My Letter From the President

It was a cold night in a cold, empty room. Like many nights in my first year of college, I was by myself in my single room. I was very sick, and though I didn't know it at the time, about to get a whole lot sicker.

But tonight--this night--felt warm. I had voted in my first election, and I had voted for the first African American President. I was excited--and scared. I felt that this was an election that mattered, because it was about change, even though  plenty of people said that this kind of promise was dumb and naive. Barack Obama had no platform, they said, he just threw around nice words and made promises he couldn't keep.

But I heard plenty that was completely different than what came before. It was a call for diversity and inclusion, a call to replace war with diplomacy, and to set aside mistrust of other races and religions. In his acceptance speech that night, this is what President Obama said:

It's the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen, by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different, that their voices could be that difference. 

It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled. Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of red states and blue states.

We are, and always will be, the United States of America.
It's the answer that led those who've been told for so long by so many to be cynical and fearful and doubtful about what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.
It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this date in this election at this defining moment, change has come to America.

I am not, and wasn't then, stupid or naive enough to think every promise would come true, or that any change would be easy...but these are the words and the dreams that defined everything about who I strived to become. Though it is not until I sat down to write this that I truly understood.

Just as my adolescence was inextricably linked to the disastrous policies and presidency of George W Bush, my adulthood has been inextricably tied to the presidency of Barack Obama and the world view that America can be better than it is now-- that America is an unfinished project that calls upon each of us to commit to its deepest values of liberty, diversity, and inclusion.

I went into college in the midst of the earth rattling recession that turned the world on its axis. My prospects were dim. I saw the ongoing wars in Afghanistan and Iraq throw away people's lives and accomplish nothing. I saw anger at Muslims creep into our cultural consciousness. I saw a president ineptly out of touch with the needs of the country's people, ignorant of the disastrous economic policies he and his congress had put forth. I didn't fully grasp it all, but this was the milieu in which I grew up. The challenges felt insurmountable.

Crohn's was an enormous burden then; it felt like it separated me from everyone else. I often felt that my time in college was a waste since there was no way I would be able to  hold down a job with this illness. I didn't believe in much of a future for myself. And with the economy falling apart, and the television reporting that things had not been this bad since World War II, I had even less to look forward to. But my illness has also provided me with a unique perspective and empathy that has served me well and opened my eyes to realities of inequality. My own roadblocks and difficulties have kept me grounded enough to realize that there is nothing in this world that is promised, deserved, or guaranteed. Good person or bad.

When I awoke from my surgery in January of 2009, having just gotten three feet of my small intestine removed, I had the great privilege to spend the next two weeks with a cavalcade of temporary roommates who were admitted and released in a matter of days. There was the guy who suffered from such chronic diarrhea that the room smelled of feces at all times; he spent his entire two days shouting about all that had gone wrong in his life. To be fair, he did seem to have a severe issue, but also, I had just had my stomach cut open and couldn't move. There was another dude who was unhappy with our nurses for not reacting enough to his needs, who moaned and groaned constantly.

My favorite roommate, though, was a fellow who had been taken to the ER because, I think, he had complications with his diabetes. He spent this entire time explaining to people on the phone how horrible his ambulance ride was, that he didn't even want to come to this hospital, but he had to. Everything--from the food, to the great tribulation of receiving his prescriptions--was a personal slight against him. He demanded and deserved only the best and greatest attention at all times. Then he went on and on about how Obama was a sleeper agent for the Muslim Brotherhood, in the pocket of the Saudis, and was planning to overthrow the country.

So that was fun.

I was lying there, the thought slowly dawning on me how fortunate I had been to even be stuck in this bed. I had almost been set home, which may very well have cost me even this very uncomfortable moment.  It had only been a few days since my surgery, and I still had my catheter, I still had an IV inserted into my forearm, wires attached to various places to monitor my vitals, I still could not sit up, but I felt better than I had in years. I could not stop thanking God and the universe and every abstract concept of creation for this unbelievable feeling of... Nothing. I was not in the constant pain and exhaustion that had accompanied my every waking hour for so long. I resolved, then, that there would never be a moment that I would not give thanks, where I would not remember where I once was and never again take for granted the simple pleasure of waking up and not being in pain.

But those two weeks, I learned very quickly that those who did not know what it was like to not have everything at all times could not be thankful for what they did not realize was not there right. I realized that the hope I believed in and voted for, that I was experiencing vividly was virulently opposed by cynicism, selfishness, racism, and classism. Those who have and have always had do not feel for those who have not.

I left that hospital and it still took me a long time to reach my footing and come to grips with this grand epiphany, to even fully appreciate how deeply I felt it. But this healing came at the same time as this new presidency...and I was on fire with that three word mantra: Yes We Can.

I could live a life. I could pull myself together and overcome what had defined everything about who I was. Maybe I did get to have a future--something I never dreamed for myself.

And so I put myself out there. I went on a retreat that gave me the chance to turn the page on that previous chapter in my life--I literally saw those fears and doubts go up in flames. I took my first trip to West Virginia for a weeklong service immersion experience. This was mostly as an opportunity to meet other students and try to find my place in the world--but what I encountered was so much greater.

For the first time I stepped outside of the metropolitan area which was everything I knew. I spoke to people suffering--no, not suffering--enduring and overcoming poverty. I learned about the destructive practices of the coal industry on the environment, individual health, and the local economies. I was aware that the world was not a fair place--I knew that in my own life-- but I saw vividly for the first time the interconnected pattern that weaves every American individual to the other, how our broken societal compacts inordinately burden those who are already disadvantaged.

From then I devoted myself to service; I felt a responsibility to understand more about inequality, to be an advocate, and to help where I could. This culminated in my service with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps, where this blog first began. I was propelled by the president's call to get involved in the world, I was propelled by the responsibility I felt to make the most of my second chance at health.

The Obama presidency coincided with a time in my life where I was, for the first time, getting the chance to discover and define who I was above and beyond a sick kid. It coincided with my first real experience of being healthy. I saw that progress was difficult and obstructed by hate and narrow mindedness, but I also knew that even the smallest victories were worth fighting for--and every day for the first 18 years of my life I had to find those kind of small victories amidst struggle. I had the chance to see a president who fought for those who struggled--who advocated for the poor and the immigrants, the gay and the sick. It inspired me to figure out how I could advocate for what is right--and it challenged me to go out and discover where I fit, how my life fit into the complex pattern of injustice. I faced the hard truths that though I have struggled in life in many ways, I am also gifted --undeservingly -- with many advantages. And with these advantages come responsibilities.

In 2010, the Affordable Care Act passed, guaranteeing coverage for pre-existing conditions and allowing dependents to stay on their parents' healthcare until the age of 26. As someone who lives with a chronic illness, both of these things were such a weight off my shoulder that I nearly came to tears on multiple occasions--when it passed, when it was challenged, and when it was affirmed. The 26 provision proved to be huge for me, given how hard it had been to find a job. And the fear that I could be denied coverage because I am a sick is a fear that has plagued me since I was a teenager. The relief I felt was like finding out I was in remission all over again.

In the early days of 2016, President Obama passed executive orders to increase gun safety measures. It was this, following yet another senseless attack, that inspired me to write to President Obama. I had never written any such letter, and I certainly did not expect the president to read it. I don't know why I wrote it; I guess it had begun to dawn on me that his term was ending and I wanted to say thanks, even if I was shouting into the wind.

