Carnival's Sweet Tooth

Hey friends,

My attempt at sharing Carnival season and Mardi Gras wouldn't be complete without an ode to king cake. What's that you say? Aren't king cakes just rings of cinnamony dough sprinkled with icing and colored sugar? True, they're usually not all that complicated but they. are. everywhere. And they're delicious. Even if you haven't had one before, you've likely seen one. Just in case you haven't, a quick Google image search will turn up an endless array of variations on this delectable treat. The version that's popular in New Orleans comes in an oval and is bread dough with swirls of cinnamon sugar. Add, on top, a layer of white icing and some purple, green and gold sprinkles and BAM! King cake. A quick disclaimer before I continue: as with any tradition, specific aspects and stories vary. The following is what I've learned either from conversations here or research on the internet (so take that for what you will).

First, some background info. Because yes, this is a dessert (or breakfast...or snack...) with a history. Just like Carnival, king cake season starts on Twelfth Night, and the cake traditionally celebrates the Wise Men following the star to lil baby Jesus. (Get it? Wise Men...We Three Kings...king cake!) If I'm not mistaken, that would also be why there's usually a plastic baby somewhere in the cake. Traditionally, said baby was a bean that had been baked into the cake. Sometimes that's still the case, and different figures can also be the lucky token. But more often than not, at least around here, it's the baby that's the thing to find. It's good luck, but watch out...it also means you're the one that has to bring the next cake. Which is convenient actually, as it perpetuates a neverending supply of tasty snacks. I swear, I've eaten more king cake in the past month than I have in the rest of my life combined. And I am so okay with that.

In true New Orleans fashion, just about any excuse to celebrate something is a good excuse. And when New Orleans embraces something, she goes all out. Not only are the usual suspects all over the place, but there are interpretations galore. There are the original king cakes, the filled ones, the miniature ones, king cake donuts...you name it. Walk into any grocery store and you're bound to find at least one large table stacked high with the things. Not to mention there is the neverending debate on which local bakery makes the best king cake in town.

Below you'll find a collection of some of my king cake experiences, and after that, the links from whence I got my supplemental info for this post. Because if there's anything that deserves more reading, it's dessert. T-minus 21 days until Mardi Gras!

Love, Allison.

A common grocery store sight.

One of the many cakes that have been in the office so far. This one's from Langenstein's.
 

King cake donut, courtesy of Krispy Kreme (there was even cinnamon in the dough!).
 

I found the recipe for these on Pinterest. The store only had green sprinkles, so I got a little creative.  You can find the recipe here, if you're interested.

Read about king cake on Wikipedia, the city's website, and this tourism page.

A Beautiful Day In the Neighborhood

Hey friends!

As part of living in intentional community, my roommates and I (and our fearless leader, Kathy) gather one Saturday a month for a service project somewhere in the city. In December we planted trees and learned a little more about wetlands restoration. For our January day together, which was this past Saturday, we helped clear a vacant lot in the 7th Ward. 

First, just a few words on why lots need to be cleared in the first place. In the months and years after Katrina and the following evactuation of New Orleans, many people have returned and were able to piece back together their lives. Others, however, were forced for  one reason or another to abandon their homes here. After a while, the city and other organizations began to tear down houses that had been deteriorating and empty since the storm, leaving vacant pieces of property which quickly filled up with weeds, litter and other debris. While these vacant lots may be better in theory than a deterioriating house, they're still rather unsightly and aren't safe places for the kids in the neighborhood. So projects like the one we participated in don't only aesthetically benefit the area, they make it a safer place to be. Win-win! Often, as we learned, neighbors will offer to maintain a vacant lot (mowing it, etc), but don't have the resources or manpower (personpower?) to get it to a place where it's mowable.

For our work on Saturday morning, the seven of us (housemates minus two, plus Kathy) split up a little. I worked on a lot with my fellow North Carolinian Eric, Bueana, Laura, and Kathy. Armed with gloves and a combination of rakes, clippers, and a couple weedwackers, we plowed right into the brush. Our general strategy tended to be: 1. Pick up all the litter you can see, whilst brushing away the spiky caterpillars that are all over the place (Seriously. They were everywhere.). 2. Clip and/or weed wack bigger vegetation. 3. Rake debris. 4. Put aforementioned trash and plants into bags for the truck to pick up. 5. Rinse and repeat.

