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i have decided that pretty is a lie December 18, 2008

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Being back in San Francisco is hard. I go back and forth between being depressed and motivated. I miss the Lower Nine constantly. Everything here seems meaningless. Each day in NOLA, I was doing something to make this world better. Today, I’m working on accounting work for my boss. It’s depressing relative to the work I was doing in LA.

I went shopping the other day. Walking through the grocery store, I smiled at people like I was still in LA. Some people looked at me funny, but those smiles landed me in a random conversation with a woman in the parking lot. So I think I’m going to keep acting like I’m in the south, because maybe I’ll get to talk to elderly women in parking lots.

I’m going to let time pass like it does in the South. It matters more how much heart I can put into things than how quickly I can get things done. I’m thinking that school should be part time. Or maybe I’ll take a semester off to do more volunteer work during school time and save money so I don’t have to charge as much of my life. Maybe I won’t have health insurance, but I’m starting to find that everything works itself out. As long as I’m not valuing the wrong things in Life, I’ll have what I need.

Last week, I ate normally. I ate peanut butter and jelly. I ate lots of carbs. And I didn’t feel bad about it. My tummy was bigger than normal and I didn’t care. Last week I was dirty and chubby and maybe even stinky and I didn’t care. I was beautiful last week. I met some gorgeous people last week, none of whom were wearing makeup or nice clothes, and most of whom were in tattered, dirty, second hand clothing. I guess I’ll see how things progress as I spend more time at home, but I think my eating disorder is on its way out of town.

And I hope I keep saying “y’all.” As of now, it’s still in my vocabulary.

lowernine.org December 9, 2008

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For those of you who read past links, take note that the organization I went down to New Orleans and worked with was lowernine.org. It’s a small, grassroots organization based out of a mostly-rebuilt home in the Lower Ninth, formed of volunteers from everywhere– Quebec, California, New York, Maine, Michigan… and working with members of the Lower Nine community, who also show up in the morning to help everyone get the work done. The organization was started by a man named Rick Prose. You can read a bit of his story here.

I am asking for a trip back to lowernine.org for Christmas. My experience there was so powerful and the people I met so amazing that I cannot fathom anything I’d want more than to go back and devote more of my time to the most beautiful city I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting (of course, tied with my dear San Francisco). New Orleans has a vibrant culture. The surroundings are as colorful as the people. The artwork is bright and painterly; the music is lively and soulful; the food is flavorful and generously portioned; the architecture is unique and diverse; and the people are all of the above. Never before have I truly met so many people in such a short period of time. The city wears its heart on its sleeve and invites you in to share in its abundant Love. People talk to you and share themselves with you the moment they meet you. This city lacks the facade that most other places I’ve been have. I’ve never thought of my lovely San Francisco as being cold or unfriendly, but in contrast with New Orleans, San Francisco is New York (Sorry, New Yorkers, I had to). Yet, it’s not because Americans are unfriendly or uncaring that New Orleans is not rebuilt– it’s because people don’t know.

One of the things Mack told us while we were working on The Village was how he was initially angry that Americans were not making their trips down to New Orleans, that the rest of the country was not helping the Lower Ninth Ward. He said, however, that as more volunteers would trickle down to their corner of Louisiana, he realized that Americans don’t know how bad things still are down there. The media and government have seemingly forgotten about the lasting effects of Hurricane Katrina and most Americans assume that everything is a-okay again. However, most of the money that was promised to those families whose lives were destroyed by the hurricane haven’t seen their checks come; the community is still in a seeming standstill, with most people’s homes standing just as they did the month after the storm hit.

