where everybody knows your name.

"I have always depended on the kindness of strangers..."

--Tennessee Williams in A Streetcar Named Desire 

One of the main values of Casserly House is to simply be a place where we welcome the stranger (this literally means anyone who steps through the front door); this emphasis on being welcoming is particularly meaningful considering the community that we serve.

The vast majority of adults that we work with are recent immigrants who speak very little English. Because of this, many of their daily interactions are often less than pleasant, as people are impatient, make unfair and incorrect judgments, and treat them with less respect than they deserve. As S. Nancy would say, "People just aren't nice to them." Likewise, for many of the kids that we work with, home is not always a welcoming place.

While I have always valued hospitality, this year has taken it to a whole new level, as I have had the privilege of learning to be with people and to be open to whoever walks through that front door. However, while I'm here to minister to them, it's ironic how frequently the people end up ministering to me. I cannot even begin to explain the kindness and generosity I have been shown. Frequently, I have ended up feeling like I am the one is being welcomed.

I am fully aware that my journey does not even begin to compare, but the fact remains that this year I have also been far away from home and family and all that I call dear. While my cultural adjustment has been significantly smaller, the students of Casserly House have never failed to welcome me and made me feel at home, especially at the beginning of the year when everything was new at Casserly House and in Boston.

One recent example of this: I was feeling slightly under the weather yesterday morning, so I went into work about two hours later than normal, meaning I arrived right in the middle of morning ESOL classes. Before I even stepped in the front door, I was greeted by a 7 year old on the front porch screaming my name and throwing herself at me to give me a hug. "We can go inside now!" she exclaimed. Apparently, she had been worried about me all morning and had been waiting for me to arrive on the front porch. The rest of the day continued in this vein, as numerous ESOL students and volunteers expressed their concern for me and how I was feeling (and seriously people, I was absolutely fine).

It's one of the beautiful ironies of this year that at my worst moments, when I feel the most disgruntled and disappointed with people, that someone will step in and express extraordinary kindness to me--even when I am in many ways still a stranger. On my most difficult days, the people of Casserly House have always been there to lift me up. It's been a rough week for me on a personal level, where I have frankly felt pretty disappointed by some individuals. But just when I begin to doubt, these folks step up and remind me how cared for I really am. I can almost feel God's comfort wrapping itself around me just by being in their presence.

My experience of community at Casserly House has been nothing less than beautiful, as I have witnessed people coming together regardless of national origin, cultures, religions, and backgrounds. On the best days, I take a moment to pause and think: this is the kingdom of God at work. This is what community looks like. This is how we are supposed to live.

The old saying is true: "It is in giving that we receive," and as I have learned to be welcoming, I have been welcomed. It is in these relationships (and so many others) that I have so frequently learned to find myself over the course of this year.

"In all the successes and failures, ups and downs, crazy and sane moments of my life, I have learned that I become who I am through my relationships with other human beings. And in those relationships, I uncover the tracks of the God's relationship with me." 

--Gary Smith, SJ

month eleven.

Towards the end of the school year, one of the After School kids (we'll call him J.) developed the habit of telling me that I was "breaking his heart." The reason for this was usually because I informed him that it was time to do his homework. J. was known for being just a little bit melodramatic.

The best was the day when he yelled, while walking out the front door of Casserly House, "MEGAN, why are you always BREAKING MY HEART?!" It was all I could do to not start laughing in his face.

Those who know me well will know that, like J., I harbor some over-dramatic tendencies. These days I feel a little like him when I think about the impending end of JVC. I just keep thinking, "JVC, why are you always breaking my heart?" Honestly, it's almost like JVC is trying to break up with me, and I just don't know how to let a good thing go.

-----

In the spirit of Month Eleven, here's the letter I wish I could write:

JVC, why are you trying to end things? I've given you almost a year of my life--eleven months to be exact. (But let's be honest, I've really been infatuated with the idea of you for much longer.) It doesn't seem like it was that long ago that our relationship began, but in other ways it feels like a century has passed.

We have shared some great moments over the course of the year; we laughed, we cried, we sat around and talked all night about nothing. You have taken me from Baltimore to Blue Ridge to Boston... then up and down the East Coast, from Philly to Portland to DC to NYC and back again.

Of all of the gifts I have received, the people you introduced me to is what I cherish the most--the strangers who became my community mates who became some of my best friends, the ESOL students whose kindness and hospitality floored me, the kids who left footprints on my heart, the other members of JVC East who made my year so wonderful, even the people I didn't meet--the kids, clients, and women whose stories I just heard pieces of.

But I also gave up a lot for you--most importantly, being near my family, my friends, and my beloved Missouri. I worked for less than minimum wage, moved in with strangers in a city I had never set foot in, and committed to challenging myself on a daily basis. I gave up my pride, my comfort, and my preconceived notions.

I gave myself over to you, for better or for worse, crossed my fingers, and hoped that it would be for better--that I would be for better because of you. And I like to think that I am.

