I realize how tired people are probably getting of hearing me say over and over how much I love Seminary. But I do, and this is my blog, so yeah.
I love Seminary.
Now, don’t get me wrong. It is hard. It is really hard and there are moments where my head feels like it just might explode and I don’t know what to do with that fact. But even in the moments where things are really hard and I just want to quit, there is a glimmering light that pulls me back and reminds me why I am here and who I am.
Yesterday in one of my classes (my hardest class if you wanted to know) our professor checked in with us. He does this quite frequently, asking us how we are doing. Someone spoke up and alluded to the fact that this particular class was pretty hard and how much work it required of us. Our professor looked around the room at all the nodding heads and after pausing for a breath he said, “Well, Seminary is hard.”
I have this professor for two different classes and we’ve had this moment with him in both classes. He acknowledges our struggles in the class but then always just says that we need to be faithful.
Be Faithful. Two simple words and yet it’s something that in this context is really hard. When he says it, he doesn’t necessarily mean that we need to have faith (I don’t think). He’s more challenging us to just keep swimming. We may feel like we’re drowning. We may feel like nothing we read is actually sticking into our brains, but eventually it will click.
He also brought up a good point yesterday, we are being prepared for ministry. For a life of serving in the church where anything can happen at anytime. Our teachers want to prepare us for that and to be successful in Ministry. Not that learning will end after our 3 years but these 3 years are the time where we get to buckle down and learn as much as we can about God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, the Bible and how to apply those things to our lives and the lives of those around us. We need to learn to preach and to decipher the word and prepare studies. We have a lot to do in these 3 years.
Not to mention…. I signed up for this. I knew it would be hard and I came here. I enrolled, this is on me. So I am learning to be faithful to hundreds of pages of reading and all sorts of things like that.
And that’s where I’m at these days. I go to class, I go to the library, I go to Starbucks. I sometimes hang out with my friends. I hang out in my apartment, reading. This is the life of a Seminarian. And I love it.
so come on and talk me down on that cellular phone
Here’s something I’ve learned so far in Seminary … it’s hard. End of story.
Just kidding. But really, it is hard. I’ve spent most of my time reading and not really doing much writing. Which is evident because I haven’t posted a blog in 2 weeks. That’s just crazy!
I would go back and talk about all the things I’ve been learning and growing in but it’s a lot so instead I’m going to talk more about something that happened today. Today I had a meeting with NPU’s Campus Pastor about getting involved with University Ministries. During our meeting we got on a few tangents and she challenged me to a sort of 30 day “fast.” And I’ve decided to take her up on it.
This fast is purely technological and relational in both execution and intention. I shared with her my struggle with feeling as though I am caught between two places. I shared this in my post on Tim’s site (relationalyouthministry.com) but more and more I think I have struggled with wanting to make connections here but finding that it is so much easier to just call home/KC/Muskegon where people know my story, know my struggles and know my passions. But I was challenged in my thinking of that today.
You see, it’s been proven that we only have space in our lives for 200 significant relationships. Significant meaning that we think about them, they think about us, we have the ability to modify them and they have the ability to modify us. Now, if you think about it, it only takes a couple of big moves until you fill up those 200 spots. So at some point, you have to either cut some people or not make new connections in new places. Right?
So if when I moved here I used 70% of my energies to really continue investing in the relationships back in various places I’ve lived then I only have 30% left to give to the people I’ve met here. The funny thing is that those relationships are so good because I jumped in at 100% in Kansas City/moving back to Denver, etc. So why doesn’t Chicago, this community deserve that same 100%?
I have sacrificed my incarnation-al relationships for my technological relationships. When something exciting happens I get on the phone/twitter/facebook to notify people in various places. When I’m struggling with something I do the same thing. Same with what I’m learning. My first instinct is to retreat back to those relationships that are already comfortable. Shouldn’t my first instinct be to invest in people who I can talk to face-to-face? I’ll answer that for you …. yes.