I urge you to open your heart to the people of the Lower Ninth and give some of your time or money (or hey, both!). The year by which New Orleans is expected to be rebuilt, at its current pace, is 2028.* Can you imagine waiting 25 years to have your home and your city back? That, my friends, is quite frankly unacceptable. We need to change that “current pace” so that people can have their lives back. It is unjust. The state of New Orleans is a wound in God’s side. This is quite seriously one of those topics about which we need to ask ourselves what our teacher, the Christ, would have done. Or Buddha. Or Gandhi. Or any non-nihilist atheist. Every Life in this world is valuable and it is unacceptable to let the lives of those in the Lower Ninth Ward slip through the cracks simply because we don’t have to look at them every day. If you cannot muster a tangible gift of labor or funds to the efforts in the Lower Nine, please keep them in your prayers and/or thoughts.

I believe (and so do others) that the Lower Ninth can be rebuilt if we simply put our hearts and minds in the right places.

I went to lunch with my grandmother the other day. She, in discussing the recent election results, was appalled at other members of our family who voted in self-interest… who, owning multi-million dollar homes (yes, that was plural) and having no small amount of disposable income, were afraid of taxation policies proposed by one or other of the candidates. She reflected on a moment when she returned her stimulus check, sending in a letter requesting that the money be sent to someone who needed it. To people like my grandmother and many others who received those checks, that amount of money was unimportant. $X wasn’t going to make a difference in her quality of life, so why not send it to someone for whom it would? Some time afterward, a news network contacted my grandmother and asked if they could interview her and air something about her on television. She said no. She didn’t want any attention for it.

Most of us spend our money buying ourselves more than we need. I can count 3 things on my desk that I could absolutely survive without having purchased and 4 more things that I probably could have spent less money on. If I could cut back on things like that, I could put that money toward more important things– like, oh, say, feeding the hungry and housing the homeless.

Most of us know this. Imagine if we could Live it.

Can you say “kingdom”?

*According to RAND Gulf States Policy Institute (New Orleans).

sermon on giving December 6, 2008

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The Sunday after I returned from New Orleans, I spoke as part of my minister’s sermon. Should you care to listen to the sermon, you can find it here

pictures from carpenter’s house December 3, 2008

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So while I haven’t received any pictures yet from the people I went to NOLA with, these are the pictures that someone from Carpenter’s House 2 sent me. It was a nice surprise today.

This is Lou, me, and Suni. We are downstairs explaining to Lou the mural that we are making.


This is Lani, working with one of the boys at Carpenter’s House 2:


This is me and a couple of the guys at Carpenter’s, chattin’ it up on a water break:

This is me cheating and taking a break to play piano. However, the man who sent in the pictures included a special note for me, saying how much he enjoyed my piano playing, that amidst all of hard work and destruction of Katrina, I was playing a pretty song on a junk piano. It was a nice surprise this morning.Here are some of the people from LowerNine.org and Carpenter’s Enjoying lunch on Friday, our last working day in New Orleans. We made a nice big lunch that day… stewed potatoes and carrots, brisket, hot dogs, rolls, cookies, and punch. It was great to see everyone enjoy such a nice meal… there are a lot of peanut butter sandwiches goin’ on for volunteers! Also, this lunch feeds the community, so I got to see a lot of people coming to Carpenter’s to enjoy a meal. Carpenter’s likes to make really nice stuff, not just simple food. It’s bad enough that most people can’t afford decent food around there (or are hungry), so they try to do their best to make a decent meal.I decided to spend my lunch serving that day, since I’d been at Carpenter’s helping to prep it.

The people at Carpenter’s were super friendly and encouraging. I hope that when I am able to make my way back, I will find some of the same people there.

you can find out more about Carpenter’s House here

marks December 1, 2008

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So the bruises on my legs that I earned my first day in New Orleans are pretty much gone now. It kind of reminds me of the cat scratches I continually wore as prizes from playing with my old cat, Tommy. After Tommy died, I was extremely saddened when those scars faded. Similarly, I’m sad that I no longer have visible marks from my time spent in New Orleans.

life is weird November 28, 2008

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Sunday back

So today was weird. I woke up and my life was dragging. And dragging.

I went to church. I spoke as part of Penny’s sermon. It was hard. Apparently people responded really well. A lot of people had good feedback. My mom came to church and I think she really enjoyed the service.