I thanked him for his fight to curb gun violence--I told him that my parents were educators, and so was my fiancé--and the NRA and the GOP supposition that we should arm teachers to protect kids horrified and sickened me. I thanked him for working to make our country safer. I also let him know that while I admired so much of what he did, I was disappointed in many of his education policies.

I thanked him for the Affordable Care Act. I told him how much peace of mind it brought me, a young adult who had been without a job for nearly a year, a person who lived with a chronic illness for his whole life. I told him that this legislation was a weight off my shoulder that I did not even know I carried.

I told him that his message of hope and optimism helped inspire me to serve in the Jesuit Volunteer Corps, where I encountered young men who deserved more opportunity, many of whom are the children of immigrants. I told him that I  appreciated his work to provide clemency for thousands of undocumented immigrants and opportunities for DREAMers. In Los Angeles, I also became keenly aware of the importance of representation in media, as I wrote about on this blog, and I recognized how much it meant for many of those students to see a president who liked like them in the office.

Months passed and I totally forgot I had sent that letter. And in September I received a FedEx envelope from the White House. I assumed it was a form letter. It was not.

This letter, maybe actually by Barack Obama, maybe not (I'll choose to believe it is) encapsulates so much about these last 8 years of my life. From that empty room in East Residence Hall on the night of my first election, to Casa Dorothy Kazel the night of Obama's second victory, sitting around the living room TV with my fellow Jesuit Volunteers, to now: months away from the future with the woman I love that I did not dare imagine that cold November night.

I'll hold this letter and treasure it for as long as I live; it is a message from a person that inspired me to dream beyond cynicism, to serve and to advocate, and who fought to provide me my right to be healthy.

For all that you have done for me and for this country: Thanks, Obama.

"Solidarity"

I finished up my year with JVC last week...but this is something I wrote a couple weeks ago in my journal. I may perhaps update again with some general thoughts on my year.

I am not poor. I have never been poor. One of the goals of JVC is to foster a sense, a feeling, of solidarity with the poor. Standing with them. Of course, I am not really poor. At the end of every month I knew another $100 is coming. My housing is paid for. Heck, I even got a car to get me to work that I pay no bills on. And if anything really serious ever came up, I knew I could ask my parents for help. So I've never felt what many people in the neighborhoods that Verb serves undoubtedly feel.

I have never had to worry over when a next paycheck would come. If I qualify for government assistance. If my EBT will cover the food for my children.

But I do feel a changed perspective--a more nuanced understanding. I know the frustration of relying on publi transportation in a sprawling city wiht an unreliable schedule. The tenuousness of plans when they rely on such a system. Even how it can cost someone their job. I have felt a small (tiny) dose of the shame that comes from not being able to afford things. In a consumer society so much of a person's value is inherently linked to what they can afford. And for a man that is so intrinsically linked to ones masculinity and perception of self. You grow bitter not being able to take your girlfriend out on a date--embarrassed, less self-confident. This I've struggled with a lot. Our sense of self is so tied up with wealth or lack thereof.

How can we, as a society, criticize the poor for providing their children with video games or smart phones when so much of our society expects and pressures people to conform to certain standards. We judge people based on their possessions, so how can we stare down our noses when a parent tries to spare their child the shame of not-having? I see this sentiment so often and it breaks my heart.

Until you cannot afford those things you take for granted, how can you understand how wrapped-up our sense of worth is tied to our net worth? How can you judge another for trying to escape the shame placed on them by the people who have--the people who decide the norm?

It's embarrassing to not have money. I don't know how to even describe my money situation this last year. I feel vulnerable, open to mockery or just at risk of not being understood. I am trying to explore the danger of associating my self worth with my income. And yet I so often fail. I worry about dates, housing, marriage in the future, kids, careers, vacations...the things I want down the road, and so I tie myself tighter to these destructive ideals. A man's worth especially is so intimately entwined with his bank account in our society.

"Solidarity" is a sometimes frustrating word and increasingly meaningless to me. I honestly couldn't define it for you at this point in my life. I know I am not truly standing in the same place as those I have served this year. If I were I'd live in gang territory. I'd feel persecuted for the color of my skin. I'd know someone dead from drugs or violence. All on top of the normal consumer desires thrown at us constantly on tv, in music, and every other facet of our popular culture. And I'd know I can't afford any of it. Not if I'm going to stay off the streets. But the world teaches our young people they need things. To fit in. To be judged as acceptable. We are shamed into spending our money, and the poor are villainized for trying to conform.

I only know a little of what it feels like to feel the shame of being "poor." But I do know that as a society that so defines itself on its wealth is a society that needs advocates, that needs analysis and change and greater equality and understanding.

Year's End

June 6th was graduation day for the students at Verb.

It has been nearly two weeks since the school year ended, and I have thought about writing several times, but never did. I guess I haven't been sure what to say. There have been a lot of great memories this year, and despite all the difficulties that came with working at the school, adjusting to it, and feeling competent, when I watched the students cross the stage and receive their diplomas, none of that mattered.

Because it's not about me. Yes I came here to help in some way, to contribute something, get to know students, their situations, their life, but it's not about me. Everything that is done at Verbum Dei, everything I have worked for, it isn't for me, it is about giving these students a chance to go onto something better.

I sat and watched some really amazing young men take those first steps into a new, uncharted future. And with each step I could see them breaking long cycles of poverty, violence, drug abuse, gangbanging, and generally unjust living situations. I believe in a world where graduates of Verbum Dei will work to make the world a better place for their children, who will fight and work hard to make a difference so that others do not have to overcome odds that they had to face just to graduate high school.

I was privileged yesterday to sit in at a meeting for the Kairos leaders for next year and listen to them share their stories. Stories of families plagued by violence, unemployment, drug abuse, fighting, and the threat of gangs in the neighborhood. It brought home to me how INCREDIBLY AMAZING these young men are. They are so truly, truly amazing. These are some really good students, leaders on campus, and just generally lively, friendly, motivated young men. We forget so easily here some times just how much horrible stuff the boys deal with on a daily basis. Compared to some of their stories, school must seem so unimportant. But they persevere, and do it, and do well.

The same can be said for so many of the Verb boys.

And so it was with pride that I watched the seniors graduate--knowing how much they've overcome. I remembered stories and moments I've had with so many of them, and was incredibly thankful for the chance to know them, to spend time with them, and perhaps contribute to a tiny portion of their high school experience. I'm just so thankful to have gotten to witness and learn so much from them. To have laughed with them, and to congratulate a few of them.

Baccalaureate mass was Wednesday, June 5th. It was a very long ceremony where all the academic awards, scholarships, and everything were announced. Lots of really great achievements on display. Every year the school also recognizes its JVs, and I was presented with a big bouquet of flowers, but more appreciated were a couple of cheers I heard in the crowd. It made me feel like maybe I had done a little OK.

At graduation salutatorian and valedictorian spoke, and both gave good speeches. I got to say congrats to a couple of the students, but most of them were busy, understandably, with family. I got a few thank yous in psasing, though, that were sincere, and it was moving.

The end of the year is strange... In a lot of ways I hate to leave. Really feeling as if I only found my footing halfway through. But the thank yous, the compliments as the end of the year approached, (including being told the next JV has a lot to live up to by one of the students...sorry Laura :)) and even the sense that a few of them were sad to see me go made it all feel worth it.