The manual labor was a change of pace for almost everybody (sorry Eric), and it was strangely therapeutic. Granted, we were still in the city, but it was a nice change of pace to get outside and do something physical that is visibly making a difference. Plus, you can find all sorts of stuff in a lot that's been vacant and untended for at least a year. Treasures we found included: a mattress, a disintigrating metal grill, some scary movie DVD, a door, and (drumroll please) a pile of dead fish!

Even more satisfying than the physical, visual difference we made was the spirit of the neighbors we saw. The man who lived across the street from the lot walked right up to us and told us if we needed anything, anything at all, to not even think about worrying him and just ask. The owner of the lot dropped off a bucket of bottled water and sports drinks. Folks driving by would slow down, wave, and honk their horns in appreciation. Not, of course, that we did it to be thanked, but it's always encouraging when your efforts are so openly affirmed.

So all in all, it was a lovely day. Here are a couple pictures of our project, followed by a link to more photographic evidence.

Eric, Bueana, Laura, and me at the beginning of the day...

...and after! (Note the expertly cleared lot in the background.)

For more pictures from our day of service, click here. (Also feel free to like the PSL YAV page on Facebook. Because, you know, we're pretty great. Quite humble, too.)

Hopefully a Mardi Gras post coming soon!
Love,
Allison

I Guess Football Isn't So Bad

Hey friends,

There's another little bit of New Orleans culture that I've come to appreciate and that I don't think has gotten much attention. That would be football. And by "football," I mean the Saints. You can't forget about LSU, but my oh my does this town love the Saints. Black and gold American flags (with a fleur de lis in place of each star, of course) are probably more common than the red, white and blue ones 'round here, and game day or not you won't have to go far to see mini Saints flags attached to car windows. Every Friday at work, Saints tshirts are all over the place, and all season long the blood bank's donor tshirts are Saints-themed. And don't you dare schedule anything for a Sunday afternoon without checking the Saints schedule first. It's everywhere.

Any of you who know me will know that sports have never been high on my list of interests. For better or worse, my main motivation for going to football games at Furman was that I liked being in the stands with my friends (at least I was still there?). But, anyway, I was advised the following before I moved to New Orleans: "Just get a Saints shirt as soon as you get there, and you'll fit right in." I followed instructions, but continue to be amazed at how thoroughly engrained the Saints are in what seems like every New Orleanian's life. And these people aren't fair weather fans. Win or lose, they love their Saints. (But that doesn't mean a loss won't put everybody in a foul mood that Monday...) For a long time the Saints weren't exactly a winning team, and not many people thought they'd turn into anything. Not unlike the fact that for a while, a lot of people wondered if New Orleans would recover from Katrina and the levees breaking. But just as New Orleanians didn't give up on their city, they won't give up on their team. That Super Bowl win in 2009 probably helped fuel the fire a bit too...

Now I know there are plenty of sports fans out there that check schedules and change moods depending on their team's success or lack thereof. But it's been a new thing for me. And I have to say, I've kind of enjoyed it! Obviously there'll always be a place in my heart for Furman sports, but I think the Saints are at least the first pro team that I've really, truly cared about. (Well, I did enjoy following the Preds last year in Nashville. But, back to football...) No, I can't name every player, but I can name a few and that's more than I can say for most other sports teams I've had connections to. And yes, I still only have one Saints tshirt, but I've sure gotten some good use out of it. I've also been told that the heartbreak I experienced following the Saints' tragic loss to the 49ers this past Saturday just means that I'm doing this whole sports fan thing right. Sigh...

And there you have it, folks. Allison Wehrung blogging about sports. Who would've thought?!

Love,
Allison

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas...

...the next holiday season started!

One of the many bits of character that New Orleans has about her is Carnival! So, friends, I'm hoping to make part of my blogging in the next month and a half an attempt at sharing what I've learned about it so far. First thing's first: Carnival is the season, which begins on Twelfth Night and ends with Mardi Gras (which is, specifically, the day before Ash Wednesday). Some people seem to refer also to the season as Mardi Gras, but at least now you know the technical vocab. There are an overwhelming number of aspects to the culture of Mardi Gras here in New Orleans, so I'm hoping to share it with you bit by bit. As it turns out, this season is a heck of a lot more than shenanigans on Bourbon Street.

