We Jump, With No Fear

It seems like lately; everywhere I go I meet people working in non-profit sectors and within social justice ministries. But not just volunteers, they are the creators and founders. They are the people working to create better lives for others. Many are young, intelligent people who could most likely be making much more in the corporate or business world.

Maybe this move towards fixing the injustices in the world has come from our being children of the recession. Maybe it is because many of us have been affected by the job market, the loss of a house, or have seen family members struggling to make it from paycheck to paycheck. I see my generation as one that understands hard work. We understand the value of a dollar and the irrationality of lavish spending. While I am not naïve enough to believe this is true for all people, I do think there are many of us whose lives do reflect this way of thinking. I believe there was a shift in thinking that began when our economy began to fall.

Unlike our parent’s generation, we are not being tied down to mortgages because, instead of buying houses, we buy plane tickets. We are travelers. We want to see the world, understand other cultures. We open our eyes. We jump, with no fear, into the unknown. I believe we are strong, we are passionate and we are devoted to taking part in something bigger than ourselves.

We are dreamers who seek to enrich the lives of others because our hearts scream at us to make a difference. Somewhere in between the September 11 attacks and The War on Terror, we realized that above all, love must exist in our lives. Not only love for ourselves but for others. We must take care of each other.

And with that comes responsibility. But it’s not easy. Those of us who have volunteered with a non-profit or fought for a cause know that it takes a lot of work. There are long hours, days of regretting the high-paying jobs you gave up, tedious tasks of inputting data for the organizations and nights you wish you could spend your evening at home watching TV rather than editing your third draft of a grant application. Yet, we devote the time because we understand that real lasting change doesn’t come easily or quickly.

Recently, my friends began an organization called Live a Life of Love. They are a San Diego based non-profit apparel company that donates 100% of its profits to charity. They believe in encouraging the world to live a life compelled and fundamentally governed by love. They chose GenerateHope as one of their three beneficiaries.  I feel blessed to have the support of my friends and encouraged to support them in return. It is a reminder that we all work together as one to seek justice in this world.

We are children of the recession. We are movers and shakers. We are a community of world changers.

I’m sure there are those who may disagree with all of this. You have purchased a home in the past decade, you are happily settled down and enjoy the job you have. This is just as exciting to me because we each have our own stories to tell. You are dedicated to your families and jobs and learning how to help out your communities. And maybe one day that will be me. But for now, I won’t plant my feet until I have seen the world and fought for justice in every way that I can. This is my story.

How do we change the world? By one act at a time. Through one person inspiring another person. Through ideas that lead to actions. Through saying yes to freedom and no to fear. By loving fully.

I am inspired.

Avasa & Matty Love

Amazing Amy

Family Dinners and Movie Nights

"I'm really glad you're here," she said. This wasn't the first or even second time she'd said it. And yet, each time felt just as sincere as the first.

"Me too," I smiled. 

As I unpacked, she sat on my bed watching "Mean Girls," her movie of choice. She thumbed through my old photos as she watched while laughing out loud at scenes on the TV screen. 

Blacks, browns, blues, now reds, now yellows, greens. My clothes always hung in order of color in my closet, it makes choosing an outfit easier. I had unpacked these same clothes many times over the years. My dresser, old, brown, and beaten from various moves, held my belongings just as comfortably as it did 10 years ago when it was purchased.

But this time, unpacking was different.

My clothes fit in the closet, my photos hung in similar positions on the walls and my bathroom carried all my toiletries. This new home wasn't going to be like any I had lived in before. Nothing about this place would be just another living situation.

"Mind if I lay down?" she asked.

"No of course not, get comfortable"

After the movie, when all lights were out at the house, and the women were in bed, I began to realize what an exciting experience this would be. This home that will be my dwelling place for the next few months is home to women who had been previously sexually exploited. Their lives had been about dark streets, hours of men looking for pleasure, and verbal and physical abuses of pimps. I will never fully grasp any of this. 

But movie nights, ice cream dates, Nintendo contests, these things I can relate with. Late night chats and family dinners, these are my new reality. When I wake up in the mornings, I'm no longer only responsible for myself. I am a house mom, I am there to be an encouragement to the women, to be a disciplinary figure, and to be a friend. We are going through life together and learning from each other.