I spent the rest of the day at my parents’ house. I talked to them a lot. My dad said he’d been thinking about volunteering.

I asked for a trip back to LowerNine.org for Christmas. I don’t know that I’ll get it, but maybe I’ll get help.

I’m starting to feel better again. As I spoke today, as I talked to people after church, as I talked to my parents tonight, I was spreading it. I was doing something again.

I just know I need to keep doing things like this. I am thinking about trying to find an organization in the Tenderloin where I can help my community here in San Francisco.

I saw a shooting star on the drive home tonight.

Easy is the new hard November 25, 2008

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Easy is the new hard
Someone asked me last night if I was excited to go home. I’m not, necessarily. My life seems so trivial.

On the flight to L.A., the center seat of my row was empty. The other girl near me ran into an old friend, who moved to our row. The whole flight, this woman threw herself at the guy. Stupid notes in his iphone… “you’re hot.” Leaning on him and kissing his butt and being that stupid girl from every movie. I couldn’t stand her or her designer clothes. I wanted out.

This girl was culture shock after spending an amazing week among the selfless, non-materialistic people I was surrounded by.

You’d think after staying in dirty bunks and showering in a dirty bathroom all week, I’d be excited for my clean apartment and big bed and clean shoes, but I’m not.

My old cruddy jeans which now have a tear and multiple paint stains are now my favorite pair.

But I am excited to give my mom a hug. I am excited to visit my grandma. I am excited to go to church.

I can’t tell whether I’m happy or sad right now. I think I’m both.

That’s probably how it should be.

“what we do” from rick prose on Vimeo.

I had the blessing of seeing Jenga’s finished home while I was in New Orleans. Joe was house-sitting and taking care of her cats while she was gone for business.

giving November 23, 2008

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I said something to this effect in Church last week:

This past week was truly a blessing in my life– the generosity of the volunteers and residents in New Orleans was overwhelming. If I ever doubt the goodness of Humanity, I know that I’ll only ever need to look over the journals and photographs of this trip to remind myself how beautiful we all truly are.

I expected a week of feeling depressed by the Lower Ninth Ward community, but most of the tears I shed were of gratitude and joy. One of the people our group was blessed to meet and work with was a man named Mack,a lifelong resident of the Lower Ninth Ward. After Katrina, he bought a building that he intended to use to work on antique cars, but the day that he stuck his keys in the door, he knew that he had to make it into a community center. However slow-going his progress, he radiates a joyful energy and patience. And while his vision takes all of his time and energy and yields him no profit, he says it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done.

This attitude is pretty pervasive. The volunteers get up early in the morning and break their backs doing work they probably never anticipated taking on at a different point in their lives.

While it can be frustrating to think about how much faster work SHOULD be progressing, there is no sense of resignation. Everyone spends each day getting things done with the mantra: “You do what you can.” And while this effort is certainly “work” in the sense that it takes a lot of time and energy, the attitude is extremely far from a “work” one. It isn’t a job, it’s living. I knew that I was alive while I was acting in community and in full consciousness of our
interconnectedness. The work was so joyful that it felt not like I was giving, but like I was receiving, like I was living, like I was home in the presence of God and good people working together for a better world.

life in a fema trailer from rick prose on Vimeo.

disorganized thought in an airport November 22, 2008

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The easiest thing. So many of us major in things that will lead to this or that. We get jobs to pay the bills. We do with our lives things that we think will bring us joy. A vacation in Hawaii? That most certainly brought me joy, but the type of joy I experienced in the people of the Lower Ninth Ward was an entirely different animal. The happiest people I met were those that woke up early each morning to break their backs. Git Er Done. It may be easy to become frustrated knowing how much more efficiently things can be done… The money, the material, and skills are lacking, yet each day, things get done. You do the best you can… and that means something entirely different from the context I normally think of it in.

Giving here is not work. It’s Life. It is times when I am giving that I am giving that I know I’m alive. My back hurts and my knee pinches and my heart is full and I know I’m alive.