For starters, and for this post, there is Twelfth Night. The particulars of the exact date vary a little by tradition but here, January 6th signals the occasion and with it the arrival of Carnival season. While most of the physical celebrations and parades center around Mardi Gras day and the week or two leading up to it, Twelfth Night means it's officially alright to eat King Cake and put up purple, green, and gold stuff in your houses! So here's to hoping you all eat some cake and maybe even get the piece with the little plastic baby in it (fair warning: apparently, in addition to being good luck, the baby also means you have to buy the next one).

January 6th also happens to be Joan of Arc's birthday. Given that she's quite the hero around these parts, there's a parade in her honor each January 6th, put on by the Krewe de Jeanne d'Arc. (More on Mardi Gras krewes in a later post maybe, but they're essentially different social clubs, some more exclusive and secretive than others. Many of them throw a parade and a ball each Carnival season.) In this particular parade, participants dressed in Medieval clothing and walked through the French Quarter, starting at a statue of Jean-Baptiste Le Moyne de Bienville (who is credited with founding the city of New Orleans) and ending at the statue of Joan. One of my favorite parts of the parade was the six women on horseback, each portraying a different Joan of Arc. The Joans ranged from a younger Joan to a warrior Joan and a flag-carrying golden Joan (that one represents the statue). There were also these kids walking on stilts, who I'm pretty sure are way cooler than I'll ever be.

Another important (and fun) part of all of these parades are the throws. While these often involve beads of different color and size, they can also include handmade items, which vary depending on the krewe and the parade. While I was hoping to get one of the sweet handmade and decorated wooden swords, that didn't exactly work out. (I think you had to be a cute little kid dressed in a knight costume...live and learn, I guess.) I did get a couple neat crosses, and a magnet too! Seeing as though this particular parade was in celebration of a birthday, numbered candles were also distributed, one for each of Joan's 600 years. Also apparently popular in many parades are doubloons (fun word, no?), which are either wooden or metal and usually feature the krewe's emblem and founding year on one side, with the year of the parade on the other. Take a gander at the spoils of my first New Orleans parade experience:

Like I said, most of the other parades won't happen until the week or two leading up to Mardi Gras, but I'm hoping to do some reading about the season and different traditions, and maybe share some more of it here. So, if there's anything in particular you're curious about, feel free to let me know in the comments or elsewhere. I've just found myself so fascinated by it all that I wanted to share. If you don't find yourself as interested, please forgive me and feel free to just skim these posts. :)

Love,

Allison.

Home for the Holidays

Hello dear friends, and merry New Year!

With the advent of this newest year in our lives, social networks and real-life conversations alike have been overflowing with memories of 2011 and hopes for 2012. And here in New Orleans, the store aisles dedicated to Christmas decorations and supplies have quickly been replaced with the purple, green, and gold of Mardi Gras. Before we get into that, though, here are a few words on the end of my 2011...

If you've read my last couple posts, you know some crazy stuff has been going on in these parts. I found myself hoping rather desperately that I could find some warm fuzzy feelings about New Orleans before she and I parted ways for Christmas. I lucked out and found those warm fuzzies in the form of caroling in Jackson Square. Hosted by a group called the Patio Planters, the event has been goin' down every Sunday-before-Christmas since 1946. Each year thousands of people (natives, transplants, and tourists alike) gather in the square just outside of St. Louis' Cathedral, reading from songbooks by candlelight, singing everything from "Good King Wenceslas" to "Feliz Navidad" with a little "Rudolph" sprinkled in. Apparently, this year, 8,000+ carolers kept us company. Local leaders both religious and secular introduced the carols and special guests. In true NOLA fashion, the Archbishop worked the crowd before his opening prayer with a: "So how 'bout those Saints? Are we going to the Super Bowl or what?!" To which the crowd replied with an assortment of cheers including the ever popular "WHO DAT!" The spirit of this town just doesn't get old. Jillian, Lauren, Ashley and I had smiles plastered across our faces the entire time (except for when I spilled hot wax on my hand...), and it was even "cold" enough for us to wear scarves! And, of course, we just had to fight the post-caroling crowds at Cafe du Monde for a few beignets and some cafe au lait. It would've been a great evening under any circumstances, but I was especially grateful to have this experience just a few days before I headed up to North Carolina. For your viewing pleasure, here are a few pictures of the occasion (none of which I actually took)...


Caroling by candlelight in Jackson Square. (That's Lauren, Jillian and Ashley.)

Excited about our songbooks. Can you say free souvenir?!

Lauren's sister Lindsay was in town to experience the NOLA holiday magic.