I don't know if I'll ever see the boys again; I'd like to come back at some point and visit if I could. At the least it would be nice to go for graduation or something.

But who knows? All that I am sure of is this: I am incredibly thankful for my year with Verbum Dei. I am incredibly proud of all of the students, and have learned so much from them.

Commitment Day

On May 3rd, Verb celebrated National Commitment Day with its fifth Commitment Day Ceremony. It was a chance for the seniors to celebrate their four years of work and proudly stand up in front of their teachers, peers, family, and media and declare where they would be going. It was an awesome afternoon. One student began to tear up at the emotions of the moment and was embraced by his classmates. It was a moving moment, and one I was not at all surprised to see. These young THUGS have proved to me over and over how much they are there for one another and have challenged their gender stereotypes many times over.

The ceremony is also a great moment for the underclassmen to see what is in store for them in a few years. Soon, they'll be up on that stage! I wonder which one of them'll be crying (although, it could be a transfer student...)

Verb has boasted 100% college acceptance for its graduates the last few years. Now, not all of them are four year universities but that's still some impressive statistics! Especially for where this school is located. So it was exciting when all the students got up there. There were students accepted all over the country. One student is heading to Georgetown, several to St. John's in Minnesota, one to Seton Hall, two to UCLA, several HBCUs and a number of Cal States, UCs, and community colleges.

One of my favorite moments was finding out one of the students would be going to study at Le Cordon Bleu! This guy is one of the most complex young men I have ever met. He is a former gang member and has a bit of a tough streak to him, but he's also a class clown. And then he was a Kairos Retreat Leader and had some truly beautiful insights and a deeply caring and compassionate soul. There are times I think about him and my heart breaks... to be a former gang member in high school? To have lived such a hard life, to see friends die, and then to be as genuine and encouraging and open with his classmates as a leader on Kairos? Now to see him planning to go to Le Cordon Bleu and do what he wants. To be a chef? That's damn cool. He has been one of the absolute gifts of this year. And although he is currently worrying over whether or not he's going to pass his math class and actually walk in graduation, he's still going to graduate and do what he wants with his life. It might not be the easiest road, but he'll get there. He helped me more than I could express to him on retreat, but his awesome work with our small group and with all of the other students on Kairos, the sharing of his story helped me to realize how special this year was. It helped me to realize what is possible in this kind of work. His honesty opened my eyes to realities I didn't know existed, and he put a human face on it. A human face of perseverance, laughter, and compassion despite hardships.

Back to commitment day:

Like I said, it was a really exciting afternoon. There was a bittersweet tinge to it, though.

Yes, most of the students will be going to college. Some may not. That is a shame.

Many students got accepted to their top choice and cannot afford to go. That...that is what upsets me most. That these guys were able to do all the work they needed to do, they worked hard, did all sorts of extracurriculars, but are still barred from where they really want to go. Not because they didn't work hard enough. Not because they don't deserve it. But because they don't have the money. It's infuriating. This is the system. Most of these guys worked way harder than I ever did to get through high school, and still they are barred from entrance for purely economic reasons. It still makes me mad. It makes me so angry that they have to grow up in the neighborhoods they grow up in. It makes me angry that a lot of the students are affected by violence and drugs and the pressure of the 'hood. It makes me angrier the more I think about it.

Students are trying to make the most of it. They're still going to college. Maybe they'll transfer. Maybe it'll work out and this school that wasn't their first choice will be where they find their calling. Who knows? I didn't expect to be where I am today when I went to Cabrini. Heck, I never even expected to go to Cabrini.

The path that lays before these boys, though it may not be what they might have chosen, is still incredibly bright. Brighter than they may see right now, and still so much more than what so many in these country have waiting for them.

 And I am so excited for them and proud of them.

Beneath the Surface

It's a gray day today in Los Angeles. I don't know why it bothers me so much here. Like I expect every day to be sunny and warm here. Like the sun owes it to me to be always shining here. I come from somewhere that rain is common, where weather is seasonal. And yet here...any time the sun fails to warm the streets of this city, I get angry, like I'm entitled to be comfortable at all times simply because I'm in LA.

I think the sun makes people selfish here.  Maybe it's part of what contributes to the fictitiousness of the city, the surface-level, self-absorbedness of it all.

This city forgets itself.

What people know about LA--what people talk about is not the history, the truth of LA. The richness and texture of it.

I hate LA.

But I hate the traffic the industry the surfaceness. Los Angeles is known for one thing--Hollywood. The celebrities, the movie industry.

I saw yesterday photos commemorating the 21st anniversary of the Los Angeles Riots. I didn't even know they had ever happened. I had never heard of them. No one talks about them. I heard about the Watts riots in the 60s, vaguely, before I came, but never heard a thing about them since I've been here. The actual culture, the actual history, of Los Angeles is veiled by "LOS ANGELES," the Universal Studios, Beverly Hills, glamorous life that...doesn't encapsulate even a portion of what this city is.

I was reading Steve Martin's most recent book, An Object of Beauty, at one point he describes a view from a particular point in the city (emphasis mine), "The views that skimmed just over the top of the city gave sunsets an extra redness and positively affirmed that Los Angeles could be beautiful."

There's a poignant truth in there. There's hints of something lovely. Palm trees are nice to look at, it's right near the beach (but so is New Jersey...), there are some nature trails and hikes...but, as a whole LA is... freeways and brown grass. Stone buildings and gated windows. The things that I have found the most beauty in in LA is architecture; man made things.

The LA Riots resulted from class and race issues. Inequality and prejudice. Economic disparity.

Some of these things are better...race relationships have improved, in general. Gang violence is less than it was.

But class...class and economic disparity. That hasn't changed. Polls and surveys tell the story as much as anything else; people in LA feel that the economic inequality has only grown. And while there is not that same anger as a result of racial persecution and abuse of police power, people are still being crushed and oppressed by this city. By a lack of awareness, a lack of depth. There is a glut of consumerism and self-absorption.

But drive down South Central Ave and in seconds you see the truth... There is poverty and homelessness. S Central is nothing like Downtown, nothing like Beverly Hills.

Walk from the heart of downtown just a short ways and you hit Skid Row. The homeless capital of the United States.

But there are some beautiful things about Los Angeles...

There is Homeboy and Boyle Heights. There is Chinatown and Koreatown. The shops on S Central owned by families. Small shops. Local vendors. Latino cultural celebrations.

This city forgets itself. It could be beautiful, if only the sun didn't shine so much.


For more info about the LA Riots (I read a lot about them today)
The Wikipedia Page (centralizes a lot of news articles...fascinating.)
RIOT IN LOS ANGLES: Pocket of Tension; A Target of Rioters, Koreatown Is Bitter, Armed and Determined
George Bush's Televised Address about the Riots
Want to Understand the 1992 LA Riots? Start with the 1984 LA Olympics
Korea Town changes as a result of "Saigu"

The city during the riots in '92 Click for gallery.

First time I've ever done personal journaling as a comic book.

Blessings

I've written a lot on my struggles this year. So much so that it might even seem to those who have followed this blog that it has been all-terrible. It hasn't, but there have been many, many struggles and I miss my home and loved ones terribly. Work has been difficult, and adjusting and trying to figure out who I am outside of Cabrini and academics has been a challenge. But, I think that even in that way JVC has been a blessing: it has allowed me to see things clearly and appreciate them even more. That's not to say I took Sara, my family, or my friends at home for granted, but I definitely see even more now how dear they are all to me. How much I am thankful to be from Philadelphia, to have lived in Cinnaminson and have my friends there, to have gone to Cabrini and to been encouraged and been so involved. I am thankful for all of the events that brought me to JVC.