But now, after all that we've been through together--the good times and the bad times--what do you mean, you just expect me to leave? That in two weeks, you are going to "De-Orientate" me, send me to one last week of work, then you expect me to pack my bags, leave this house, and fly away from Boston?

Letting go isn't easy, and much like the way relationships can slowly, gradually decline, while I'm clinging to these last moments, part of me can already tell that you're slipping away. I'm slipping away.

Endings are so bittersweet. I always knew this wasn't forever, but I also thought that this year wouldn't end quite so quickly, that I wouldn't leave it so... attached. To Boston. To these four faces around the dinner table every night. To the life that I built for myself far away from all that I had loved.

Oh, JVC. By the end of this, I'm pretty sure you'll have ruined me.* 

month eleven.

the last week of after school. saying goodbye--for now. shoe shopping. reading tattoos on the heart in the common. 80's milkshake at max brenner chocolate. harbor islands trip. georgetown cupcake grand opening.

three day weekend: bunker hill day. a schedule change. seeing the kids in a new light. strawberry planting: part 2. newark weekend. visiting nyc: bryant park, a failed shake shack trip, the highline. sundresses and watermelon. the ironbound.

pre-camp craziness. jim's last day. dinner with some hometown faces. fro yo by fenway. cops vs. kids softball game.

pizza, gelato, and hanging out in the north end. nahant beach day. flying kites. sailors + sissy k's. early monrings at st. cecelia's. lots of job hunting.

fourth of july in boston. abby's week. asian food in cambridge. red sox-yankees at the bleacher bar. a day at the cape as a community. the start of summer camp.

* For those who don't know, JVC's really cheesy tagline is "Ruined for Life." Sorry I'm not sorry.

tattoos on the heart.

I have read a lot of books this year, both fiction and non-fiction, but the book that has impacted me the most has easily been Fr. Greg Boyle's Tattoos On The Heart.

We were fortunate enough as a community to hear Fr. Greg speak in Boston about a month ago, and I read the book shortly after. Maybe the timing was just right, but his speech/the book gave a voice to so much of my experience this year through his message of kinship, solidarity, and dignity.

As I read, these two quotes in particular stood out:

Here is what we seek: a compassion that can stand in awe of what the poor have to carry rather than in judgement of how they carry it.

Sr. Elaine Roulette, the founder of My Mother's House in New York, was asked, ""How do you work with the poor?" She answered, "You don't. You share your life with the poor." It's basic as crying together. It's about "casting your lot" before ever becomes about "changing their lot."

This year has taught me so much, and one of the most important things has been this centrality of sharing stories, of knowing and being known, and putting a face on the abstract.

Needless to say, I plan on purchasing my own copy of Tattoos on the Heart after this year is over, and I have a feeling it will take up permanent residence on my bedside table. Out of the 30-ish books I have read so far this year, it is the one I most wish I could give a copy of to everyone I know.

school's out for the summer.

After School is over. After School is over. Forever. (Well, for me at least.)

In fact, it has been for a few weeks, but I have been so busy preparing for our summer camp that I haven't had much time to process that I'm actually done. My main work-related responsibility for the year has ended. It's over. I finished. I did it. And that is such a bizarre feeling. There were days when I never thought I would get here... but by the grace of God, I did.

Honestly, the end of After School was so bittersweet. I got kind of emotional talking to the kids on the last day. Yes, I still have camp with most of them, and many of them stop by so often that I sometimes forget that the program is officially over... but it's still not quite the same.

So, I'm still very busy, but it's a different kind of busy. My whole rhythm at work has completely changed now that summer is really here.

To answer everyone's questions about what I am doing in the meantime: in short, a LOT. As mentioned, I have been preparing for and helping execute a two week summer camp for the kids that will happen July 9-20 (which I am really excited about!). I have also been continuing with my other duties, ie. helping with ESOL, keeping track of donations and writing thank you notes, updating the website/Facebook, and getting things ready for next year's JV.

I wish I had some more conclusive thoughts about the end of After School, but at this point my thought process basically goes something like this: "It's over... some how. Let's get through camp, and then I'll think about it."

I can't believe how close to the end I am. Wow.

month ten.

 

Yesterday was the end of the year celebration picnic at Casserly House. During the afternoon, the ESOL students, After School kids, their families, neighbors, and other community members gathered to celebrate the end of the school year and to enjoy being together. We had food, games, and a raffle, and each student received a certificate acknowledging their participation in the programs. I loved the entire afternoon--meeting the family members of the ESOL students, being around the kids in a different atmosphere, and seeing my housemates experience Casserly House.

But the most touching moment was easily when one of the ESOL students gave a short speech after receiving her certificate, during which she said the following: "At Casserly House we are like a family. S. Nancy is your mother, Jim is your father, and Megan is your sister."

That is one of the biggest compliments I have ever received, but I think it says less about me personally and more about why Casserly House is so special. I always say that I'm grateful for the people in my life. I am even more grateful for the people that have let me be a small part of their journeys over the past ten months. I will carry those memories (and so many more from this year) with me long after my feet have left this place physically.

month ten.

picnics at the public garden. fro yo. being a grown up. foley's. st. cecelia's. loving people well. baking baking baking.

making challah with the roommates. earthfest. harpoonfest. afternoons reading in the arboretum.