But it’s not about dropping my friends (like they’re hot). It’s about trusting those friendships enough that we know that in order for us to be in healthy places that we must be fully invested where we are at. It’s about being able to come back to those friendships and picking up where we left off. It’s about knowing that in order for me to be healthy, I need to learn to depend on the people I am in physical community with.
So here are the logistics. For the next 30 days I am cutting out the day-to-day communication with friends that live outside of my current zip code. This will include but is not limited to: texts, phone calls, facebook and e-mails.
Now, I will say a few things about exceptions…. prayer requests will be accepted from my friends outside this zip. Also accepted of course, would be emergencies. I will also offer any (close) friend an option of a once per week catch up session via phone call. But that’s about it.
The result, hopefully, will be the actual sharing of my true self with those around me. Whenever something happens (good/bad/indifferent) that I want to share, I will have to find someone to share it with face to face. I will have to have more incarnate relationships and invest in them.
NOTE: This will be an extreme adventure for me. I’m not saying it is going to be easy, in fact it will probably be incredibly hard. We all know how much Alicia likes her facebook …. however, this is me trying to be intentional with these people who I will be spending the next 2-3 years with.
I will be blogging (maybe) through this experience. We’ll see because let’s be honest, it’s not a lack of things to say that have kept me blog free lately. It’s the hundreds of pages of reading I have due about every two days here.
But here we go, adventure time!
44: True Greatness
This morning on a whim I opened my copy of A Guide to Prayer for Ministers and other Servants which I received during my time at Hillcrest. I turned the pages to this weeks section and found this under this week’s “Readings for Reflection”
“And you, too, youthful reader, will realize the Vision (not the idle wish) of your heart, be it base or beautiful, or a mixture of both, for you will always gravitate toward that which you, secretly, must love. Into your hands will be placed the exact results of your own thoughts; you will receive that which you earn; no more, no less. Whatever your present environment may be, you will fall, remain, or rise with your thoughts, your Vision, your Ideal. You will become as small as your controling desire; as great as your dominant aspiration…” – From As A Man Thinketh by James Allen
There’s two more little paragraphs but that’s the part that hit me this morning. I’m starting my first semester of Seminary on campus this morning and I’m nervous. However I have a creator that tends to know exactly what I need, even if it’s a short passage while I straighten my hair. I think I’ll be alright here. I may even like it.
what a day to welcome a baby to begin breathing
This is Bizzy. She entered the world (and my heart) on Friday, August 27th at 9:06 p.m. weighing in at 5 lbs 15 oz, and 19.5 inches. She stole my heart the moment my brother sent me a picture. Yes, sent me a picture because as most of you know, I have started my seminary adventure and now live in Chicago, she however, was born in Colorado.
My brother has sent me a few videos and about 26 pictures of this little love. I think he might be proud or something. She is a little darling and although she is only a few days old, I already know that she has me wrapped around those long little fingers. (a piano player like her Tia Eisha perhaps?)
Do not get me wrong, I am super excited for my brother, sister-in-law and my now two nieces. I am so happy that she came out healthy and happy. I am however, not happy that she has entered the world without me there to hold her, to pray for her, to kiss her, to hug her, to sing her to sleep, to change her diapers, to dress her or to give her premature lessons on life and boys (she’s gonna be a handful if she’s half Vela…)
I realize this is not exactly my first time to be an aunt, and that I have lived away for a long time now, however I didn’t expect it to be this hard. To shed this many tears that I am missing out on this big event in my brother’s life. To gather around her crib and talk about how she’s named in memory of her Grandpa whose ears she, unfortunately, has. And whose heart she also would have stolen.
In the midst of missing this event I am also beginning to forge relationships with not only my fellow first years but also other seminary students. We are going to start getting to the point where we share with each other many personal stories and events that I’m not ready to share. Vulnerability scares me and although I want this community to work and be deep, it’s hard.
The benefit though, is that even after five short days of community building, I thoroughly enjoy everyone I have met. I have enjoyed getting to know some people that I already feel a bond with and am looking forward to bonding more with those I am still getting to know.