It has also been a blessing in that this year is a safe place to struggle and grapple with oneself. Were I to come to work and be so hopelessly overwhelmed outside of the realm of JVC it might be more difficutl to admit those things to coworkers or supervisors; this safe feels safer. It has given me a chance to look at my strengths, my weaknesses, and see how the things that make me who I am can operate in a workplace setting whereas before they operated either in isolation: academics, or in space of leadership, safety, and guidance such as with Campus Ministry at school. I've learned to try and accept the fact that I am introverted and try not to fit into the extrovert mold; there is a place for those who operate and run things without being in your face. Standing back and encouraging in simpler and smaller ways and letting participants participate and own their experience instead of pushing and being incredibly hands-on. I could never imagine being an orientation leader at Cabrini becuase I cannot do this (and am sometimes annoyed by it--but that's me. Haha.)

Though I don't often feel as if I bring much to Verbum Dei, it has given me countless blessings. Just seeing the boys interact with faculty and staff, listening to their jokes (good, bad, and vulgar), listening to them debate over what they are learning in class, and watching them work to get into college, watching football and soccer games on senior square... Every once in a while I remember where the boys come from and am ever more impressed and proud of them for where they are and what they are accomplishing. They are not "boys from underserved neighborhoods," they're just boys. Verb boys.

Hearing stories of the success some alumni have had has been a blessing. Seeing Jesse come back and teach here and give back to the school that gave him so much and tell his story to the students here has been a blessing.

Watching the brotherhood form at Verbum Dei has been a particular gift. Faculty and staff here talk all the time about "building brotherhood," and encourage students to trust one another. This could all be simply fluff, buzzwords for the students to groan at. The freshman retreat was all about starting that relationship. The new students might not have understood what they were being told, many didn't believe or didn't buy into what they were being told, that these people they are going to share the next four years with will ever be more than just classmates. Most of them are right out of public school, coming from a space with no trust, no partnership, no people to really rely on. They might have had friends but what Verb promises them; people to help shoulder their burdens, keep them grounded, they can't understand the deeper levels of friendship. Obviously some of that is age, some of it is their surroundings.

But the brotherhood at Verb is real, it is palpable, and it has moved me on many occassions. Even by the end of freshmen retreat I think the boys were starting to grasp it, as they slung arms around each others' shoulders and belted out "Lean on Me" together.

I've seen the brotherhood in action at places that might make a lot of sense: retreats. Junior retreat I wrote about, it was beyond words the level of trust, honesty, and vulnerability I saw in that room. Similarly, on the senior Kairos retreat, students shared of themselves so deeply. Admitted their deepest secrets, talked about their struggles (some incredibly heart-wrenching) and made apologies to fellow classmates.

I've seen it in simple ways, as well.

Counseling, consoling, and commisserating with one another over college denials in the office, encouraging them as they worry over where they may be accepted. On my recent trip to Utah I saw it as one student rested with his back against another and his head on his shoulder. "The freshmen look at the seniors and they probably think we're gay, the way the seniors interact. But they don't really get it, the friendship." It's true--these boys become closer than anyone I ever saw in high school; it is built into the mission of their education. It fosters trust, support, and care. Young men from the neighborhoods that Verb serves are taught not to be vulnerable, not to trust, to be closed off, to be tough and isolated. It's illustrated by the disturbingly high rate of absent fathers for our students here. But this school...it gives them the space to be with one another, to trust one another, and to grow in true friendship. The boys look at one another and they aren't just classmates, they're brothers, all of them. I'm not saying this from a faculty and staff point of view, this is what students have told me both in words and action. I can't even remember how  many times I've heard students here tell others that if they ever need anything, I'm here for you.

I saw it when one of our students here could no longer go on the Navajo Nation Immersion trip because his mother was seriously ill. He came to our sendoff prayer service that Saturday morning. He didn't know why, he said, he just felt like he had to be there. He needed somewhere he felt safe and supported. We prayed over him that morning, he received hugs from all the other students going. Well wishes and prayers.

An hour into our drive that day, we stopped because we had learned his mother passed away. We prayed for him and every student gave an intention. For the whole week of our trip, he was present in every action, every reflection, every prayer. The students didn't forget and kept him in their thoughts. What kind of high school builds that kind of support among its students? These weren't even all students who knew him, but they all cared deeply for his well-being and comfort.

I've been moved in strange moments. Honors and student of the months ceremonies when the principal lists off more than a dozen students each month, reading the descriptions and reasons from each teacher as to why the student is getting their award. At grad-at-grad week, a week dedicated to developing consciousness of the school's goals for its "graduates at graduation," during the closing ceremony when Isaiah and a few other students belted out a rocking tune for the celebration. At mass when Isaiah again (on vocals), and Miguel (on guitar) gave an incredible performance at communion (to a resounding applause following). Listening to the choir at mass. The way students on the immersion trip moved to the back during our hike to chat with the slower people in the back.

A lot of this amazing atmosphere is fostered by the faculty and staff who care deeply for the students, hold them accountable, and give them endless support, sacrificing their weekends, afternoons, and evenings for the benefit of the students. Tireless effort from Martinique in college guidance, Karen in Campus Ministry, Krista in Christian Service, administration, and every teacher and every other person who works at this school.

Even more now than at Cabrini I've seen the amazing gift of Campus Ministry. By providing a safe space for encouragement and honesty, students grow in their understanding of themselves, of others, and sometimes God, and that allows them to come more together, to believe in themselves and to in turn encourage others. Campus Ministry did these things for me, but as I've worked at Verb I've seen it in action over and over. The JEDIS are an amazing group of students dedicated to helping others. Freshman Retreat got students thinking about their life and what they might be able to gain from this unique experience. Junior Retreat gave students the opportunity to become vulnerable with their classmates. Kairos tore down walls, started to heal old wounds, and showed students that they are loved by their friends and family.

At Kairos I sat and watched students play Monopoly and that moment I was in awe of where I was. I was sitting at a table with a former gang member, a former drug dealer, and in the room were victims of abuse, people with addictions, and I was left speechless; dumbstruck. Even those that may not have faced tragedy still grew up surrounded by the hardships of the inner-city. Pressures of drugs, gangs. Surrounded by violence. And each has undoubtedly been taught outside of Verb that they will never leave that place.

The boys at Verbum Dei have seen so much, been through so much. Some don't even realize just how much or how unjust their situation has been. And yet they continue to be strong. To be intelligent. To be simply high school boys and teenagers. Many young men and women in this country are not given that opportunity: to just be teenagers. They are not given the opportunity to dream of and work for a better future, to escape the neighborhoods that trap so many. But at Verb they are given the freedom to just be.

It is a blessing to see this good work, to be part of it in a small way. And for that, despite struggles, despite hardships, despite an aching, unending homesickness, I am thankful for my time with Verbum Dei and all it has shown me and taught me.

True Heroes Under God

"You are all THUGS: True Heroes Under God."

