Home is where...

Hello, old friends!

If you've spent any time with me in person lately, you've probably heard me mention (okay...probably whine about) having to switch my license and car tags to Georgia. I may or may not be slightly sentimentally attached to my home state, so it's been an interesting experience to give up the paper trail that connects me to it. But, the deed is done. (All it took was essentially daily texts from Mom "encouraging" me to get my butt to the DMV. Sorry for the foot-dragging, parents...) Madame Blueberry is officially a peach, and I've got the driver's license to match!

Considering the places I've lived since college, the past handful of years adds up to, more specifically, five states in four years. On one hand, this bouncing around has been a blessing. I've gotten to know some wonderful cities, and through their differences and similarities they and the people in them have allowed me to grow in my understanding of myself and of other people. On the other hand, I very much look forward to an eventual day when I can again have the chance to make more long-term connections to one geographical place.

These days it's awfully tricky to answer the question: "Where are you from?" I don't feel like it's totally honest to simply answer "North Carolina," seeing as it's been a while since I really lived there. But I also don't feel right simply saying "Georgia," because Decatur is still only a small part of my story. It usually goes something like this: "Well, I'm originally from Davidson, North Carolina (but I was born in Ohio). I went to school in South Carolina, and I also worked at a camp in western North Carolina. But then I lived in Nashville and New Orleans with a volunteer program. Now I'm in school near Atlanta."

North Carolina will always be home. But I will also feel at home in Greenville, in Nashville, and in New Orleans. After some time adjusting, I'm claiming Decatur too.

So what does "home" even mean, if I feel like all of these places are still holding little (or huge) parts of me?

Home is where your family is, whether that family is defined by blood, a summer camp, a school, or a volunteer program.

Home is where you can be challenged, and challenge some things yourself. 

Home is where you grow.

Home is where you sit at table with others.
Home is where you care and are cared for.
Home is where you have a favorite coffee shop.

Home is a noun, an adjective, an adverb, and a verb. (Really.)

Home is where you can make mistakes.
Home is where there are second chances.

Home is where you live.

Home is where you love.

So, friends, here's to having long answers to "where are you from?" And here's to finding homes wherever we go.

Love,
Allison.

I may claim more than one state these days, but...belated birthday present, anybody?

To Miss New Orleans

Hey friends.

So far this month, I've been making it a practice to journal daily about something for which I'm thankful.  (Super original activity for the month of November, right?) My list so far includes mostly people (and coffee), but I am also thankful for New Orleans.

Last year wasn't exactly the easiest year of my life. I've neglected to address some of the tougher parts here, if for nothing else than I am most comfortable being an outwardly optimistic person. (And hey, if I can't control much else in life, at least I can control what goes on my blog!) But despite the rough patches, I wouldn't trade my year in New Orleans (or my year in Nashville) for anything. And anyway, sometimes challenges are good (despite how much I might doubt that when they're happening).

It's been a big few days of processing. I don't know that I realized how much processing I had (or have) left to do...but I s'pose this is that gradual transition process they kept telling us about at Ghost Ranch. Last week I put one of my coats for the first time this season, and wouldn't you know it, in the pocket I found a plastic straw I'd caught at a Mardi Gras parade last year. This past weekend I helped paint a house with a few fellow CTS students, one of whom was a YAV last year here in Atlanta. Living in an apartment by myself, I've had more time to spend just with my thoughts. Any of these things and a host of others could've spurred the turning of my mental wheels, I suppose. But this is a good thing. In a kind of unexpected wave, I am making peace with the difficult parts of last year, and wholeheartedly embracing my fond memories of the good ones. I'm not so bold as to claim that I'm all of a sudden at the end of the transition line graph (yes, there is one). But it's progress.

My friend Lauren, who was my roommate and fellow YAV in New Orleans and is an absolutely lovely human being, also happens to be an exceptionally talented artist. She drew this picture and called it "To Miss New Orleans."

Click here to see more of Lauren's kick awesome art.
(You can even buy prints, phone cases and other goodies!)

So thank you, New Orleans, for helping me figure out who I am and who I am becoming (or maybe at least giving me the space freedom to figure it out for myself).