Seminary is going to be a wonderfully stretching experience for me – that I knew. What I did not anticipate was how much my heart would hurt this time being away from my family. I love my little Isabella, and cannot wait to hold her, to watch her parents love her and to see her big sister shine with pride. In short, I can’t wait to meet this very special little girl.
point out now what we're careless of
I am 16 hours away from the start of my Greek final, meaning that I am only 19 short hours away from being done with Greek. I am excited but at the same time I’m a little sad. Yes, I realize how weird that sounds. But to be honest, I’ve really enjoyed learning Greek. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, I’m not some crazy smart Greek scholar. I don’t know everything there is to know about Greek. But I’ve learned a lot.
Today a few of us from class took a little trip down to the archives of the library to check out some amazing things. We got to see the evolution of the Bible (the new testament at least). we saw some copies of an original Greek manuscript and then a few different versions of the original Greek bibles as well as the Gutenberg Bible which is in Latin. We saw early English translations and heard some funny quotes from the scribes who were responsible for creating the original manuscripts.
It was fascinating. I probably uttered the phrase “this is amazing” at least 30 times in that hour and forty-five minutes. To think that our faith has such history. To think back to the early days when scribes sat and copied down the text so that we could eventually read it all these years later. The process that the scribes when through and the process that critics had to go through after them. It is an amazing story of how many people have contributed over the years to providing us with a readable copy of the New Testament. Astonishing.
While I could go on about this for hours, that’s not the point of this post. I am sure that a lot of these thought processes will grace the blog in the coming few years that I spend at North Park but for now, a little reflection as I look forward to not only finishing Greek but getting the keys to my new apartment, going home to get my stuff and say good-bye to Colorado, to moving into my new apartment and starting this new chapter in my life.
I think back to that day about a year and a half ago when Tim sat me down in his office to talk about life after my internship. I remember him pulling out that application to NPTS and my heart totally dropping. I remember him asking me why I was suddenly crying and while I couldn’t entirely voice it, I knew it had to do with feeling inadequate. I thought he felt as though I was not ready for ministry full-time. I thought he felt I couldn’t do this job. It was a long journey to get to the point that I’m at now, looking forward to the next few years at NP.
People have told me I’m crazy. People have told me it’s the right next step. People have told me I’ll regret it. People have told me I’m just running away from life for a while. I’ve had the whole spectrum of reactions to the statement, “I’m moving to Chicago to go to Seminary.” And while I know that it will be harder to leave home this time, especially with the birth of my niece approaching rapidly, I know this is where God is taking me.
These past six weeks have been brutal. I won’t lie that spending hours upon hours in the library or at Starbucks memorizing paradigms, grammar rules, vocabulary words is not how I imagined spending my summer. Nor have I been loving the muggy grossness that is a Chicago summer. However, I have already seen places in my life that I’ve been growing and where God is preparing me for ministry. He has reignited the fire in my heart for Him and for His people.
So my prayer for being in Seminary is that my heart would be open to whatever God has in store for me. That my excitement to learn be fueled and that I would push to know Him more, even in classes that might be boring or hard to handle. I pray that I would have people in my life that would push me to be better. I pray that I find a church to attend and serve in. I pray that I would care more about how I am loving others than how they are loving me. I pray that my eyes be opened to wonders anew and that I would be able to see Him all around me. I pray that my insecurities would not keep me from His will for my life.
All this to say, I’m glad to be on this side of the process. I’m thankful for those in my life who have continued to encourage and support my passions and goals. Thankful for those how have and continue to walk down this road with me and who have spoken truth into my life. Seminary isn’t about not being good enough yet, it’s about so much more and while I don’t yet know what that looks like in my life, I’m excited to see where it takes me.
