Christmas Eve

Letters to Santa

Just to make conversation on the walk to afterschool, I asked the kids what they wanted for Christmas. Answers were standard, but afterward Sayad, who's the politest little kindergartener, piped, "What about you, Ms Rachel? What do you want for Christmas?"

I know it wasn't a hard question. It's been a rough year, though, and the answers that immediately swirled around my head were ones that even the best Santa Claus would be hard-pressed to grant. "Mm, I don't know, Sayad," I responded finally, giving up.

"Hmm." Sayad considered for a moment. "How about...a Barbie dreamhouse with no evil stepmother? Or...a kingdom!"

I laughed. "Okay." And now I'm pretty excited about the holidays this year.

Relatedly, Macy's is donating money to cancer research for every letter to Santa they receive. Since Sam, Josh, and Lauren were coming over anyway, Emily suggested they write their wishlists at our house. After a while I decided to attempt my own - my first, actually, since my parents never proselytized Santa. I couldn't think of much, but Joshua was helpful. "Ask for the Clone Wars DVD," he suggested eagerly. "That way we can watch it together! Oh, and ask for the Clone Wars game on DS." "I don't have a DS-" I began, but he was undaunted. "Well, ask for that too!"

So Star Wars and a kingdom with no evil stepmothers. Santa should have his hands full.

Garba!

Dancing in the church basement!
The nonIndians (minus Chris and Dion)
L-R: Janet S, Rachel, Emily, Janet W

The Garba was SO much fun! We sang Gujarati Christmas carols, listened to a sermon (also in Gujarati), ate incredible food, took pictures, held babies, clapped, circled, laughed, danced! I think I'm a pretty miserable dancer, but it was so fun to twirl barefoot in that eternal circle alongside my extended family! It was such a beautiful moment of what heaven might be like - one family together sharing customs from our different cultures!

Getting ready to Garba!

Tonight is the annual Christmas garba at church! A garba is a traditional Indian folk dance from Gujarat, India, where many of our congregants were born. Since I've never been to one, I hunted around on my iPhone to see what information I could come up with. Here's what I found:

"The garba is a dance done primarily by women (though there are always some men who join in) who dance in concentric circles. Usually, the innermost circles have the most complicated steps, and the outer rings are more like people just walking in a circle and clapping. The garba dance can last hours, but you don’t have to do it the whole time—people join and leave constantly, and there are usually equal numbers of people on and off the dance floor. The song is pretty repetitive, but it speeds up as time goes on, so it’s fun and frenetic at the end. Garbas tend to have a carnival atmosphere: lots of kids running around, no alcohol, loud music, and it will probably get hot and sweaty with the dancing."

All right! Now that I know what to expect (-ish), I have to figure out what to wear. Janet W solved that dilemna for me by loaning me the spare salwar kameez sets she's picked up in her years here. These outfits, popularly called punjabis after the Punjab people who wear them, are made up of three seperate pieces: wide trousers (the salvar) that taper at the ankle; a long, dress-like top (the kameez); and, if the wearer is female, a shawl or scarf that can double as a head-covering.

Although I appreciate Janet's generosity, I've been reluctant to accept the clothing. I tower over the Indian women at church, so how could I possibly fit into outfits that were created for them? Fortunately, when I finally unfolded the first option on loan to me, I encountered a wonderful surprise: Indian garb is one-size-fits-all!

The garments are intended to be loose and flowing enough to fit any size, and each opening ties shut to allow adjustment. Honestly, anyone could wear these clothes! What a very ingenious idea. I wish Western clothing were as simple and lovely as these punjabis I've been loaned!

Now that I've decided what to wear, there's only one thing left to do: attempt the dance!

First snow!

From the front door, back door, and final view.

Yes, or maybe, or not quite.

Yesterday Pete said isn’t Sara coming home soon, or next month, and I said (twice) not if she’s smart. Which made him ask if I was coming home. Not in January, I laughed, avoiding. No, he said, but I mean this summer.
Well. In June.
But…for good?
What?
Rachel.

I just haven’t figured out how all the things I love fit together yet, I explained finally. That made it make sense to him, but not to me. To me it’s a ranked scale, a list 1-10, of what I love most, and I don’t know where he rates. I do love him, but I’ll exist without him. Whereas if I have to go back to St Louis, I don’t know if I’ll be okay. Just the thought is depressing. What is there? Even with that sweet boy to shelter me, it’s not enough. That city is suffocating, in memory at least. But you liked it in October, protested Pete. Again, I couldn’t quite explain. I liked it because I knew it couldn’t last. Because I knew I was going back to New York so soon.

For as long as I've been here, Emily's been talking about leaving, maybe in a year-ish; how, between Chris and me, she can hand over the reigns and move on. It's a good reminder of impermanence.

I don't know what's going to happen. I'm here now. Growth is the important thing.

Right?

Thanksgiving 2008

was a total success!

