The Beginnings of a New Adventure

We are about to embark on a journey a bit unlike any other that we've experienced thus far. It's a journey that has probably been discouraged just as much as it's been encouraged. By well-intentioned friends and family members. People who love and care about us who wonder if we're making a wise decision. Will we be safe? Is this the area we want our future children to grow up in? What about the violence? And the schools? And the poverty? And the crime rate?

Yes, we are aware of all of these things and more. While I've never questioned my safety, it is simply undeniable that we'll be living in a neighborhood with a drastically higher crime rate than any we've lived in before. I'm well aware of the challenges in our school district. After all, I've spent the last 2.5 years doing everything I can to combat them. And I also see the bright spots of our schools. Every. Single. Day. And that part about future kids? It is absolutely a resounding yes - this neighborhood is exactly where I hope they'll spend their most formative years.

Will there be challenges? Without a doubt. Am I ready to face them? Honestly, probably not. But am I willing to dive in wholeheartedly, holding nothing back to make my home in this neighborhood? It's easy to say that there aren't many things in life I've ever felt more sure about.

I know that there will be challenges and struggles and experiences that will undoubtedly break my heart, my spirit, and my will. I know that there will be countless tears cried, innumerable times of asking, why God?, and almost assuredly sleepless nights. Sadly there may be broken relationships, difficult discussions, and uncomfortable moments. Am I scared? A little. Am I nervous? A bit. Am I ready? Not really, but absolutely.

I realize the fact that I'm white, that I have a master's degree and a good job that pays well should mean that I never have to live in a neighborhood like this one. I grew up with both a mother and a father whose love was never questioned. I attended private school. I participated in just about any and every extracurricular activity possible because we could afford to and we had transportation. We never thought of ourselves as rich, but in so m any ways we were - and I am. I'm privileged because of where I was born, because of the color of my skin, because of the opportunities afforded to me throughout my life.

I'm privileged to be sure. But I am not better than, more deserving than anyone else. Why is it okay for the children and young people I love to live in a neighborhood with a high crime rate, but that's beneath me? Oh but it's so wonderful that we let them come to America. This has to be better than the places they've come from. True - most times it is. But if it's great for them, but not good enough for me, what does that mean if not that my life has greater value? That is a like I simply refuse to accept.

As we move into the neighborhood, it's not to "save" anyone or anything. It's to become neighbors, share the love of Christ, welcome people into our home, and build community. It's to develop relationships which allow our friends and neighbors to realize their full potential, start to dream for their own futures, and become agents of change in their own community.

I hope our move builds bridges. Bridges that allow people who look like us, believe like us, and are in the same social circles as us to have their eyes open to a whole new world of beauty and diversity. Bridges that allow our refugee neighbors to know that we are more similar than we dare to imagine and that we are no better despite our privileged position in this society. Bridges that cause our children not to think of their Congolese, Nepali, Burmese, Karen, Karenni, Iraqi, Somali, Sudanese, Ethiopian, Eritrean, Rwandan, Burundian, Yemeni, Vietnamese neighbors as different and other but as brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins and friends.

Christ doesn't call us to the comfortable, the easy the safe. He calls us to a life of sacrifice, selflessness, and stretching. I'll be the first to admit that I frequently fall short. I accept the call when I want to, when it's convenient, when it's not too uncomfortable, and when my safety isn't in question. But when I'm tired or overwhelmed or just don't feel like it, I pretend I haven't heard the call or that it doesn't apply to me.

Jesus tells us to love our neighbors. And while I know that this goes beyond our definition of what a neighbor is, I'm beyond excited to literally love my neighbors - the ones I walk with on the streets, the ones who live next door, the ones I run into at the ethnic markets and the corner stores. The ones I'll have the opportunity to do life with simply by virtue of living nearby.

And this adventure? I'm so unprepared and yet so ready all at the same time. My prayer remains the same: God, break my heart for what breaks yours. Open up my eyes to the unseen by so many. Allow me to be your hands and feet. As we embark on this adventure, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will learn SO much. And I hope, just as I do everyday at school, that I might teach even half as much as I learn.

The Burden and The Blessing

I love my job. Simply put, there is absolutely no task that I can imagine doing that would bring more joy, more fulfillment, and more of everything wonderful in my life. Each and every morning when I get out of bed I know that I am going to have the opportunity to interact with, to teach, and to learn from some of the most remarkable young people on this planet.

This is my third year teaching ESL full-time in an urban school district and it is, by far, the best one yet. The past two years I have taught middle school. This year, I made the move to a school a few blocks from where I have spent the last two. I teach in a building that gets a really bad rap due to its location in the most impoverished area of our city, the lowest graduation rates in the area, and who knows what else. But, can I tell you something? This place is unbelievable. I am amazed each and every day. Overwhelmed too, but amazed. And there is no place else I would rather be. 

At the beginning of the current school year, I had 13 students...yep, only 13. They had been in Syracuse ranging from 2-8 years and had all tested in the lowest two levels of English proficiency. Over the last few months, that number has more than doubled...I think the last count had 27 on my roster. I've welcomed siblings from Somalia, Sudan, and Vietnam. I have received other new students from Nepal, the DRC, Iraq, and Burma. Refugees, mostly. A few immigrants...but mostly refugees. Some have come knowing a little English while others know none. Some are 14. Some are 18 (or so they say, but I'm really convinced that a few are pushing 22). Our classroom is a community that celebrates diversity in all of its beautiful, wonderful, various forms. And I love it.

Each of my students has a unique story. Some that I know well and could rehearse back to you. Some that I know brief snippets of. And some that I have not even begun to hear. But they all have a story. 

Sometimes when I hear their stories or see glimpses of them in the eyes of my students, it becomes a burden that seems far too heavy to carry. Sometimes when I realize that our broken system is expecting students who have never before had access to formal education to pass difficult state exams without first learning the basics, I become overwhelmed. Sometimes when I see the brokenness that continues to pervade their lives after they have come to a "better" place, my heart breaks and the burden seems unbearable. Sometimes when I realize that I am one of the first consistent people to welcome them and help them adapt to life in a new country, I begin to feel inadequate and burdened once again. 

But then there are the other moment. The other days. The ones in which I am overwhelmed by the blessing that this work is. The moments in which students who have had everything stacked against them overcome the odds and experience incredible academic success. The days on which my students ask seemingly silly, yet indescribably meaningful questions like, "Can I be your sister?" The times when I realize that I have the undeniable, absolutely incredible privilege of walking through life day by day, side by side with some of the most resilient people on this planet. 

These "kids" are going places in life. They know where they have come from. They know what they have overcome already. And they know they aren't finished yet. They journey on day by day, one step at a time. And I'm the lucky one who gets to watch and learn and celebrate and sometimes even teach them a thing or two. 

I pray that even in the moments that I feel burdened and bogged down and inadequate that the reality of this blessing might shine through in an undeniable, unbelievable way.