I can only tell you what it feels like
On our second day of class, after our quiz, our professor said to us, “2 quizes down, 20 to go.” After today we have 20 down and 2 to go. I am one week away from being done with Greek and that is absolutely insane. What is more insane is to think that I am leaving the day after for my homebound adventure. 6 full days of Colorado funness and then back in the car to drive off to my new life as a seminarian.
My mind has been working a little bit overtime these last few days. In classic Alicia style I have pulled into myself as I’ve been evaluating a lot of relationships in my life and thinking about how crazy my life has been and continues to be. I am really excited about classes starting up and meeting new people. I’m excited to continue to invest in the friendships I’ve made these past 5 weeks and to make some new friends. I’m excited for my classes, they should all be super fun and interesting. I’m excited for my niece to be born, even if I’m 1000 miles away. Basically I’m excited for life right now.
This week has been especially draining for me. Moving around so much these last couple years has taken its toll on me. It’s messed with my sense of “home” and makes me a little uneasy about friendships. I’ve gotten a lot better at the long distance friendships but I think I’ve become more socially awkward (if that is possible). Last week I was so social, going out every night and meeting new people. I really tried hard and put myself out there and it was exhausting. And as a result I didn’t do as well on my Greek test on Monday. So I started this week a little emotionally drained. Trying to find community is hard, it takes a lot of effort and energy. Which is a good thing because nothing worth anything ever goes down easy. (name that song).
The saving grace for me this week has been the couple of friendships that I have found here that are already easy and good. People that I have fun with and enjoy being around whether it’s walking around the neighborhood or watching Bethenny Getting Married? Even studying Greek has been made more fun. It’s been good to already feel like I have a couple of friends that are genuinely fun to be around. We laugh a lot and we enjoy the same types of things. It’s been good.
The only other thing keeping me alive these days is Starbucks. Joke all you want but Greek is HARD and the bucks just makes it that much more enjoyable. I do love me some good Starbucks (as if that’s a shock to anyone who reads this blog.)
This post seems a little disconnected but that’s how my brain feels these days. The full lyric for today’s blog title is “I can’t tell you what it really is I can only tell you what it feels like” … It’s basically how I feel these days. I can’t really tell you what is going on up there in my head, I can only try to put words to these feelings of unsettledness and the joy of new beginnings. I think that this summer has gone by so fast that I never allowed myself to really process any of it as I went. It’s starting to catch up with me and I’m all in my head these days. I need to get out of my head and into the world again… maybe when Greek’s done (which is what I say about everything.)
Greek quote of the week: a conversation between me and my friend in class during translations. He was disagreeing with our teachers translation… for the record, he was wrong…:
Me: ‘”Did you just ‘Boom Roast’ our professor?”
Him: “No, I just ‘Boom Roast’ed the Bible”
I want to get on with getting on with things
It is 11:47 p.m. central time and I am sitting on my bed in my friend’s basement thinking to myself…
What in the world am I doing??
and
Wow, this feels so right.
At. The. Same. Time.
Let’s start with the second one. Tonight has been a really fun night. I was originally super bummed to have Greek starting tomorrow because it meant I couldn’t be in KC with my loves for 4th of July. And when the day started off – I definitely was a little bummed still. Last year’s 4th celebration was REAL good.
However the day was amazing. I attended church with Best Friend and the Funny One (and loved it) where I met a ton of new people, some North Park students who I will be in class with. Everyone was really nice and made me feel very welcomed.
Then Best Friend, the Funny One and I went shopping together which was SO fun. I have missed Best Friend so much and it’s fun just doing every day normal stuff and thinking, oh wait, this is our life now! Then we had one of their friends, Katie, over for dinner and a starbucks run and firework awesomeness. We went to this litte tiny park where there was literally 5 different sets of fireworks going on. Totally illegal and probably about 50 yards away from us. So we were surrounded by fireworks and it was so much fun. And we totally had dessert there of strawberries dipped in sour cream and rolled in sugar in the raw. It was awesome.
Then we came back home and I pulled out my greek stuff and tried to get ready for the first day of class tomorrow. Which is where that first thought comes into play.