Just a few days after our caroling adventures, I was off to Davidson for Christmas with the family. Holidays have turned out to be an interesting thing in YAV land. Sometimes going home is a welcomed break from a stressful placement, and a chance to reconnect with friends, family, and the local coffee shop. But there is also the fact that I am not the same person I was a year and a half a half ago. Of course, the Allison that graduated from Furman also wasn't the exact same one that graduated from high school four years before that, but this seems to be a little different. It's also one of those things that I don't think I can fully put into words, but it has also been a very real part of my YAV experience. And I couldn't help but think about the rest of the YAV community, many of whom were either struggling with returning home a changed person or were struggling with not being able to return home for the holidays. Maybe it was the Christmas warm fuzzies, but again I just found myself thinking of how much I love this little YAV family, and how thankful I am that it's a part of my life.

After a quick six days in the homeland, it was back to New Orleans in time for New Years Eve. Given the fact that I managed to pick up an awesome cold on my way out of Davidson, Ashley and I just went out for a delicious Mediterranean dinner, and headed back to the house, snacks in hand, to watch the ball drop on TV. Highlights of the evening: the woman working in the vintage clothing store complimented my dress when Ashley and I were doing some pre-dinner window shopping, and a little seven or eight year old girl complimented my sparkly shoes. Score. My other favorite part of the evening was right after midnight, as I stood on our balcony watching fireworks in almost every direction. Just past the buildings and scattered trees you could see the the big display over the Quarter, and in almost any other way you looked, you could see the occasional colorful explosions that people were setting of on their own. Despite the fact that I'm not sure exactly how safe it is to set off fireworks in the middle of narrow streets that are lined with mostly-made-of-wood houses, I couldn't help but feel happy standing there breathing in the cool air of a brand new year. And however much of a love/hate relationship I seem to have with this city, I think it's also a place that I'm proud to call one of my homes.

Just six days after New Years, the next holiday season rolled around. Happy Carnival, friends! Be on the look out soon for a post about our Twelfth Night reveling and the first parade of the season. 43 days until Mardi Gras...

Love,
Allison.

(Hopefully) Calming Words

Hi again, friends.

If you've read my post from Monday, you know a lot's been going on. A lot's still going on, but I just want to quickly share with you a quotation I got in an email from my Mom a while ago. It's helped me a great deal so far, and I hope it can be of benefit for you too. Especially those of you, YAV or not, that might be having a rough go if it right now. The email didn't attribute the words to anyone in particular, but my internet research (for whatever that's worth) credits them to Mother Teresa. Also, in the interest of accurate citations, I'm the one that made words italic and  bold...so. To the point:

Today may there be peace within. May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and others. May you use the gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content with yourself just the way you are. Let this knowledge settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us.

I've also found myself re-reading YAVA Luke's poem from last year's orientation. It just seems so fitting, still. If you missed it in my post following our transition retreat back in September, click here.

Love,

Allison

In All Honesty

Hey friends,

For those of you who have followed this blog with any regularity over the past 16 months or so, you may have noticed that new additions have been made far more seldomly this year than last. (Thanks for the reminder, Mom.) By no means does that indicate that I've less to say, it's just that, in all honesty, this year has been hard so far. And, while I can acknowledge well enough that it's been hard, I do think that it's been a challenge to put it into words. I also want to preface this post, however, by saying that these comments are in no way a plea for sympathy or an effort to stress anybody out. It's merely my best attempt at sharing an honest portrayal of my year in New Orleans. So here goes nothin'.

It wouldn't be very honest of me to say that this has been a difficult four (ish) months without mentioning work. By no means am I saying I'm the only person out there struggling with working in a hospital chaplains department, but it's kind of a new thing for me to not love what I do every day. It has been a challenging thing for me to realize that maybe I'm not going to be super thrilled about going to work every morning, and that maybe I'm not meant to be a hospital chaplain when I grow up. But I'm also trying to remember that I am meant to be here this year. We'll see where this part of my journey goes, but maybe that conversation is for another day.