 

dinner with sarah. countdown to memorial day. red, white, and blue. 

road tripping to maine: the way life should be. jvc spring break '99. sun's out, gun's out. #hashtags. sonic, fog, and going out in portland. bromance.  jumping in the ocean. an afternoon at the beach. 

grendel's. goodbye beers. abby's birthday. watching food stamped. rainy. weekend. free doughnut day. popsicles with mike. haymarket. :[ last spiritual direction session at athan's. pierogies. fjv barbeque.

 

seeing fr. greg boyle speak. castle island with the esol students. the scooperbowl. the aquarium. roslindale farmer's market. fornax bread co. finishing the freedom trail. climbing the bunker hill monument. going out downtown. visitors. mass by myself. casserly house picnic.

 

on unexpected answers to prayers.

As I sat in Mass this morning and waited for the prayers of the faithful to begin, I paused to take a minute to think about what my own personal requests were. Guidance. Peace. Wisdom.

Not even ten seconds later, a girl walked down the aisle next to me, straight into my line of vision. She was about nine years old, with straight brown hair, wearing a pink skirt and white t-shirt. Printed across her shirt in bright, colorful letters was a single phrase: "Follow UR heart."

I don't know if I have ever received an answer to a prayer so quickly. I guess this Ignation idea of finding God in all things isn't something to joke about!

In all seriousness, however, one of the things I am learning because of this year is that God speaks to us in some surprising ways, through things both big and small, dramatic and very ordinary. I think many people expect to find God in a church, but they don't expect Him to speak through a cheesy t-shirt slogan.

But I think that's one of the things I most love about this adventure we call faith: that God can't be contained by the limitations that we try to put around Him. He can speak through the humblest of things, and He will do whatever it takes to reach us. And at the end of the day, I think He has a sense of humor with us.

So, where does that leave me? I guess I'm just going to try to keep listening. Follow your heart, indeed.

the last days of after school.

Back in September, making it through the first day--and then the first week!--of After School at Casserly House felt like a huge accomplishment. I didn't know then how much more difficult things would get, how much these kids would push me to grow, and how challenged I would be.

In many ways, I haven't spoken much about the specifics of my job and daily work in this space, and that's for several reasons, but basically, it's something I am so wrapped up in that it's hard to wrap my head around.

After School has easily been the most challenging part of this year for me, as I thought it would be. These kids have broken my heart in the best and worst ways. They have disappointed me, made me want to scream in frustration, and have given me some truly terrible headaches. And then, somehow, they have made me laugh.

I have heard their whispers about violence on the streets at night, houses where there doesn't ever seem to be enough food to eat, and the empty and lonely apartments that they dread going home to. I have seen tears stream down their faces as they relate the story of that day's bullying and witnessed the daily frustrations of dealing with schoolwork that they don't know how to begin to approach.

I have been in awe of their talent, of their potential, and of the kindness that they are capable of showing to each other. I can't wait to see who they become, and part of me desperately wishes I would be around to see it. Some of my most cherished moments have been spent just enjoying their company.

I will be brutally honest and say that this year has taught me that I do not want to continue to work with children, not because it isn't valuable and meaningful work, but simply because it isn't where my gifts lie. I know that now, but that doesn't mean that I regret this time or wish I has spent the year doing different work. To say that I have learned more working with these children than being in a classroom could have ever taught me would be an understatement.

Now, there are only two weeks left of After School. In the scope of the whole year, that's hardly anything. But it's just enough time to end the year on a good note.

I have made a lot of mistakes this year. But as I look towards the end, I become more aware than ever, that while this program has focused on the academic success of these children, that's not the real measure of success. The kind of success that matters cannot be measured; it doesn't show up on report cards and progress reports.

I just hope they end the year a little better off, with a little bit more confidence, and a little bit more knowledge of how loved and valuable they are.

One of the hardest realizations of this year has been knowing I can't change so many things about their lives. I can't make problems at home and bad situations disappear, can't enroll them in better schools, or can't make sure they always have a warm dinner on the table.

There is so much I can't do, but what I can and what I will do for the next two weeks is be there everyday from 3pm to 5pm, for whatever they need, whether it is math homework or just someone to listen.

And some closing words of inspiration that I think are applicable to my situation as a JV, but also to so many others that we encounter in life:

"It helps now and then to step back and take a long view. The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a small fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work. Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of saying that the kingdom always lies beyond us.

No statement says all that could be said. No prayer fully expresses our faith. No confession brings perfection. No pastoral visit brings wholeness. No program accomplishes the Church’s mission. No set of goals and objectives includes everything.

This is what we are about: We plant the seeds that will one day grow. We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise. We lay foundations that will need further development. We provide yeast that produces effects far beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something, and to do it well. It may be incomplete but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker. We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.

We are prophets of a future not our own."

--Archbishop Oscar Romero