I feel a little overwhelmed at the moment and realize that I’ll be fine, but it’s scary thinking about how intense this class is gonna be. A quiz everyday, exams every monday morning. It’s super intense. But I’ll be a greek master at the end right?? Right.
All that to say, I’m super anxious and excited for this new phase of life. I totally have “first day of school” jitters. What if no one likes me? (I can hear Lauren scoffing at that one). I’m just nervous but excited at the same time. It’s so great!
HERE WE GO GREEK!!!
courage is something i'll need now…
From Birmingham we went to Montgomery, AL where the Southern Poverty Law Center has a Civil Rights Memorial. Once again we were lead in as a group and stood in a room faced with the awful facts of this movement. On the wall were the stories of 41 people that died trying to further the movement. On the wall were the 4 girls killed in Birmingham. As well as another boy killed that same day in Birmingham. He was riding on the handlebars of his friend (maybe brother) and was shot by a white boy on a motorized scooter riding with one of his friends. These boys were all 16 and the boy who fired the shot was hardly charged with anything.
Then there was the story of Emmett Till. An African American boy from Chicago who allegedly whistled at a white woman. Her husband and their friends kidnapped him and murdered him by tying barbed wire around his neck and beating him. His mother bravely asked for his body to be returned to Chicago and held an open casket funeral so that everyone could see what was done to her boy.
This Memorial is meant to show the events of the Civil Rights Movement and how people were killed as a result of it. Their goal was to take these names and allow them to be known and for their stories to be known.
The SPLC also pursues civil lawsuits to benefit those who are killed by hate crimes. They also monitor hate groups and have been known to shut down a couple of branches of the KKK that still exist. A truly inspiration place to be and to put your hands on the names of those killed fighting for the rights of African Americans.
Also at the SPLC is a room that has the “Wall of Tolerance” where you can electronically sign a vow to take a stand against hate, injustice and intolerance. Once you submit your vow, your name comes up on this giant video screen that goes floor to ceiling wall to wall with all these names of people who have signed this vow.
I can’t begin to explain how powerful it was to stand in that room with these fellow journeyers and watch all of our names come up on the screen. One after another as we stood there and watch. It wasn’t even the end of the journey but it was great to see us all taking a stand against the common enemy.
Part of the emotional hardness of this trip was feeling helpless. Feeling like I couldn’t possibly know how to move forward from this trip. I still have moments of that, even now, weeks later. Thinking, how do I possibly apply the things I learned on this trip to my daily life. I mean, I live a cushy lifestyle here in Colorado suburbia. I live a segregated life, not purposefully but it’s the nature of where I live. And I can’t wrap my head around what it would look like to desegregate my life.
There’s this mentality in “white” Christianity that in order to be around people of different life situations, we go to a “poorer” place in our state and we serve them. It’s almost like we are bringing what we have to offer to a group of people that can benefit from us. (which is a bigger topic for another time).
So that’s where I am … I’m trying to figure out exactly how it looks, in my life, to fight hate, injustice and intolerance. I am trying, really trying. Part of walking away from this journey is my attempt to love better. To love more. To love selflessly. It ties into everything I’m learning from God right now and it’s a hard road. Because most of the time, I’m bad at it. And I’m not even really talking about loving my friends better, I’m talking about loving every individual I come into contact with. Whether I know them or not, whether they have something to give me back or not, and mostly whether they love me well or not.
So here’s to love. Ugly, relentless Love. Love that’s hard and love that breaks your heart. It takes a lot of courage so read the title of this blog as something I’m continuously asking for, not just a lyric from a great Jack’s Mannequin song. (There, There Katie).
so see this as a to be continued…
unseen things now seen (by me)
Friday morning I woke up sleepy and maybe a little grumpy. Okay, maybe a lot grumpy. However, sleeping past 6 a.m. was not something I was going to be aloud so I tried to rally by splashing cold water on my face in the bathroom of a rest stop. I got back on the bus a little less than happy to be alive but remembered the journey I was on and tried to pay attention.
