Speaking of Dreaming...

11:1

There's a "chapter" entitled Hebrews in this book called The Bible. Some anonymous guy wrote it to lift the spirits of persecuted Jewish Christians back in the 'ole J.C. hayday. Mr. Anonymous sure scratched down some insightful musings re: life in the empire.

This one for example:

Faith is the realization of things hoped for and evidence of things not seen.

- Hebrews 11:1

Thanks Monsieur Anony. I'm not 2000 years old, but I find this very helpful. Your timeless wisdom gives me faith in the human race, and hope to hang onto the reigns as we trample through the rockiest life paths.

Dreaming

Over the past 4 months, I've been traveling to Westerly two days a week to reach out to flood victims, administering thousands of dollars in Catholic Charities donations. The relief money comes from the hearts and hearths of fellow Rhode Islanders who deeply empathize with their compatriots.



After spending time down there, I can easily say I have never been more touched by the warmth and connectivity of a community. The tightly knit family that populates Westerly perpetually - incessantly - continually - AMAZES me. People in this town have each others' backs. I'm constantly fighting back little bursts of water at the corners of my eyes. This town loves each other. And - as the sticker slapped on the bathroom sink at my office down there reads - "Love Conquers All" - even flood ravaged homes and piles of water logged memories.



One of my clients, a single mother (I'll call her Abbey) and mother of three, was struggling far before the waters entered her house. Several close friends and relatives that live in Westerly referred her over, because the community cares and knows she needs the aid.



Even though Abbey's on a fixed income and barely keeping the lights on, she makes sure her children have a normal childhood - at least a childhood where you're concerned about how to obtain ice cream...or building forts in the woods...NOT where you're going to find dinner.



Her son's (I'll call him Victor) BMX bike currently sports a rusted out frame and parts from big two-wheelers that make the thing virtually un-rideable. Since a kid's bike has to be up to snuff to properly ride in the Westerly skate park, Victor is currently unable to cruise around during the morning rides with his friends.



When Victor and Abbey came in to meet me, I could tell the 12-year old was a little embarrassed his mom was asking for help. I also observed he was antsy, and I heard him express under his breath a desire to get home and put on new pedals.



Since I'm a little cycle-crazy, my ears perked and I immediately starting questioning him. I soon discovered all the details above about his bike's state of disrepair. In an divinely inspired moment of creativity, I recalled that my friend Warren works at the Red Shed bike shop in Olneyville, empowering the neighborhood kids to be young bike mechanics. It's a great program sponsored by the Woonasquatucket Watershed Council. The youth can access tools and parts for their bikes simply by volunteering. I contacted Warren...and then my friend Emerson donated a frame. The end of this long story is that Victor, in just under two weeks, will be riding a brand new bike at the Westerly skate park.

Photo cred: http://www.wrwc.org/gwyRedShed.php

You should check out the website for the RED SHED, up there.

Thanks to the generosity of Catholics across the state, Abbey no longer hesitates to flip the light switch...fearing that her electricity service has at last been terminated. And thanks to the tight knit community that exists in Westerly and Rhode Island at large, Victor's summer...and his childhood...are a happy one.



Here's a poem I found in the Rhode Island KIDS COUNT Factbook about living the happy life. These few words remind me to be a kid...ALWAYS...and to NEVER stop dreaming.

From: I'll Be You and You Be Me

by Ruth Krauss Harper

I love the sun

I love a house

I love a river

and a hill where I watch

and a song I heard

and a dream I made

A piece of cardboard for a Veteran

Although my stint at Project Hope/Proyecto Hope only numbers a mere 370 days, and my experience in the social work arena is somewhat limited, I've discovered one invaluable outreach tool.

Business Cards.

Little symbols of hope in a client's pocket.

Signs that point to someone out there in the world who does, in fact, care.

Here's a little story about these tiny pieces of cardboard that seem to make the world go 'round:

I often take Exit 23, Charles Street, on my commute back to Providence from the good 'ole Bucket. Without fail, there is always a man standing at the end of an exit equipped with a large sign that reads, "I'm a veteran and I need help." His counterparts can usually be spotted at a few other major intersections around the city, like the light on Service Road Seven near Crossroads. Or the off-ramp near Stop N Shop on Branch.

Sometimes I try to dig around for spare change. It's the least I can do. A few weeks ago, however, I concocted of a dream that blasted my spare pennies out of the water. I thought, "Hey, self, there are so many resources available to Vets in this state. These guys don't need to be homeless! AND they are not alone." The problem: "How could I ever convey these facts while whizzing by in a line of traffic? Two seconds simply is not enough time to reel off the resources."