In New Orleans, you can be whoever the heck you want to be. You can wear ridiculous homemade tutus on Halloween and joyously jump in to the impromptu dance party that starts in the middle of the street (you know, hypothetically). You can walk through the Quarter dressed head-to-toe like a pirate on a random day in December (Not guilty. But I am most definitely a witness). You can see a musical about zombies produced in an old abandoned church (yes, it was as awesome as it sounds). You can be as creative, as out-there, as weird as your heart desires, and New Orleans? She'll put a daiquiri in your hand, some beads around your neck, and welcome you home with an enthusiastic "Who dat?!" (If you're not into daiquiris I'm sure she'd substitute a good cafe au lait.) New Orleans is still broken in a lot of ways, but she is also beautiful and full to the brim with characters of every sort, and the stories that go along with them. If you haven't met her yet, you should.

Love,
Allison.

PS - It also happens to be the YAV program's "Social Media Blitz Week," during which we harass (I mean uh...encourage) our friends (and acquaintances, and pretty much anyone who will listen) to check out the YAV life. And because I'm such a huge fan of this program, here's a slightly obligatory plug for it (admittedly copied and pasted, if that wasn't obvious...). Seriously though. If you're looking for a year that will change your life, check it out.

Do you want to spend a year putting your faith in action and serving in mission? Are you interested in a career in non-profit work, humanitarian aid, or church service? Then apply to be a Young Adult Volunteer! The Presbyterian YAV program is accepting applications now –www.pcusa.org/yav

A Coffee Filter Creation Story

Hey friends,

One of my classes this semester is called "The Earth Is the Lord's: Ecology, Theology, and the Church's Witness." (Which is quite the name...I usually just call it Earth Class.) For this particular class, one option for our midterm "exam" was to turn in journal entries responding to class readings and discussions. We'd spent some time on the idea of creatio ex profundis, and I wanted to respond to that with a journal entry that involved more than just words.

First, a little context: creatio ex profundis states that creation happened out of chaos (as opposed to creatio ex nihilo, which says creation happened out of nothing). Take a look at Genesis 1:1-2: 

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. (NRSV)

I've also been taking Hebrew this fall, which despite its tendency to frequently overwhelm me, has actually been one of my favorite classes. The Hebrew word used here for "wind," ruach, can also mean breath or spirit (and probably some other things that aren't on my flashcard...). 

I'm a visual person, if you didn't know, so ever since these class discussions I'd been trying to figure out what that creation out of chaos might look like. As I mulled it over,  it always seemed to be this churning mess of dark blues, greens, and purples, maybe with the smallest sparks of brighter color or light, out of which and over which the ruach would emerge, an equally messy and captivating presence, but full of more color and light. This ruach would snake its way in and out of the void, gently and mysteriously calling together creation. 

So I dug around my apartment (and my friend's recycling pile) to come up with supplies for my art project. The “canvas” I used is some recycled cardboard, on which I painted the background with blue, teal, and black paints (and some of my trusty blue glitter glue). Then I used Sharpies for the Hebrew and English writing (which are both Genesis 1:1-2). The “breath” itself is made of three coffee filters that I dyed with water color paints before crumpling, twisting, and gluing them to the cardboard. Splatters and drops of blue, black, and gold paint make up the final layer. 

Here are a couple pictures of my artistic endeavor. Here's to hoping I'll find more excuses to throw paint around and get school credit for it...

The colors are a little darker in real life, but you get the idea.

Love,

Allison.

Grains of Sand

Hey there, friends, and long time no talk!

My apologies for the blogging absence. I know you've just been on the edges of your seats, dying to know when I'd post something new. (...Right?) As it turns out, they like to keep you kind of busy at seminary. I'm hoping at some point to share, here, some of the (what I think is) cool stuff I've been learning and thinking about here at CTS. But for now, here are some continued thoughts on life after YAV.

As part of YAV orientation each year, new volunteers are invited to get their craft on and create a bookmark. (Or, rather, decorate a pre-cut piece of card stock destined for a protective plastic sleeve. Shiny tassel included.) Markers and stickers abound as each person leaves a bit of his or her identity on a little paper rectangle. Later in the week these bookmarks are piled in a basket, and during a worship service each participant is again invited to take part, this time by picking up someone else's bookmark from the basket. Essentially, we took our new bookmarks with us as we scattered across the world, agreeing to pray for and think about the brother or sister whose bookmark we held.