As we continued our drive into Birmingham, AL we watched the movie 4 Little Girls which tells the story of the events preceding the bomb that went off in the famous 16th St Baptist Church which injured 22 people and killed 4 young girls, ages 11 and 14, while they were getting ready for Sunday school. After watching most of the film, we stopped for breakfast at New City Covenant Church. We were greeted by one of their pastors who was not only alive at the time of these Civil Rights events but marched in the famous Children’s March of 1963 that preceded the bombing of the church. It’s a march famous for the reaction the police had on the people. They used police dogs and fire hoses to “tame” the children who were just quietly participating in a march for their rights.
After breakfast we got back on the bus and went a few blocks to the famous church. We walked into the 16th St Baptist Church and sat in their pews waiting on groups to arrive. As I sat there, I looked around this historic sanctuary, trying to imagine that day in 1963 when everything changed for that congregation. We watched another video there that chronicled the church’s involvement as well as the events of that day and the events after that day.
One of their pastors told us of the renovations that were done after the bombing to restore the side of the building that was destroyed. This included having to repair 3 stained glass windows that needed to match those that were built decades before. So they hired a famous artist from Whales to come out and redo these windows. This man was so touched by the story of this church and what had happened that he went back to Whales and took up an offering at schools to put in a special window. So in the back of their sanctuary there is a window that they call their “Whales Window.” It depicts and African American man suffering in silence (as Jesus had) pushing one hand out – against oppression – and one hand is uplifted – asking for forgiveness for the oppressors. It is a beautiful window.
We then walked across the street to the Civil Rights Institute (called an institute – not a museum because it is meant to educate). We began the journey through time – in our partner groups. It started with a film about how after slavery was ended that the African American population in the US basically built our country by taking the dangerous jobs that the Caucasian population didn’t want. Laying the railroad, mining, etc. And that everything became segregated. It ends with a picture of a water fountain that says “Whites” and basically a rusted spicket that says “Colored.” Then the screen lifts up and opens the room into the institute with the actual water fountain / spicket. So we all got up and ventured in.
What followed was pictures and models of the various things that separated the “whites” from the African Americans. The things that stuck out to me most were – pictures of ads depicting African Americans in a mocking way, a laundry truck that said “Imperial Laundry – we wash for whites only,” the comparison of houses in African American neighborhoods. Then there were the awful pictures of lynching, cross burnings, and a KKK outfit. It was appalling. Pictures from the day that African American students tried to attend school in Arkansas – the faces of children full of hatred and rage. I fought back the tears the whole way through. Attempting to write down all the things that stuck out and that made me cringe.
Then we entered a room that just had holograms of people and over the speakers came words of hate that I’m sure flew out of many mouths. Words I could never imagine repeating anywhere. A little further and we saw the beginning efforts of Martin Luther King , Jr. He came to Birmingham to aid in the marches and to speak. He was arrested and thrown into jail. While in jail he became aware of a letter from officials of Birmingham calling this movement (his movement) untimely and unwise. He responded to this letter with a letter that is later to be referred to as “A Letter from a Birmingham Jail.”
In the institute they have a little mini hallway where on one side you have a mock jail cell and on the other wall there is the letter, blown up to be read at a distance by many people. And if you press a button you can hear a voice read the letter. I stood in that hallway and began reading that letter. He began by addressing that they could not be told to wait any longer. He then recounted the many prejudices that his family faces and the results of those actions. I stood there reading this letter and thinking of all of the things that had happened up to this point. All the injustices, all the deaths, the deaths still to come – including Dr. Kings – the way that people would continue to be treated for years to come.
And I broke. I stood there with tears flowing down my face. Thinking to myself that no wonder there is so much hate toward “whites.” They have every right to be mad. What if this had been a part of my story, my history. Realizing that all they were asking for was equal rights and they were being denied. They wanted to belong in this country that they helped build. They wanted the same freedoms that this country was built upon. It absolutely broke my heart that this was their reality. And on top of that, this man was writing a letter to his oppressors – to those who have used hate and violence toward him and his family – and his words were eloquent and full of love. He was truly responding to hate with love. It was the most tragically beautiful thing I’ve ever read.