SO, in light of these musings, I made a move one day after spotting a pile of crisp, white business cards perched on my passenger seat. Swiftly grabbing a dollar from my wallet, I wrapped the business card up like a money clad present and handed to the young man poised near the stop sign.

Who knows what he thought. However, I definitely saw him do a double take.

I havn't heard from him yet, but I'm hoping my rectangular gift left him curious.

Next time I think I'll scribble a little note.

Here's some links to visit if you'd like to learn about services for Veterans in RI:

Operation Stand Down

Access to Recovery - For National Guard Vets

Vet Tech

Veterans Affairs

Pause: Time with a Liberian Refugee

Working near the Diocesan Office of Immigration, I'm frequently in conversations with clients from many different cultures. There are often moments during our exchanges when a client's hard-to-translate native adage or expression either makes me giggle...or deeply reflect.

Today's lunchtime visit to the Providence office was one such occurrence. I was preparing a mailing in the Immigration department, when I was introduced to a very gentle and humble refugee woman from Liberia. With her head hung low, she shared a tale about her last two weeks - the losses she had suffered and her fear of impending homelessness. With no family in the States, her two years outside of Liberia did not buy comfort or happiness.

When I found out that she did not have a car or bus pass, I asked if she could access transportation to a job far away from her single room rental in Providence, "Could you get a ride?"

"Someone will carry me," she responded.

I paused here. "Someone will carry me." My heart stopped. To her, that was a commonplace statement. To me, her words were packed with meaning. I found myself pausing to unravel the significance.

My contemplation spurred a thought: She was only sitting in this office, seeking help, because someone...or some force carried her. She was carried to our Immigration department's trusting hands by a hope-fueled vehicle, the most reliable transportation she has ever had in this country.

From Ice Cream to Inmates: Opening Doors!

Exciting times in the Silver Lake area of Providence!!

A morning gander at the Projo has left my insides craving ice cream...and reintegration alike.

Aside:

This surprising craving arrives, coincidentally, after a late night cruise down Broad Street just last evening...in search of cheap McDonald's cones with my dear friends Lizzie and Mark. Disturbingly the convenient Broad Street location claimed to be sans ice cream. Yet our persistent desire for the delicious-yet-faux creme glacee confection carried us to North Main Street...where cones apparently cost 60 more cents a unit (interesting tidbit for all you penny pinchers).

Back to my first thought:

Shortly following the opening of an exciting new volunteer-powered community center in S.L. (Scalabrini Dukcevich Center), OpenDoors (formerly Family Life Center) announced plans to turn an an old ice cream factory into supportive housing for the formerly incarcerated! Wooohooo! Inmates are overlooked and often uncared for by most of society. Scorned for past indiscretions...sometimes undeserving of the full punishment dispersed...these members of the human race deserve a chance to succeed once again.

Look at offenders serving mandatory minimums for drug crimes and how aggrandizing dollars have found a home behind bars since the institution of such practice in 1988.

The 2003 RIDOC Annual Report demonstrates that since that date RI has opened three new facilities, expanded current prisons, and doubled expenditures - from $52 mil in '88 to a whopping $130 mil in 2003. Inflation? Hmmmm...perhaps not.

In a policy brief by the Family Life center (H7075/S2172), I found info from a 1997 study by the RAND corporation that reports "discretionary sentencing, conventional enforcement and drug treatment are all more effective, per dollar spent, at reducing both drug consumption and drug related crime."

How about re-routing funding to other services outside the slammer?

A wise Mr. Lewis once wrote,

"There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations - these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit- immortal horrors or everlasting splendours."

Our systems and our laws will fade and morph with time, but the indelible mark we leave on each other's existence is irreversible.

I admittedly say I worry about the dangers of working with a client who has spent 40 years in prison on murder charges. However, it is hope in the human race and an open disgust for the misanthropic that propels me to believe redemption is possible.

Dear Blogosphere: Ahhhh (breathing fresh summer humidity), it's nice to be back.

Still here...

I realize that some time has passed since I last posted any words on this blog of mine. So here I am, waving hello in the middle of March. Proyecto Esperanza has not disappeared in a blackhole during the past few chilly months. Like a fierce warrior, our undying hope for the people of Blackstone Valley has stood unyielding against the cold, wind, rain, and despair. Our door opens and closes frequently throughout the day and papers fly about, signs that most visitors are receiving a little help when they need it most.