If I could capture the essence of Verbum Dei, this brilliant piece of wordplay spoken by one of our JEDIS (Jesuit Educated Disciples in Service, the student campus ministry team), would be it. Verb is located in Watts, right on South Central Avenue and adjacent to the Nickerson Gardens Housing Projects, one of the largest housing projects in the US. Verb serves young men from the surrounding communities who come from low-income backgrounds. These inner-city boys have not had much access to quality education and many have not had much access to safety or stability. Verb provides that. The boys like to think of themselves as tough guys. They're teenagers, and most of them have huge egos. But they're much more than that outer bravado, more than just "thugs," which the world is most likely to think of a black or latino kid from South Central. They are "men with and for others."

I’ve struggled a lot this year with feeling useless. It's been difficult dealing with homesickness, a long distance relationship, and community obligations. A lot of it crept into work. Sometimes I feel like I've made a mistake, or that I would be doing better for the people I love if I hadn't left. What am I really doing for the students at Verb? As an introvert, my job has been challenging. There are days I don't feel like I'm doing anything. I've sat and pondered and written and reevaluated the choices and experiences that brought me to Los Angeles. I've spent many long nights and shed a few tears because of this heartache. I've thought about leaving.

But something has kept me here the last six months; what exactly that is has eluded me. In many ways I feel like things would move forward in exactly the same way at my placement were I to leave. My contribution is pretty minimal, all things considered.

Did I really come here to make a difference? I don't think I ever truly believed I was going to change any lives. Sure, I thought I was better prepared for the transition and that I would be able to be more active and involved, but even if I were…would I recognize that? I have a hunch that at my job, when day-to-day I see students and am there for really nothing else than to hang out I wouldn't ever really feel like I was doing any good. I've helped out writing a few college essays, answered a few questions, but have I really done anything for the boys at Verb? I don't know. I probably never will. And so my job has been a struggle. Day-to-day I never know what work is going to be like. Some days I've sat and done little more than paperwork and punched service hours into an excel file. Other days I've sat and helped a student pour over his Common App supplements and essays. Chatted about video games during lunch.  What good are these things?

And so, again, I returned to what brought me here. That's when I realized: I came to LA for myself. This has been a harrowing realization. Is that selfish? I came here to learn. To discover more of myself and the world and my place in it. On more than one occasion before I came here I wondered if I would come away with things to write about.

Sometimes I feel exploitative, wanting these things. I can't imagine any JV doesn't feel this way at times. But I think it’s more self-important to think I could come here and fix anything or make some kind of significant impact or change a person's life. This isn't my world, I’m just a small part of it.

But, still, at work I struggle a lot with not doing much. My housemates have amazing jobs doing direct service work at placements in which they are integral parts of the operation. My title has "assistant" right there at the end of it.

I think the real selfishness is thinking that anything I do can really make a difference.

"Don't set out to change the world," Father Greg Boyle said at a conference I attended recently, "Set out to wonder how other people are doing. And the world will change around you."

Every once in a while things happen at work and I get why I'm here.

The quote I opened with was spoken at our Junior Retreat. The day closed with a simple activity: stand up if this statement applies to you. Statements included being victims of abuse (physical, sexual), feeling judged or unsafe because of race, coming from a single-parent household, knowing someone in a gang, having thoughts of suicide, drug use, feeling depressed more than happy, feeling fear walking down the street, and more. Far too many kids stood up for each and every statement. These are 16,17 year old boys. The amount that they've been through broke my heart. And then immediately after they repaired it and inspired me. The students went in a circle and said how they felt about the activity. Several of these boys defied their gender stereotypes and expressed their love for the entire class and thanked their classmates, said they would do anything for any one of their brothers. One student was so moved and angered by what people stood up for, and simply wanted to express his love for each person. He wanted to help anyone who ever needed him. He started to cry and the entire class came and embraced him. This is but a small slice of that two hours…and it certainly does it no justice.

I have never felt so privileged and humbled to be a witness to something.

And this, I think, is what I come to: maybe I am mostly importantly a witness. Maybe I'm not here to help any one individual, maybe I'm meant to be a voice, to share these stories… To cry out in anger how unjust this world can be for condemning these talented, loving, intelligent THUGs, simply because they were born here. To refuse to accept when people sit there and tell me that poverty is a result of laziness when these boys work so hard to get to college and everything in their life is stacked against them. When their parents or guardians work so hard to provide them with a quality education.

I never thought I'd save any lives…I just wanted to know their lives. And in the knowing, maybe I can help challenge others to see the reality that these boys live, simply because I was there to witness it.

A Mass for Peace

Today at Dolores Mission (the best and most life-giving parish church I've ever been to) there was a held a very special liturgy. DM is a parish in Boyle Heights, a community that has for many years dealt with violence. Today they held a liturgy in remembrance of those who have died as a result of gun violence. They had names projected at the front of the church. Several people in the assembly (too many) stood up and were invited to the altar to remember loved ones who have died because of gun violence. One parishioner shared his story of grieving for and coping with the death of his brother; the wounds may heal temporarily, but stories of other killings reopen them. It is a scar that will forever haunt him.

Father Scott gave a sermon about our country's addiction to violence (and that's what it is). He explained the need for a change in attitudes about guns because they so often find their ways into cities (and increasingly, suburbs) where so many are killed by guns annually around the country. This is so often forgotten: how common killings are. Sadly, it takes a string of deadly mass-shootings to bring this harrowing problem to light. Around 2009 research showed that more than 30,000 people are killed by firearms each year in this country; more than 30 shot and killed each day. 1/2 of them are between 18 and 35. Homicide is the second leading cause of death among 15-24 year-olds. These are the statistics that were read to us in mass. Additionally, Father Scott read this powerful letter to the editor he sent into  and was printed in the LA Times.

As the nation wrestles with the question of whether to ban assault weapons, people in our inner cities know a simple truth: There are too many guns on our streets, and this can be directly linked to the high numbers of homicides that are sadly a regular part of our lives.

This past summer there were four homicides within a span of 62 days within a square mile of Dolores Mission Parish, just a few miles east of downtown Los Angeles. Since 1980, when the Jesuits came to this parish, we have experienced the deaths of some 200 community members to gun violence.

Though not the only angle on the issue, I have to believe that if there were tighter gun control laws in our country, fewer guns would find themselves on the streets of our inner cities. And more of my parishioners would be alive.
The Rev. Scott Santarosa
Los Angeles

 I truly wish that so many people who claim that guns are not a problem could see this side of things. Yes, you live in the suburbs and in this wonderful world where the chances of violence are incredibly low, but there are so many--SO MANY--who are simply forced to live in areas where gun violence is rampant. They suffer threats of violence as simply a fact of life, and have to deal with the death of loved ones. And why? Because there are too many guns. Because they are minorities with low income. Hard working people, who simply have no other options. There is no reason for the most dangerous automatic weapons to be out there and so easy to access. There is no reason for it to be so EASY for guns to end up in the hands of those who would harm others.

Gun violence is not just the rare mass-shooting. It is a terrifying reality for people in low-income areas. For some of the students at Verbum Dei, for the parishioners of Dolores Mission. The children of Dolores Mission. One of my students for one of his college submission personal statements wrote about one day being mugged at gun point because he happened to be walking through a park that belonged to a gang that hated Mexicans. That isn't terribly uncommon in parts of this city and many others around the country.

I'm not going to bother rattling off statistics I actually did look up and research for this blog post. I don't want to be too political. But the fact is there are almost as many guns in this country as people. How that is OK with people I don't understand. How it is OK to suggest that to solve this country's violence problem we need MORE guns is horrifying.