All I seem to think about it how I’m going to get back there.

Comfort. I believe I sang. And I am alive.

Please God, let your spirit stay alive in me and in the Lower Ninth.

While the frustrations compound, there is no sense of resignation.

You are what you give. I think of identifying myself in a lot of ways in life… a liberal, a Christian, a woman, a student. Neither “builder” nor “painter” have ever really made it onto that list.

“What Tourists Don’t See” from rick prose on Vimeo.

hope is a 4 letter word November 20, 2008

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This has been the most amazing trip. The people here are amazing. I’ve experienced a level of hospitality I didn’t know was possible. I never thought of SF as being superficial, but compared to here…

I would quite seriously consider moving to the lower 9th after getting my M.Div. and trying to create a ministry here. God is alive in this community.

I’ve only been here for a week and I just don’t know how I’m going to go home. Life seems so trivial and the things I spend my money on seem so pointless. I am going to ask for a tip back to the Lower Ninth for Christmas. I doubt it’ll happen, but I’d love it to.

I need to come back here. I need this.

This is a new video posted on Rick’s blog recently. The man being interviewed at the beginning is Matt Grigsby, our project manager at lowernine.org. Keep in mind that this video is CURRENT. The Lower Ninth Ward still looks like this.

if people treated people like people November 18, 2008

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Today I spent the first half of the day SCRAPING PAINT. It sounds boring, but the boys and I made it pretty fantastic. We wrote a movie script about the passions of paint scraping, made songs about it, designed the anti-amusement park (full of things like scraping paint, sitting on hold, watching paint dry, etc), and continuously cheered for paint scraping.

SCRAPING PAINT, SCRAPING PAINT!!!!!

I met Albert and Louis in the afternoon, who were working at Carpenter’s House 2. They were both over-qualified for doing the work they were doing, yet could see doing nothing else. They told me how they originally got started working for Common Ground, the first organization to form after Katrina. However, they saw corruption rising and got out of the situation. They wanted to be helping their community, not stealing from it.

Cresent City Carpenters is the vision of a man named Charles, who was one of the friendliest and most affable men I’ve ever met. Though their theology is much more conservative than my own, he told me never to listen to people who underestimate me because I am a woman, that God spoke through more women in the Bible than men. Each day I meet the most amazing, friendly people. It makes me think I should move to the South.

It was Rick’s 50th birthday. We had a celebration for him and afterwards, were given the opportunity to hear his story. Rick is from Maine and grew up visiting New Orleans. After Katrina, seeing how little progress the Lower Ninth was making, he knew he had to do what he could. He talked to us about how the community is so different from what it used to be.

Afterwards, Albert told us his story. He and his wife broke through the roof of their home during the storm. His wife, he said, found a crowbar in the pitch black of their attic, illuminated by light. He says it was a miracle. They, like many other people we’ve met here, spent 3 days on their roof, waiting for help that never came. No one came to help them for a week. When they tried to get into the city, people were there with guns, refusing to let the starving people of the Lower Ninth enter safe grounds. The community was forced to break into stores and steal food in order to survive their days stranded. The death and complete chaos of Katrina was all around them. He says his wife is in another area of the country now. He hasn’t seen her in 2 years. Every time it starts to rain decently, she freaks out and cries, thinking it’ll happen again. So many people aren’t right after Katrina. Yet, so many people like Albert have started giving their lives to their community, determined to make it right.

After most people were in bed, I talked to Albert and another girl about religion which was really cool. She was telling me about a really cool place where she worships, that seems a combination of Christianity and karma. Cool. We know I dig religion convos.

Each day I’m going to bed late, getting up early, working pretty hard, gaining new bruises and scratches, and yet I am happier than I can remember being in a long time. Thank God for Life and the Life God is bringing back to the Lower 9.

menopause be damned November 17, 2008

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The church moms, as we’re calling them, keep joking that I am going to know way more about menopause than I’d ever need to know. They’re funny. Despite the age difference, they are awesome.