The next morning, I headed to work and returned home late. I had missed dinner and the women had already left for their AA meeting. After showering, I continued to unpack and organize my room. Hearing steps and voices come through the front door I soon realized the women were back. It didn't take long before I heard her familiar voice.

"Where's Nicolle? Is she in her room?"

A knock on my door followed.

"Come in!" I exclaimed.

This same girl from the night before was eager to see me and chat about our days. She had missed me. I felt wanted. We spoke of the long day and headed to the den to watch a new movie. 

I am at the GenerateHope house to share love for these women. And yet, in the few days I've spent there, I have been shown more love by this woman than I could have expected. I'm nervous about what my role at the house will look like, the times when things won't be as easy. Things will get messy. Arguments will ensue.  But what good is life if you choose to hide behind fear and never step out and experience new things?

I am grateful for this new time in my life and can't wait to see how I will be challenged and changed, even in this short time.

I Am the 9/11 Generation

Story by Carrie Adams, Sojourners Mag

For every American student, September starts a new year. September was a time to put away the suntan lotion and refocus on studies — on more serious pursuits. Gone were the carefree days of summer, and in came the weather that lives perfectly in my memory — those almost orange leaves, crisp blue skies, and the faint smell of autumn in upstate New York.

I remember it like this 10 years ago. Fourteen and gearing up for a Varsity volleyball season, I had it all. I had only one worry — that my dad would forget to pick me up from practice, which he never did.

My class had just finished homeroom – it was my friend’s 15th birthday. I don’t remember singing, but I’m sure we did. I moved into my world history class, I think we were on the Greeks. And then, it changed. My choir teacher rushed in and frantically told us to turn on the television. We saw the hallways fill with teachers.

I remember staring at the screen, watching what had to be a movie. It couldn’t be real. I was too shocked to make sense of it. A boy in my class started to panic. His dad got on a plane that morning and was flying out of New York. He bolted out of the classroom, racing to find a phone, tears in his eyes, thinking of the unthinkable. His fear blinded him, overtook him and his memory — his dad’s luggage was in the kitchen that morning; he had been rerouted and flew in late the night before and was safely asleep at home. We kept watching the coverage, caught President Bush’s hasty, honest press conference, and heard, for the first time, someone say, “war.”

The whole of my political memory has been war. Sure, I was around for Bill Clinton, but George W. Bush is the first president I remember engaging with and my memory starts with retaliation, with vengeance, with war. I have nothing else, but I long to move past it, to find a new way to heal, not through violence, but through dialogue.

And so here we are, 10 years later, looking back on a decade of conflict, still so blinded by our own fear that some of us rage against Islamic centers and spew hatred instead of hope. I am the 9/11 generation. It is the event that marks our lives: before and after. But we see our new world only through the fog of war, through the haze of misinformation that has become the norm. We have the specter of war, but it has been so prevalent that we barely notice it. But when we do reencounter it, when it stares us in the face, like it does this weekend, how can we respond? How can we reconcile our fear and our need for closure? Bush chose violence, I choose peace.

Sojourners and the World Evangelical Alliance co-sponsored a press conference this morning overlooking Ground Zero. (The picture above was our view from the conference.) We brought together voices to remind us of every angle of this event, including the global impact, the ongoing healing, the biblical call to reconciliation, and the Christian response to terrorism. More than 5,000 people have also signed our 9/11 Commemoration Pledge,agreeing to stand shoulder to shoulder with people of all faith and of no faith, who are helping to build a nation that reflects our best values.

I’m proud of this event, not for what it is, but for whom it represents. For the Christians who welcome Muslims into their neighborhoods. For the Protestant firemen who let Catholic priests pray over them that day. For the little girls who sit at lunch tables with the new kid in school. We’ve been instructed to love our neighbors and as far as I can tell, persecution, prejudice, discrimination, and picketing outside a mosque aren’t part of ‘love.’

And so with this September comes another a new year, a time to reconsider our commitment to unity, to mourn the loss of life, but to clear the fog of war and move to a more just, welcoming world.

He's Not Perfect