Too many people are killed. We need a change in attitude in this country, a push for peace, not a push for more "self defense" that will, as many graphs, charts, statistics and surveys show, will most likely only increase the violence and cost more lives.

But hey, these killings aren't white kids en masse, so it isn't really happening, right?

Living in LA

It's never dark in LA. It reminds me of a conversation I had with my physics friend Matt. He talked about light pollution one night when we were driving around town and it was very humid and almost-fogging. The flood lights from a nearby park extended for miles--we could not place where this light was coming from, after all, it was never that bright. But the air was moist and the fog was beginning, and the light traveled.

The skyline towers within view most places I go. Their heights stretch upward, taking over the horizon. The light from these buildings stretch outward, flooding the night sky with their neon luminescence. The night is full of condensation from the warm afternoons. It doesn't rain here often but the difference in temperature brings with it foggy air. I'm sure the smog spreads the light as well. Last Friday as I drove in the humid air, because it actually rained for once, I drove down this street that has a clear view of the city skyline. There were spotlights dancing in the air and it looked like the sky was on fire. Clouds? Moisture? Fog? Smog? Maybe a mix of it all.

The smog. You need a car in LA to get around. Public transportation is unreliable, slow, and inconvenient. How can a city full of so many drivers be full of so many people who cannot drive?

Living in LA is bizarre. How can a city with the most millionaires also be the place of the most people who are homeless in this country? Contradictions. LA is contradictions. I drive down South Central Ave in Watts to get to work and drive past homelessness, intense poverty. Walking down Hollywood Boulevard, where the names of the famous and wealthy are at your feet, you are surrounded by people without a place to go home to.  Life here makes little sense. And on many occasions I find myself wondering if this is really my life right now, how I got here, and what this experience will teach me, what I will walk away from remembering. I don't think it will be seeing the Hollywood sign for the first time, or the time that I drove past Burbank. It will be the mornings I drive past the man off of the 105, asking for recyclables. The man in the wheelchair across the street panhandling. It will be the boys--the boy who told me that he was going to write about the period that he was homeless for his personal statement, the boy who bought a man outside the Chinese Food place dinner, the boy who never thought homelessness was anything but lack of motivation who chose to sleep outside in solidarity with them in order to learn more about the world. I'll remember the first time I saw Skid Row.

I'm sure the Los Angeles people will ask me about when I go home for Christmas is not the Los Angeles I have lived in. And I do not regret this fact. I would rather see this LA--the real LA before I put on my blinders and admire the famous handprints, the insanity of Venice Beach. This is the LA I was brought here to see, and to share with others.

Remembering the Women Martyrs

December 2, 1980, four women were kidnapped, raped, and murdered by agents of the El Salvadoran government in the midst of intense violence and war. These women did nothing but aid the poor, empower them, and bear witness to their suffering. These women were named Dorothy Kazel, Maura Clarke, Ita Ford, and Jean Donovan. The three LA JV houses (formerly four) were named after these women. This year I live in Casa Dorothy Kazel and after tonight, I am very proud. Their dedication to their mission is intense and inspiring, and invigorates my own call to service.

Tonight, Mount St. Mary College held a prayer service in honor of these sisters. It was coordinated by Sisters of St Joseph of Carondelet. Many Maryknoll Sisters (the order to which Maura Clarke and Ita Ford belonged) were present. This is the thirty second memorial service that they have held. Many women present knew the martyrs. To hear so many people inspired by, touched by, and empowered by their sacrifice and mission was moving.

Tonight I was proud to be serving this year, to be making some small sacrifice and to be living in the house I am. I felt tonight, in the presence of so many women religious (truly inspiring people), and in the spirit of these brave martyrs, that I was carrying on a rich legacy of truly amazing people. At least a little bit. I don't claim to be as dedicated, as strong, or brave as the women who died 32 years ago, and perhaps I never would be, but I am inspired by them, reinvigorated by them, and proud to be a member of Casa Dorothy Kazel.

And I found a few quotes from letters that these women wrote that inspire me and will continue to as this year goes forward.






"El Salvador, Savior of the World, is writhing in pain – a country that daily faces the loss of so many of its people – and yet a country that is waiting, hoping, yearning for peace. The steadfast faith and courage our leaders have to continue preaching the Word of the Lord, even though it may mean laying down your life in the very REAL sense, is always a point of admiration and a vivid realization that JESUS is HERE with us. Yes, we have a sense of waiting, hoping, and yearning for a complete realization of the Kingdom, and yet we know it will come because we can celebrate Him here right now.” Dorothy Kazel, OSU





"I see in this work a channel for awakening real concern for the victims of injustice in today's world, a means to work for change, and to share deep concern for the sufferings of the poor and marginated, the non-persons of our human family." Maura Clarke, MM





"Several times I have decided to leave El Salvador. I almost could except for the children, and poor bruised victims of this insanity. Who would care for them? Whose heart would be so staunch as to favor the reasonable thing in a sea of their tears and helplessness. Not mine, dear friend, not mine.” Jean Donovan





“Am I willing to suffer with these people here, the suffering of the powerless, the feeling impotent? Can I say to my neighbors, I have no solutions to this situation? I don’t have answers, but I will walk with you, search with you, be with you. Can I let myself be evangelized by this opportunity? Can I look at and accept my own poorness as I learn it from the poor ones?” Ita Ford, MM




The sisters (truly amazing people--and so happy to meet us and wished us well so warmly) gave this blessing to those present, and this too, inspired me.

May you continue to be a remarkable sign of the living God,

Fearlessly contend against evil,

make no peace with oppression,

strive to be a shining witness of reconciliation and friendship,

reach across boundaries and barriers

to form community with all people of good will.

And may God who has loved you without measure and without regret,

fill you with the blessings of Jesus Christ,

the refreshment of the Spirit, and the joyful unity of the triune God.

Sr. Clare Dunn

Sr. Judy Lovchik, CSJ

Giving thanks

It is the night before Thanksgiving and I am beginning to feel a little sad. I suppose it's natural--Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday not because I love turkey (but it helps) but because to me it has always been about the intentional sharing of time, breaking bread with people I care about. A chance to simply gather and be present to the people we love and be mindful of all of our wonderful gifts. Being away from home, I knew, would be tough on Thanksgiving, but I think I might be underestimating it if I feel it already today.

But even in that there is so much to be thankful for and to continue to be cognizant of.

I spent the last two evenings at Verbum Dei taking part in homeless awareness week. Campus Ministry organized a sleepout in solidarity and a number of students, as well as faculty and staff, slept out through the night with nothing but cardboard and sleeping bags on Verb's campus. It was a very enlightening experience, not so much for what I got out of it through sleeping outside (it wasn't that hard for me...I swear it's colder in  my house than it was these last two fairly mild nights--mid-50s isn't all that cold, as I'm sure all you eastcoasters will agree) but more because of what the students learned from it. I honestly didn't feel like there was all that much to the experience--yes we slept outdoors but before that they were playing on the computer, or messing around, or doing homework. But, I think the speakers we had struck them.

I am also trying to keep in mind how much more homelessness is part of their lives--the area they live in, the neighborhood Verbum Dei is located, are full of people without homes. And I was especially struck by how much they seemed to grow in understanding, and even that they were willing to take part in this week, given how exposed to it they are on such a common basis. I think at that age it would be a lot easier to just be creeped out or annoyed by it. But they went out of their way to try and understand those circumstances, which I think is incredibly cool and inspiring.