What has been affecting me (and I venture to say most of my house) more, as of late, is the crime that seems to be creeping in closer and closer to our little intentional community. It is no secret that New Olreans isn't the safest city in the world, but over the past few weeks several members of our community have directly experienced, whether as victims or witnesses, instances of violence. In addition to that, reports of other events near our house have had everyone on edge. And while I know that violence is very much a reality in this world and in many cities, as someone who grew up in a pleasantly small town it has been especially hard to stare it in the face. It truly breaks my heart that people find themselves in positions in which violence and crime seem like the only option, and it breaks my heart that people I love are being hurt physically and emotionally. And I think all of these events have slowly but surely chipped away at our ability to feel comfortable in this city that is our home for the year. You want some cash, but you're afraid to walk by yourself across the street to Walgreens even in the middle of the day. Or you had a bad day and want to just sit in your car for a while when you get home from work, but are very aware of the fact the gravel lot by the house is pretty isolated and awfully dark by the time 5:30pm rolls around. I think we're definitely past that "honeymoon phase" they kept talking about at orientation. Culture shock much?

While we are obviously very conscious of traveling in groups, always locking the house, and making other safety-conscious decisions, the fact is that, at least speaking for myself: I'm just tired. I'm tired of seeing a constant stream of crime reports on the news, I'm tired of feeling the need to speed walk just the short distance from my car to my house, I'm tired of being suspicious of almost everybody I see on the street, and honestly, I'm tired of feeling guilty for having all of these feelings (I know a whole lot of people have it worse off than I do). But it is so hard to feel at home in a place where you feel as though your guard needs to constantly be up. And even though it seems like Christmas is coming at us with the speed of lightning (which in education land means the year's half over), we've still got two thirds of our YAV years to go.

All of this being said, we're hanging in there. Our little baby Christmas tree and some stockings are doing their job of bringing holiday cheer to the living room, and we are looking forward to the chance to visit with family and friends over Christmas. This past Saturday was our monthly community day (in addition to our Tuesday night meetings), and we spent the morning planting trees. I know it was therapeutic for me, and I suspect a lot of my roommates feel the same way. It was a wonderful thing to be away from the city in a little bit of nature (even though I could still hear the cargo ships on the river), and to be physically, visibly improving the land around us, and just to get a little dirt on our hands. I mean plus I saw an armadillo, some cool bugs and a cute little swamp melon. It was a welcomed break from "real life." And New Orleans is still full of so much beauty and character, if we can only remember to look for it.

So as I said before, I don't mean to alarm anyone with my words here. But I do humbly ask that, if you're the prayin' type, you keep our community in your prayers, that we can find hope and peace of mind as we're making our way through this rough patch. During the closing prayer after our community dinner Saturday evening, one roomate read Psalm 23, and it was fitting enough that it brought be to tears. So, whether you need it right now or not, I'll leave you with those words.

Love,
Allison

¹ The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
²   He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;
³   he restores my soul.
He leads me in right paths
   for his name’s sake.

⁴ Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
   I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
   your rod and your staff—
   they comfort me.

⁵ You prepare a table before me
   in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
   my cup overflows.
⁶ Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
   all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
   my whole life long.

A Different Take on Giving Thanks

Hey friends!

I meant to post this on Thanksgiving, but clearly did not. The week before Turkey Day, the Pastoral Care Department hosted Thanksgiving services at a handful of Ocshner campuses. Granted, there were only a few people at the one I helped with, but one of the resident chaplains shared a great reflection on what it means to be thankful, and what it means to be greatful (as it turns out, those two things can be quite different). Her reflection included this poem:

Be Thankful

author unknown

Be thankful that you don't already have everything you desire.

If you did, what would there be to look forward to?

Be thankful when you don't know everything,

for it gives you the opportunity to learn.

Be thankful for the difficult times.

During those times you grow.

Be thankful for your limitations,

because they give you opportunities for improvement.

Be thankful for each new challenge

because it will build your strength and character.

Be thankful for your mistakes.

They will teach you valuable lessons.

Be thankful when you're tired and weary,

because it means you've made a difference.

Now, this poem said a lot to me. This year hasn't been easy. While I'm feeling settled in to New Orleans and while I'm pretty sure I start going through legitimate withdrawal when I go too long without talking to my roommates, work has been hard. Maybe more on that later, but for now: it is just so good to have a reminder that those difficulties are alright. That difficulties are something to be thankful for, and that even though this year has certainly been and will continue to be harder than last, it is important and educational and valuable. I have things to look forward to, things to learn, and so many more chances to grow and challenge myself. Hopefully somewhere in there I can manage to make a difference, too.

Here's the thing though. Why did Thanksgiving have to happen for me to really comprehend that reminder? Maybe my tardiness in posting these comments can be the start of remembering to be thankful on days other than the fourth Thursday in November. Maybe not, but I sure intend on trying. Care to join me?

