerns me because I’m about to meet this insanely impressive group of volunteers… So I’m not going to orientation super copada. I’m going messed up, under-prepared, tired and broken… I’m going vulnerable. I’m coming as I am y solamente, exactamente mi. Not a perfected me. Just me. And I’m going to ask this insanely impressive group of people to love me for me anyway. God help me.”

I arrived to Scranton, Pennsylvania with this image of a Jesuit volunteer- someone cool, adventurous, worldly, sage-like, reflective, just, intelligent, kind, fun, most likely with dreadlocks... And when I pictured myself as a Jesuit volunteer, I saw my perfected self. Without even realizing it, I had developed an expectation for the type of person I would become over the next two years. Pretty bold, right? Even bolder? Somehow I developed an idea of the type of person I would live in community with for the next two years. Yikes.

Then I met my “classmates.” In encountering and growing alongside my new JVC family, I quickly learned that there is no singular JV identity. Some JVs are cool. Some take selfies on iPads. Some know a shocking number of musical soundtracks. Not all JVs have “adventure sandals,” but I believe all seriously enjoy ice cream, volleyball and just dance. We come from a host of different cities, experiences, communities and spiritualties. We all have graces to share and much to learn. Learning alongside my tribe, I have never been more humbled and honored. I am humbled to learn from my peers like never before. I am honored to be included in this band of rockstars- to be counted among the most passionate and compassionate people I have ever met.

No, I did not feel prepared for the Big-O. I did not feel the sense of balance and peace I so often saw in former Jesuit volunteers. Honestly, I could barely keep track of the mailers JVC sent me over the previous months. And my departure date felt (and sometimes still feels) so far away. My mind felt inattentive, scattered and unintentional; my mind was nowhere near Peru. But the more I thought about it, I realized that I had been practicing life as a Jesuit volunteer all summer. And that is because I spent the majority of my time with kids and dogs. I had this image that my time between graduation and departure would be filled with self-care. I wanted to be physically, spiritually and psychologically AWESOME going into orientation and my two years in the field. I wanted to be this image I had of a Jesuit volunteer. (Which, to review, does not exist.) But instead of learning Spanish, how to play the guitar, marathon training and becoming a master yogi, I spent a lot of time with kids and dogs. It wasn’t until orientation that I realized that 

I was being present all along. To the kids and dogs. (Well, mostly the kids. I could have been better to the dogs. Sorry dogs.) I watched two of the greatest tiny humans around this summer, my two-year-old cousin and his (at the time) seven-month-old sister. No matter what I had going on, when I was at work those kids had my attention. I kept track of their schedules. I watched them play. I was always doing one thing at a time: focusing on those kids. Which you would never guess considering I was often literally holding, juggling multiple things, often including a child. I was prayerfully, present and attentive. Even the tiniest of humans (and dogs) know when you are fully present.

This was a new experience for me. I knew what it felt like to be present, to be engaged, plugged into life. I knew what it felt like to show up. To find God in all things. Pick your tagline. During college I learned how to be present to my life. In a summer of parenting I learned how to be present for others. And in doing so, I discovered a capacity for love and service I didn’t know that I possess. That is what makes me a Jesuit volunteer.

Paz,
Maddie   

Paz Means Peace

"Peace is a product of justice, but justice is not enough. Love is also necessary. The love that makes us feel that we're brothers and sisters is properly what makes true peace. Peace is the product of justice and love."

-Oscar Romero

In Spanish, paz means peace. As a Jesuit volunteer, I will intentionally spend the next two years engaged in social justice, simple living, spirituality and community. I will be serving as an English teacher in a Jesuit school, helping with pastoral ministry and living in community with three other Jesuit volunteers. My blog is an invitation into my life as a peacemaker. I hope to share what I learn about justice and love through my experiences accompanying my brothers and sisters in Tacna, Peru. Thank you for your desire to walk with me in my journey.
Paz,
Maddie

See the Leaves

I've got a thing about leaves.

Leaves
Are
Spectacular

They are full of life, full of different colors and shapes and sizes. They befriend the wind and dance in the sunlight.
But the reason why leaves are so special... why we savor a really crunchy leaf and marvel at the light in a canopy... It's because leaves are usually just blobs. Typically we don't notice them. So, when we take the time to see the leaves, we realize that leaves are spectacular. We think, "How am I missing out on this?" I love leaves because they are so ordinary, but we find they are extraordinary when we really look at them.
Leaves are my small reminder to engage in the world around me.
We forget (at least I do) to pay attention and participate sometimes. School, jobs, events, drama, planning... we focus on the shit and fail to see the leaves. We forget how to live alive and engaged with the world around us.
Leaves remind me how I want to live.

So, how fitting is it that I graduated on the Avenue of the Oaks?
The end of college is hectic: senior projects, graduation events, the last moments with friends, hosting family at school...
I was so busy that I wasn't really paying attention to the spirits moving within me. Despite the emotionality of it all, I was somehow on autopilot.
Then I looked up at the canopy and saw the leaves of those grand oaks doing their familiar dance with the morning sunlight. And I welcomed tears for the first time during the graduation ceremony. I listened for the birds and rustle of wind. After weeks of stress, I breathed because I could see the leaves. In this moment of wonder, a deep gratitude filled my lungs. This felt like a beginning rather than an end.

I learned a lot during my time at Spring Hill- about myself, God and the world around me. College (especially this past year) was a spark plug. I shot out ready to set the world on fire, specifically by serving as a Jesuit Volunteer. However, my two-year volunteer rotation does not start until November.
I decided to start my blog here because this will be my challenge for the next six months:

to see the leaves.

My JVC journey began months ago. Through discernment and the application process, I found a home with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps. Here, I can continue growing in Ignatian spirituality. I can continue becoming myself as I learn more about how I am connected to God and others. As I begin making my home in JVC, I embrace a simple and intentional lifestyle. This is the way I want to live. This is the way I know how to be alive. My desire to be alive, to be fully present, means that I look to my November departure for Tacna, Peru with great joy and excitement. But this desire is so strong that I cannot wait six months!
My life does not begin with Tacna. My life is now. So, now when I am living at home, nannying, coaching... now I need to participate in the ordinary. That doesn't mean giving myself a long list of things to do or accomplish during this time to make sure I "get out" or "experience life." It means engaging in daily life- even if that is going to the bank, cleaning my room and cooking dinner- and especially if that means walking with Mom, dancing with the kids and kayaking with friends.
I refuse to wait, so I am challenging myself to see the leaves. Friends and family, bienvenidos! Welcome to my struggle to see. Thank you in advance for accompanying me now and throughout my JVC journey. I look forward to being present with you in this intentional, joyful and meaningful time!

Paz,
Maddie