The boys reacted a lot to what we did and had great things to say in discussion--a lot of them recognized the difficult and diverse factors that could cause someone to become homeless. And if they didn't before a lot of them began to learn and change their perspective.

Some common themes: being thankful for what we have, changing the conversation about homelessness (not demeaning them with names, encouraging others to rethink their stereotypes), giving them attention in some way, even small ones, like a smile or a short exchange if not a full blown conversation, and simply not making snap judgments about how they got into that situation. Many of them had never considered how many possible ways or reasons there are for homelessness: natural disaster, domestic violence, mental illness, the general poor nature of the economy and job market, lack of affordable housing and so with all of those possible reasons many for the first time realized that it isn't necessarily a person's bad choices that leads them to the streets.

Many of the boys admitted to having certain assumptions--if not laziness, then drug abuse or even some kind of enjoyment out of being without a home--but through our speakers, a woman who was formerly homeless (who sadly, I missed), one of the boys' fathers who works at LAMP (a local shelter) and the discussions and experiences of other students and some of the staff, they started to see that many assumptions are simply stereotypes and are harmful.

One of the guys on the last night of reflection briefly shared his experience with homelessness; when he was in eighth grade his mother fled an abusive husband in the middle of the night. They spent several months at family's homes and traveling around in different places. He struggled with depression and weight gain, but luckily in the end they were able to get back onto their feet. His household still struggles a great deal with money, but he said he grew a great deal from the experience. And he's a smart kid, one of the top in the class. He has dreams of traveling to the east coast, specifically Washington DC and I think he can get just about anywhere he wants to go.

Another student shared a story about simply sharing a meal with a man who often sat outside of a Chinese restaurant he frequents.

The way these boys showed their openness to growth, their desire to learn, and a level of awareness of the great things in their life really inspired me. I was inspired even more by the stories the two aforementioned students shared.

There isn't a better time to do an event like this than Thanksgiving, when we take time out of our busy lives to assess and profess the blessings in our lives, and all of these events made me incredibly thankful to be here in LA this year.

I am thankful for this opportunity to take part in JVC. That I can voluntarily take a year out of my life and choose to live this way. That I have been granted a chance to share in the experience of these boys as they grow into men, and see through their eyes a world that I could never have experienced because of who I am. I am thankful for my housemates and extended community in LA who have provided me laughs and support these three months. I am thankful for my family for supporting me and loving me throughout my life. For being there for me to cry with. For taking care of me when I was ill so I could grow into who I am today. For a roof over my head. For having so many possible opportunities for next year and beyond.  I am thankful for Sara. For reminding me that I am a person worth investing in. For listening and accepting all of my insecurities, doubts, and imperfections. For being willing to go through the strain of a long distance relationship. For eight fantastic months. I am thankful for yet another year of continued health. I am thankful for all of my friends at home, from Cabrini. Though I have done an incredibly poor job of keeping in touch, you have all, each of you reading this, been amazing, beautiful, fantastic parts of my life, helped contribute positively to forming me into who I am, and I cannot convey enough how glad I am to have met so many amazing people! I am thankful for my education, and the fact that applying to college was so easy for me. I am thankful for today. I am thankful that I won't wake up tomorrow wondering what I might eat or where I might have to sleep.

I am thankful. So thankful.  Life is beautiful.

A Fall Visit Home

October was a bit of a hectic month for me and there were a couple of extra days worked over the weekends. Which I did not mind at all. But I decided to use that time as an opportunity to make a short visit home to see my family and Sara! Well, it was supposed to be short, in the end I spent a week at home due to Hurricane Sandy. I suppose worse things have happened. :)

 It was really great seeing my family and Sara again. I've been incredibly homesick and it felt good to be around familiar faces and people who I love. On Thursday night, my first night home I traveled to Cabrini to visit Fr. Carl (who had no idea I was coming!) and Stephanie and have dinner with Campus Ministry at President George's swanky digs. That was all such a fantastic feeling; it reminded me where I'm coming from and it was just plain fun to hang out with some great people. It was like no time had passed.

Looking good takes work, folks...

The next day I visited Dr. Wright and Dr. Filling a little bit and talked grad-school plans because I'm trying to keep all of my options right now and that is a very real one! After that Sara and I went to Linvilla Orchards to enjoy fall! We picked pumpkins, went on a hayride followed by a bonfire with marshmallows and apple cider. It was a beautiful day and so much fun. I've had so much fun traveling and getting out and doing different things with Sara in the five months before coming to LA and spending the day with her again it was as if we hadn't even been apart.

And I can't even begin to explain how much I missed fall! I never realized how much I loved the season until I didn't have it. Maybe I wouldn't have even known it if I didn't come to visit. And I picked the perfect time; it was just when the leaves were getting their most colorful and before the trees started to become bare. Cabrini's campus is beautiful (and a large reason why I chose the school) and it is so year 'round but it's hard to top fall there. You can't beat the East Coast in October. You just can't.

Fall! Ah how I missed the scenery of home.

Picking the right pumpkins is a skill...We both have it.

A picture from our relaxing hayride through the Orchards. Great chance to see fall up close!

So us, right?

Well, after we left Linvilla, we decided to return to the site of our first date, The Cheesecake Factory! Sara was craving some pumpkin cheesecake, because she loves all things pumpkin flavored in the fall. And who can blame her? After that, I stopped at home and saw my parents! Later still, we carved our pumpkins. Can you guess whose is whose? The next day I had dinner with my parents, grandparents, and Aunt Dorothy. It was muchos fun and incredibly relaxing.

Saturday night I crashed my brother's Halloween party--Kevin, Bridget, Tina, and Paul had no idea I was coming home and they were quite surprised to see me. It was awesome seeing them all again and even better to do it as a surprise.

Sunday night the original plan was to hang out at Cabrini and go to mass, which I was looking forward to a lot, I've missed that aspect of the Cabrini community immensely, but unfortunately, Hurricane Sandy was on the way and campus was asked to leave. Bummer!  On the bright side though, it did interfere with my flight and I wound up "stranded" at home with loved ones. Oh noooooo!!!

Those last few days at home were incredibly refreshing, fun, and invigorating. I've been struggling a lot with homesickness and it was nice to just sit around and play board games with Jack and Sara and just be around my mom and dad.

Being home was like a reset button for me emotionally. Having spent the last couple months around brand new people and having to stress about and exert so much effort into getting to know them it was a soothing reminder to simply be with people I know and love. It's so easy to take for granted that kind of relationship, and I have always tried to be very mindful of how blessed I am to have that at home, but to have not had that for a significant period of time now, to be with people so familiar and loving again was an amazing reminder of how important and life-giving it is.

My last night home Sara and I decided we needed to get out of the house--and so we grabbed a pair of ten-dollar Sixers tickets and made our way to the Wells Fargo Center. To our surprise, it was the season opener! It was a lot of fun, and they had a lot of different things to do, and in fact we missed the first half of the game exploring the place--because I have never been to the Center before, and Sara had never even been to a Sixers game! They had a craft table to color in signs, balloon hats and animals and Sara even got her face painted!

They even had Fix-it Felix Jr!

The night before leaving was incredibly difficult. More than I thought, actually. Leaving Jack again was oddly heartbreaking (odd simply because I didn't expect it) and even the thought of being away from family and Sara and the things that bring me comfort that I don't have to work at was heart-rending for a little while.