In theory, our bookmarks' journeys are completed when they are returned to their creator at Transition Retreat in New Mexico. Logistically, this doesn't always happen. Bookmarks get left at placement sites (guilty) and lost amongst luggage, or people aren't able to miss work or school to travel to Ghost Ranch. Life happens.

But when I went to New Mexico back in September, I got my bookmark back. And stuck in the little plastic sleeve, along with the flower stickers and Mumford & Sons lyrics I left there more than a year ago, are grains of Guatemalan sand. I might not have even noticed them if the lovely keeper of my bookmark hadn't pointed them out on our way back to the airport (thanks, Kristi!). But sure enough, they're there.

You know how when you go to the beach the sand gets everywhere? You shower and do the laundry, but there's inevitably still a grain or two or ten in your hair, or in your pocket. A few weeks later you get out the bag you used and unexpectedly it dumps leftover sand all over your floor. A water bottle rolls under your passenger seat months after your beach trip and as you retrieve it you feel the grit of a few long forgotten grains of sand in your hand.

I think that's a little bit how my experience as a YAVA will be. It's been about five months now since I lived in New Orleans, and a good 16 or so since I lived in Nashville. In some ways it seems like I was in both of those places yesterday, and in others it seems like it's been about 8,000 years.

Just when I think I'm on to the next thing--when I'm sure I've dealt with those two years' challenges and embraced their happy memories--I find more sand in my proverbial backpack. A friend who still lives in New Orleans will post a picture of one of my favorite places or things, and I'll realize how much I miss it. Hurricane Isaac hit in August and I was glued to my computer's weather page. I catch a glimpse of the Bluebird on a commercial for that new show Nashville, and I realize how much I want to go back and visit. I think about my experiences in both of those places and realize to what an incredible degree they have shaped me and the path towards some sort of ministry that I am now pursuing. Do I know exactly what that journey will end up looking like? Of course not. But I know that the past two years are a huge part of the reason I'm here, I know that a handful of YAV(A)s are one of my biggest support systems, and I know that I'll probably be finding assorted grains of sand in my bookmarks and backpacks for a long. time. And you know what? I'm okay with that.

Love,
Allison.

More Dirt Between My Toes

Hey friends,

While my actual time as a YAV in New Orleans ended almost three months ago, just this past weekend I attended a transition retreat that more officially brought my YAV experience to a close. First, go ahead and click here to read what I wrote about reentry last year. (This is partly to save myself from typing similar words again, and partly because I think my words last year are still fitting. It will also make sense of this post's title.)

This past weekend was filled with wonderful reunions, challenging conversations, and some time just staring at the stars. I continue to be so grateful for my time as a Young Adult Volunteer, and I am positive that the things I have witnessed, experienced, and learned in the past two years will continue to shape the person I am and the person I am becoming. My two reentry experiences at Ghost Ranch were just about as different as my two years, I think, but both were meaningful experiences and we YAV(A) are lucky to be part of a program that provides them for us.

Those are about all the words I can collect at this point, so I'll leave you with a prayer of sorts that was amongst the worksheets and materials we were given during the retreat. After that are a few pictures from a hike some of us took during our free time, for those of you who have yet to witness the beauty of Ghost Ranch.

Love,
Allison.

A Non-Traditional Blessing

Sister Ruth Fox

May God bless us with discontent with easy answers, half truths, superifical relationships, so that we will live from deep within our hearts,

May God bless us with anger at injustice, oppression, abuse and exploitation of people, so that we shall work for justice, equality, and peace,

May God bless us with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war, so that we shall reach out our hands to comfort them and to change their pain to joy,

May God bless us with the foolishness to think we can make a difference in this world, so that we shall do the things which others tell us cannot be done.

If we have the courage to accept these blessings, then God will also bless us with

          happiness -- because we shall know that we have made life better for others

          inner peace -- because we shall have worked to secure an outer peace for others

          laughter -- because our hearts will be light

          faithful friends -- because they will recognize our worth as people

These blessings are ours -- not for the asking, but for the giving -- from One who wants to be our companion, our God, who lives and reigns, forever and ever,

Amen.

The small group of buildings towards the right is Ghost Ranch.