So picture me – standing in this institute, in this tiny little hallway, clutching my journal to my chest and tears streaming down my face. I was so overwhelmed I almost didn’t realize I was crying. All there was in the world was me and the words of Martin Luther King, Jr staring me in the face. Suddenly, another member of our journey – who was African American – is beside me, handing me a tissue. He placed an arm around my shoulders and I just stood there for a moment, allowing him to embrace me in that raw place.
From there I moved on and continued on the journey. But that moment I will always remember. I will never forget how it felt for my heart to break in that way and how another person on the journey comforted me within his own pain.
“We will accept the violence and the hate, absorbing it without returning it.” – James Lawson
do you know what you're getting yourself into?
Sankofa = “looking backward to move forward” – also known as an intentional, cross-racial prayer journey seeking to assist disciples of Christ on their move toward a righteous response to the ills related to racism. I embarked on the Sankofa Journey last weekend and I will be recounting some of it as well as some of what I learned on the trip. We promise confidentiality to the rest of our group which is why I will not be using names in these posts. Although the people I went with are not a mystery, only their part in my story. Most of my reflections are my story anyway, so you’ll be fine not knowing their names okay? Okay.
On Thursday March 4th at 3:45 p.m. I found myself in the lounge of North Park Theological seminary. I stood in a room full of strangers and more kept coming in. I know 3 of the 12 or so people in the room. The introvert inside of me screamed at me to leave, to run, to pull out my phone and pretend to be busy or something ridiculous like that. But the sensible side of me (or more the presence of the Holy Spirit in me) made me smile and begin to jump into the small talk that filled the room.
“Hi, my name’s ______, what’s yours?” I looked into the face of a woman my mom’s age.
“Alicia. Nice to meet you.” I shook her hand reluctantly, eyes darting all around. She probably thought me rude but I was just nervous. The introductions continued until our fearless leaders called us together. We met our partners (that’s where the cross-racial part comes in), had dinner and began our journey with introductions to the group – Name, where are you from and interesting fact. Then we were supposed to go around the circle again and this time the question was: How would you prefer to be identified?
At first we all thought that meant like, what nickname do you like. Wrong. The question was referring to our ethnicities. With as many options out there, the question was, how do we prefer to be identified? The first few people hemmed and hawed their way through it. Then words started coming together and there sure were a lot… white, black, African American, Caucasian, European American, Anglo, Japanese, Mexican American. There were many. When it came to my turn I struggled.
I’m half Mexican and half “white.” Although I’ve learned that I hate that word – white. But more on that to come. The first half (ish) of my life I lived in a place where being Mexican was not a good thing. So I played up my “white side.” Then I lived in CO and became nothing short of proud to be half Mexican. But I always struggled with calling myself Mexican American because I’m only half. So I start to call myself Hispanic or Latina. Other times I just point out that I’m half Mexican. But in filling out those forms I guess I should check Hispanic and Caucasian. So I ended on Hispanic/Caucasian. Still seemed like a cop out but I’ll take it.
By 8:00 p.m. we were loading onto the bus and I was feeling completely overwhelmed. We had already had some pretty intense conversation on the difference between being African American and being of lighter skin. I had always struggled on which words to use, knowing the obvious ones I shouldn’t use but struggling between “black” and “African American” but I never knew that it was really a preference that each person has on their own. It’s not a simple yes or no question.
So there I was, loading onto the bus already feeling intimidated by the journey. Already knowing that there was so much I didn’t know. So much I’d never experienced. The entire Civil Rights Movement – as currently documented – happened 17 years before I was born. In my naïve mind, I was virtually unaffected by these events. They happened long before I was around, we have arrived to a peaceful place. But as I was about to learn, I could not be further from the truth.