But the morning on my drive to the airport I held Sara's hand, looked out into the Philadelphia skyline as the sun was only beginning to rise and I felt calm. These things are part of who I am and distance, in the end, while difficult, does not make them less so. I am comforted in the knowledge that I will always have a place to call home full of people who love and support me...and that is the greatest gift I could ever hope for.

Courage

So often we think of courage as the "absence of fear." An invulnerability and almost superhuman idea that we, as imperfect beings can eschew something so fundamental to the human experience. But that's not really it, is it? No, we are all afraid of things. This year I am learning that more and more from the people I live with--my fears are not solitary and it is comforting to know that it does not make me weak to be afraid. Courage is not the absence of fear...it is the ability to overcome it, the will to climb those mountains. If there's one thing I learned from Green Lantern comics over the last few years it's that courage without fear is not healthy, and to be afraid is to admit we are human. What makes us brave or strong is the decision to work through that fear. Hal Jordan, Kyle Rayner, John Stewart, and Guy Gardner are Green Lanterns not because they're "men without fear," but because they have "The ability to overcome great fear." And that's something kind of cool...that we normal people can overcome the things that scare us and be stronger for it. We have to accept our fear, look it in the eye, and then punch it in the face. That's what the Sinestro Corps War was about, I think.

In brightest day, in blackest night no evil shall escape my sight. Let those who worship evil's might beware my power...

People have sometimes called me brave for things I had no control over. For dealing with Crohn's, for going through the feeding tube, the surgery, the years of illness. But I never had a choice over those things. I didn't overcome anything. At least, I never thought I did. If you can even call those ten years living, I guess I persevered.

My last few years have been about trying to rediscover who I am not as defined by my Crohn's. To face fears of making friends, building relationships, finding what I'm good at. At college I accomplished a lot of that, overcame many fears, but I am realizing it was never fully conquered. There is still so much to learn about courage, about who I am, and how I can move past the things that make me afraid.
I feel guilty very often. I cannot place why. This year, leaving home, leaving family, my girlfriend-- the life I knew-- behind, I have been dealing with that a lot. It has proved incredibly challenging in being present to my work and community here. Where does the guilt stem from? Why does it so often feel like I have done something wrong? Every decision I make I second guess. I have always been this way. Are my decisions negatively effecting anyone? Hurting them? They could be. Throughout my life I have been afraid to make friends for fear that I was imposing--guilty for infringing on there time. Do I simply feel as if I take more than I give? That I need and want thing so badly that I only view my relationships insofar as they benefit me, or that I am the only one who is privileged to be in what is supposed to be a give-and-take relationship? Perhaps I have not found my value, yet. Maybe part of why I feel guilty is simply because I am afraid to accept that I have a purpose and strength and gifts to share. That people could possibly want to be in my life. Who am I to be special?

At Cabrini I had things which brought me comfort. I had goals--tangible, concrete ones. This brought me pride and real results. But now as I go forward beyond college...I am afraid of what comes next. What do those skills I learned in college really offer me in the next phase of my life? How does my high GPA translate into success? How can I continue benefitting others the way I want to do and have done so much at Cabrini? It's hard to be courageous when you don't know what your strengths are. How do you overcome fear when you feel completely unequipped?

JVC was a decision I made because I knew there was more growing I needed to do, but I am realizing how much my life is still defined by my time struggling with Crohn's Disease. People have told me that I am brave for doing this...but I haven't felt particularly brave the last few months. Is it courage to simply persevere? I don't know. I have had a hard time facing those fears that I look at every day: shyness, knowledge, skill, compassion. The courage to be open and stop being afraid that my presence is a burden to others. I have to own myself. I am defined by what I could not do for so long that I still don't know what I can do. I still don't know who I really am--where my passions lie.  I've realized lately I've never thought about the future becasue I've been so afraid that the future could be taken from me because of my illness. It was easier to just figure it out as I go so I didn't have to be disappointed.

But recently I've wanted to dream, to imagine. I suppose I have to as far as careers go. But that all requires that I face my fears of inadequacy, shyness, lack of value, and figure out who I am and what I enjoy, to look at my relationships and find what is there that people have responded to. To examine what makes those things work, how I can bolster them, and how I can continue to make more. Because I care about so many people, people I haven't met, people I barely know, and in order to be fully able to find a way to continue to help others I have to have the courage to be vulnerable, to own my fears and not let them stop me.
But fear can be all consuming. Where has my courage come from? What is my model of courage? What brings me hope when things are tough? Well, I often turn to super heroes for inspiration. Perhaps this is a naive notion, but I don't really think so. I believe the reason that they are such a part of our entire culture is because they show us all our greatest hope, our truest potential: that there are people who put everything before themselves and use their gifts to help others. There's something deeper at play in the existence of Superman in our world. It's Superman that shows us all what we can aspire toward, what we can do for one another.

“I don’t believe that the world is broken. Because when we say the world, we’re really talking about people. It’s always been my belief that people, at their core, are good. The grace of mankind is everywhere. You just have to open your eyes. Humanity has a limitless potential for good. My purpose is to help people reach that potential.”

Last year I wrote a paper that I am very proud of on Superman and in it I explored the relevence of Superman as a character and the superhero as a genre, and it made me even more proud to care so much about these characters and this often maligned genre. Superman is one of my greatest inspirations, and he keeps me hopeful about this world. Because if this supremely powerful character can exist and the culture at large can still believe a man like him could be there to benefit us all, then that speaks to something incredibly positive inside all of us if that dream can persist for more than 70 years.

I titled my blog what I did for a reason, because when I am sad I turn to super heroes to remind me why I should keep going. Because we can all benefit others, because we can all be hope for others, because we can all do something. And Superman believes in us all, fights for truth, justice, and the American way. For freedom, for equality, for the right to dream. The quote beneath my blog title comes from one of my favorite comics, "What's So Funny About, Truth, Justice, and the American Way?" and speaks to me on a new level as I go through this year. There's nothing wrong with believing in a better world and dreaming of a future. It's not out of reach, it's just a matter of each of us pitching in, working together...and being a little more like Superman.

"Dreams save us. Dreams lift us up and transform us. And on my soul I swear… until my dream of a world where dignity, honor and justice becomes the reality we all share… I’ll never stop fighting. Ever.”

I have kept Superman in my life since I arrived in California. At orientation one of the activities was to draw our idea of "God." I drew Superman's symbol, not because I see a correlation between the two but because to me, the ideal of Superman is the Christian ideal. He represents a pure sense of optimism and belief in good in this world that is simply not found anywhere else in the 21st century. To me, Superman represents the beauty of the human spirit, and the best in all of us.

But what does this all have to do with courage? Because Superman reminds me to be courageous. My family reminds me to be courageous, my girlfriend, my friends, my casamates. Because we are all in this together, and I owe it to each of them as much as to myself to discover who I am and what I have to offer and face my fears and be courageous. So that I can be a better man for them and, perhaps as importantly I am realizing for the first time, for myself. I cannot continue to hide. The first step is to simply stand up. After all, like Superman reminds us in one of the most powerful single pages in the history of comic books...

"It's never as bad as it seems. You're much stronger than you think you are. Trust me."

I'm not alone. None of us are. We are all human. We all battle with our fears, our own super villains. But that's what makes us human. And we all have the ability to overcome great fear.