Chimney Rock

Words, Wonderful Words

Hey again, friends,

Most of you probably know already that I'm a big fan of words. I think they're wonderful! Sometimes if I can't think of anything to say but I'm in a writing mood, I'll just take a pen and make lists of words that rhyme...or words that don't. (I'd highly recommend trying it out sometime.)

I just stumbled upon the following poem in a book today (Garrison Keillor's Good Poems, to be exact). I've loved this poem since the first time I read it, and it made me smile to see it again. So I thought I'd share it here. Maybe someday my lists will turn into a poem too. But without further ado...enjoy!

Love,
Allison.

Sweater Weather: 

A Love Song To Language

Sharon Bryan

Never better, mad as a hatter,

right as rain, might and main,

hanky panky, hot toddy,

hoity-toity, cold shoulder,

bowled over, rolling in clover,

low blow, no soap, hope

against hope, pay the piper,

liar liar pants on fire,

high and dry, shoo-fly pie,

fiddle-faddle, fit as a fiddle, 

sultan of swat, muskrat

ramble, fat and sassy,

flimflam, happy as a clam,

cat's pajamas, bee's knees,

peas in a pod, pleased as punch,

pretty as a picture, nothing much,

lift the latch, double Dutch,

helter-skelter, hurdy-gurdy,

early bird, feathered friend,

dumb cluck, buck up,

shilly-shally, willy-nilly,

roly-poly, holy moly,

loose lips sink ships,

spitting image, nip in the air,

hale and hearty, part and parcel,

upsy-daisy, lazy days,

maybe baby, up to snuff,

flibbertigibbet, honky-tonk,

spic and span, handyman,

cool as a cucumber, blue moon,

high as a kite, night and noon,

love me or leave me, seventh heaven,

up and about, over and out.  

Rule of Life

Hey friends,

A few months ago in New Orleans, during an attempt to clean my room, I came across my collection of YAV papers. This particular stack included the "Rule of Life" I wrote on closing retreat with my fellow Nashville YAVs in 2011. I remember being intimidated by this task when our group was presented with it (I mean...a rule of life?), but as we YAV(A)s are trained to do, I dutifully obliged in the self growth experiment. Here's what I came up with more than a year ago, exactly how I wrote it then...

Rule of Life
1. Trust in the fact that God knows what God is doing.
2. Be sure to remember that you are not alone.
3. Spend time outside with God.
4. Be intentional about building strong relationships.
5. Never forget to be thankful.
6. Live with hope that the Church can be a positive, loving example to the world.
7. Pray.

I stared at that paper for a good while, when I found it. Between all the doodles (surprise), there were those words that captured what was most important to me as I approached the end of a volunteer year in Tennessee. If I were to rewrite that list after my year in New Orleans I'd change some wording around a little, maybe re-order them too. If I wrote a new list, not all of the above sentences would be on it, and perhaps some would be added.

I'm thankful that I found that little paper, as crumpley and folded as it is. I could've easily thrown it out over the course of the thirteen or so months since I wrote it, but just reading it again gave me the chance to see how I've changed this year. And I'm certain that if I'd written a Rule of Life before starting my year in Nashville, the list above would've shown a great deal of change too. Maybe I'll try and write a yearly Rule of Life. I'm (mentally) working on a revised edition for my current self, but I'm quite positive that many, many new life-changing experiences are heading my way. And anyway, the phrase "rule of life" seems important enough that it seems a little absurd to not allow room for growth and adaptation.

Shortly after I moved away from New Orleans, I received a lovely little note from my NOLA housemate Jillian, and she including the following quotation. (She likes quotations. Read more of her picks here!)

“We never stop being who we are in life. Instead, we become more of who we are meant to be through all the changes and challenges we face because from every battle fought and every trial endured comes the opportunity for us to grow more. When our life takes us by surprise, when it doesn’t turn out quite how we expected, we initiate our dreams by implementing our own goals as we are inspired by what our lives hold for us now. Sometimes we need to stop questioning where life is taking us and just go, letting faith lead the way and making things happen by opening our hearts...For when we keep our hearts opened, we see the magic from the beauty life has start to come alive around us." (Jenna Kandyce Linch)

I've come back to those words more than once since I received them. I am quick to say that I am a very different person than the Allison that moved to Nashville after college. The YAV program without a doubt changed my life. But maybe, technically, I'm the same person I've always been, and I've just been figuring out exactly what that means.