Today was the first day that we really worked. The people were amazing. Kids on their day off from school showed up… “What can we do?” While much of my interaction with them was tossing a beach ball over a temporary wall, it was also talking to them. One of them had found a purse the other day and was now in trouble for keeping what was inside of it. His friends were defensive. “It wasn’t me. We know, he’s a fool.” It was good talking to them though. I told them owning $500 pants was ridiculous and that the kid could have looked for an ID in that bag. I don’t know that I had any lasting affect, but hopefully The Village will.

These kids are growing up in a neighborhood that’s only seen 12-17% of people return. Crime is pretty abundant. The kids are brave.

We worked on the site of The Village, a community center that a man named Mack is building. He has a vision for a place where the people of the Lower 9th can come together and kids can find forms of enrichment and stay out of trouble.

People say hello to you as you walk around, but they don’t just say “hello,” they ask how you’re doing.

Today, while we were moving a super heavy piece of equipment (3 of us) from one side of the building to the other, because it wouldn’t fit through any doorways inside, a man stopped on the street, jumped out of his truck, and offered us help. He left his car running in that high crime neighborhood and helped us push the thing around back. He didn’t leave until we said “thank you” in that way that implicated that we no longer needed his help.

The people here are grateful. They are helpful. They are real. This is everyday. This is their community. We are the community.

This is a community and it all comes together.

The people at lowernine are all from different places. They have different takes and experiences and yet are all still the same… they have the same spirit of God. We came here to help because it’s what needed to be done. This is what gives life meaning. I think my congregation is changing the perception of “church” people in the way we treat people. Awesome.

Tonight we went out to Hi Ho in the Lower 9. We all (20 something of us) crammed into a van which rumbled along the blocks to the bar. The driver gave the dashboard a hard pound to turn the radio on and we all sung oldies together on our way. We trundled out and to the bar, where people were circled with guitars, upright basses, slide guitars, and banjos jamming on bluegrass songs. It was such a celebration of Life.

We are alive. This is life. We do the work this world needs to see done and then we love the way this world needs to be loved. The people don’t care how you’re dressed, how you sound, or anything like that. It’s a community and you are part of it just by being. That is the God community that we need to see.. that sense of unity. The big city becomes a small world as we all find we are from similar places and care about the same thing– justice, patience, change, and peace.

on a scale of green to purple November 16, 2008

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Sunday

This morning I woke up at some disasterous hour (aka: 5am) to head to SFO. My flight was at 7.38.

As I hung around the airport, the overhead announcement continued to remind me that our country was at Threat Level Orange. What does that even mean? What is this arbitrary color scale? Don’t numbers make more sense? Are the colors on some kind of ROYGBIV scale?

Whatever.

We flew into MSY right at sunset. The city looks beautiful from the sky… the lights looked like burning embers and the Mississippi reflected the sunlight so that it appeared to be a river of precious metal.

As our rental made its way from the shiny airport and toward our destination, I felt something in my chest. No, it wasn’t just my congestion.

More than 3 years after Katrina, the Lower Ninth Ward is still in a state of utter distress. It’s shameful and tragic that in the wealthiest nation, a community finds itself so abandoned.

We’re working with http://www.lowernine.org, which is based out of a small Lower Ninth home. It’s housing 25 people with 8 to a (small) bedroom (crowded into bunks with sleeping bags) and 2 bathrooms for all of us to share. More people show up at 7am. About 40 of us eat breakfast together and then begin to work at 8. At 4pm, our day is “over.” We all make and eat dinner together and the evening is ours.

The house is dirty and cramped, but the people are friendly and energetic. Everyone seems to wear their heart on their sleeve and I feel safe here, even though the neighborhood is apparently very dangerous.

We went out in the French Quarter tonight. Burbon Street is a little nuts. The art is amazing and the culture is lively, despite the situation.

This universe is God. As long as NOLA is in ruins, it is a wound in God’s side. I have a feeling everything will look all the more tragic tomorrow in daylight.

I dunno.