Love,

Allison

America the Beautiful

Hey friends,

A couple weeks ago my roommates and I ventured to Austin, TX for a retreat with the San Antonio YAVs and some AmeriCorps folks who are currently serving in Austin. Most of the weekend was just time to relax, enjoy each other's company, and explore the city. We played tourist and paid visits to the capitol building, the first Whole Foods (which is huge, by the way), and the beautiful Mount Bonnell. My favorite part of the weekend, however, was our time at the Austin Powwow, which is an annual celebration of culture and heritage that brings together different Native American nations for dancing, drumming, and the chance to honor and remember loved ones.

I'm generally a fan of new experiences, but this one was particularly wonderful. As dancers in elaborate outfits paraded their way into the room, I was legitimately overwhelmed by the beauty of it all. There was a palpable sense of pride surrounding the tradition and art of the dances, and the colors and details of the clothing were nothing less than exquisite.

I couldn't help but think, as I was taking all of this in, that this amazing group of people is a huge part of our country's history, and it is so often overlooked. I'll be the first to say I know very little about Native American culture, but just this small experience has made me want to know more. I wonder what would change if this was the kind of American culture that we embraced instead of focusing on Starbucks, the latest designer clothes, and failed celebrity marriages. I get as much entertainment as the next girl out of the occasional celebrity gossip magazine, and there's nothing wrong with wanting to look nice. But here's my suggestion, friends. Take a look around and see where the real beauty is in your life, whether it's something especially "American" or not. Whether it's your heritage, a particular relationship, a flowering tree on your street, a quiet walk in a peaceful place or the smile of a random stranger on the street.

What takes your breath away?

There is so much real beauty in the people and places that are right around us, if only we'd stop every now and then to look for it.

Love,
Allison.



A glimpse of the powwow, courtesy of Jillian's account of our adventure.



Finding God in Lafayette Square

Friends, I think I'm officially falling in love with New Orleans. I'm going to do my best to explain just a some of it to you, though several roommates and I have determined it's probably not possible to truly convey the beauty of this city unless you see it for yourself. (We have several couches and extra beds. Just sayin'.) I don't really feel like my storytelling will completely do these moments justice, but I hope this will be able to convey at least a little of the spirit I've found here in New Orleans.


Anyway, a couple weekends ago Lauren, Jillian and I set off for the Crescent City Blues & BBQ Festival. We pulled into a parking lot, and as I was walking up to the machine to pay, a man walked up and told us he was leaving, and that we were welcome to have his ticket (which still had about six hours left). Then after some good food and even better music, we started wandering around the booths of various artists and other vendors. We proceeded to meet an artist who had these incredible paintings of New Orleans and Katrina recovery efforts. She of course, because it's NOLA, talked to us forever, telling us about the city and Mardi Gras and plenty of other things too, and was eager to hear about where we're from and why we're here. Then, as we sat back down, we met Ronald.

Ronald, who was being pushed in a wheelchair, proceeded to tell us he does improv poetry, and he wanted to share one with us. So off he went, rhythmically rhyming in an on-the-spot poem he told us was called "Three Queens." It was all about these three queens/princesses (he switched back and forth between those) who just wanted to take off their crowns for a day and enjoy regular life. How the king and queen were worried about the princesses, but the princesses just needed to get away from the castle for a while and see what life was all about. They were going to be just fine. After he was done, Ronald told us he just wanted to say that he could see the light and the love in our faces, and that he just wanted to remind us that we're beautiful.

Ronald literally left us speechless. Often I've retrospectively seen God's presence in a certain situation, but friends, in that moment I felt like I was staring God right in the face. It seemed so unbelievable to me that a random guy in the park could get so much right about us. About me. At the risk of speaking inaccurately for other people, I think the ways that Ronald's poem described me could probably be applied to a lot of YAVs. Many of us embark on these year-long adventures outside of our proverbial castles, often to places far away both geographically and culturally. Sure, folks back home might be worried: What is she doing with her life? When's he going back to school? Are they safe there? But we sneak out anyway, to see what it's like out here. And we'll be alright.

I think then even our YAV context can become a castle of sorts, if for different reasons. Many specific YAV jobs involve stressful work, and after work time is often filled with community meetings and other events. That is not to say that we need or want to forget about or ignore the work we do or the issues we care about, but sometimes it's nice to take off the YAV hat and just enjoy some music sitting in the grass outside. And sometimes that's ok. As I continue settling in to a year that is far from easy, it was wonderful to hear that.


Love,
Allison