I met with my home church's session recently, as part of my journey to seminary and hopefully ordained ministry. During the prayer at the end of our time together, the pastor said something along these lines: "May Allison at times be very, very uncomfortable, and at times may she be very, very comfortable." That first part is pretty darn intimidating, if for nothing else than I'm absolutely positive uncomfy times are heading my way. But I'm guessing those will be incredibly transformative, just as my YAV years were.

So who knows what my Rule of Life might be a year from now, or three years from now, or a decade from now. I s'pose I'll just have to wait and see.

Love,
Allison.

The Helpers

Hey friends,


In the day and a half that has passed since Thursday night's shooting in Colorado, there's been a near constant stream of news and commentators. Words of grief, shock, anger, and likely a multitude of other emotions are still flowing out of mouths and keyboards from every which way. This is, for the most part, a good thing. People are processing. I process out loud too. Certainly not all of it makes it to this blog, but there are a handful of people in my life who will, when I need them too, graciously sit there while I ramble out loud. Still, often, tragic events like this one leave me genuinely speechless. I mean what do you even say when something like that happens? I doubt even the most eloquent collection of words from the most well-respected person could actually make it any better for those involved, but a sorority sister of mine shared the following quotation in a Facebook post yesterday...

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers, so many caring people in this world.” (Fred Rogers)

Just in case you didn't pick up on the name...that's the Mr. Rogers. I dare say he's one of my favorite Presbyterians, and these words hit it out of the park for me. Perhaps his words here resonate with me so much because they are the precise approach I have taken in many of the rough patches I've encountered over the past two years. There have, honestly, been times in my YAV years when I've felt utterly inundated with feelings of helplessness, hopelessness, uselessness, and any number of other 'ness-es. And during those times I was always able to find at least some comfort in the helpers around me. YAV-related and otherwise, these neighbors of mine, the helpers, continue to inspire me by making it a priority in their lives to share time and talent with the people around them. Whether that is through a year or two of structured volunteering or something completely different, it gives me great hope. 


I wasn't at that movie theater in Aurora. And the only slight physical connection I have to this tragedy is that I know YAVs in Denver. So really I'm not sure if it's even my place to offer this commentary. But I hope that Mr. Rogers's little chunk of wisdom here will give you a small glimpse of hope, during this difficult time or the next, whatever it may be for you. 


As I was sitting here at my (parents') kitchen table, I noticed a hummingbird flitting back and forth between hibiscus flowers. Even the littlest of birds reminds me that I just cannot give up on the beauty that is left in this world. So I hope that maybe you and I can continue to find even the smallest glimpses of beauty and hope in the helpers. In our brothers, our sisters, our neighbors.  


Love,
Allison


PS - For those of you that are interested, click here to read a post on PC(USA)'s website that responds to gun violence in the context of this latest act of violence.  

Home Again Home Again

Dear friends,

As this blog is partly a chronicle of my time as a YAV, there is one more update I need to give you. Without sharing too many details with the entire internet world, circumstances are such that it was best for me to end my YAV year a month early and return to Davidson. So I drove home yesterday and will be here until I leave for Columbia in the fall. I personally am alright, and I'll explain more later maybe, or in an individual conversation if you'd like. While it was difficult to leave my community in New Orleans, I'm confident it was the right decision.

I've got plenty more to say about New Orleans and my time there, and I'm certainly not done rambling about other things either. I'll just be rambling from North Carolina now. I can't thank you all enough for your support throughout my adventures in Nashville and New Orleans (and before that), and I'm incredibly grateful for the support and love I've received in recent weeks too. I'll be talkin' to you soon, friends.

Love,
Allison

Grab Some Popcorn...

Hey friends,

I don't think I've shared this yet, so if you're an audio-visual learner, here's a video look into the minds of New Orleans YAVs. For those of you who don't know, the dog in the video is Thomas, who belongs to Kathy, our site coordinator and video-editor extraordinaire. It's about ten minutes long, and offers insight from the YAVs I live with here in New Orleans. Enjoy!

Love,
Allison.