...Plus a pretty long story, so I'll just tell you now that I spent the afternoon cooking and cleaning, the evening feasting, and the night walking halfway across NYC! No, for real: James and I traveled twelve miles on foot. That's one way to work off the biggest meal of the year, right? Which is good, because just look at how amazing the food was!

(Obviously I didn't eat the turkey pictured - the photo is by gracious host Janet W)

This is honestly the best Thanksgiving I've ever had. I'm very, very, very thankful for the wonderful food and fellowship that God has given me in New York City!

Shelly came over. Samantha was supposed to show up too, and Emily said she’d be home, but neither of those things worked out, so it was just me and Shelly in my apartment for three hours. She finished her homework in record time, and I proofed it while she picked out a DVD to watch for the rest of the afternoon. She chose the first season of Full House, explaining she’d read a book based on it once. I wasn’t sure she liked it at first. She seemed uncomfortable on the couch – not sure how to sit, whether she could take off her coat, etc. I’ve never entertained, especially not a sixth grade immigrant I barely know. After okaying her homework, I slipped into the kitchen to make popcorn and pour twin glasses of cranberry grape juice. Having presented this peace offering, I curled up on the adjacent couch with my current book and peered over the pages to watch her progress. She liked the refreshments, laughed at the TV, and eventually took off her heavy coat. I felt content. Emily showed up around 5:30, banging the apartment door with her knees since she was carrying groceries. Half an hour later, a woman’s voice called, “Shelly!” outside and my guest started up, spinning around for her notebooks and book bag, “Thank you!” trailing toward me as she bolted out the door.

Leaf library

Just a few blocks to school yet such a variety of breath-taking fall foliage!

All Saints Day

It’s the first of November, & incredibly perfect outside. My bedroom window & curtains were open all Halloween night, & now there’s sunshine & a soft breeze floating in like friendly ghosts. Music, too: removing something from my slim closet, I heard strains of instrumental radio wafting toward me. Very wartime romance-y. I feel like I’m living in the 1940’s now, in Hemingway or something, tapping on my noisy little typewriter as the rest of the world strings fresh laundry from second story windows, listening to swing music.

Halloween!

The scariest part of Halloween: being a vegan when everybody went out for barbeque at the end of the night.

I'm never going to live at home again. I decided while I was still there.

Not St Louis, exactly - the city itself was surprisingly cozy once I readjusted. I don't ever want to live with my parents, in that house, is what I mean. I liked living in a clean beige apartment in Brentwood, walking down Manchester and wooded back roads like the old days. I saw high school and bookstore friends, spent time with my brother (my sister's in Amsterdam til next year), and ran all over town with my bf. 

Pete himself isn't a muse, but he's definitely the channel through which mine regularly flows. We saw obscure films at the Webster film series, press screenings at the Tivoli, & two really terrific music shows. For Man Man, at the Bluebird, we had to stand in the cold in a serpentine pre-doors line that wound around the deserted downtown block - everybody was so excited & trendy & the best part was that I didn't recognize a single face, which was so great. (I really hate that if I meet ANYbody interesting in STL, they're bff w/ all the exact same hipsters I don't really like. Smalltown inescapability!) I ran into acquaintances at Of Montreal, & Rocky Horror (which paid me! Woohoo!), & Whole Foods, & the Journey, & the Apple store...

The most social day was with PCA people. I met Susan's adorable baby, and then she surprised me with a visit from Karin (!) and a vegan lunch. Very sweet!

At 4, Karin's mom & siblings (3 of the 5) came to pick her up, & sort of dragged me along. Since K was only in town for two days, & she lives w/ KT when she's here, I felt pretty bad taking away from family time. Plus, they're remodeling & half the house was wrapped in plastic. Mrs G went psycho control freak on Jonathan in front of all of us, which was SO UNCOMFORTABLE. The girls were about to call Dr G to come home & intervene when he showed up, phew! All the kids went outside & kicked around the driveway for awhile and then we all went to the Olive Garden for dinner & pretended nothing had happened. 

It was very odd, very high school, to ride in the family's crowded minivan, to play audience to 6 siblings bantering & shoving, to witness awkward or dangerous personal exchanges. It was actually homey & nice. Does that make sense? I felt out if place, but peacefully so, because a stranger wouldn't have been allowed to see any of that. & I used to see it all the time.

The whole day kind of felt like a tour of other people's houses, families. (Maybe the whole trip did, actually.) Because after the Olive Garden Kaitlin got off work (9pm) & I went home w/ her & Karin. Her house is very long & clean & neutral colored, except for her room, which is cluttered with anime magazines, textbooks, colored pencils, plushies, patched clothes & papers. Her walls are covered, too, & it's strange to spot the photographs that have me in them, & pages of art attempts I drew for her years ago. There are computer-printed pictures of Cloverfield (my brother's cat) as a kitten up too. 

When we first got home, Kaitlin poked her head into her parents' room so we could say hi. They were lying in bed reading, side-by-side, with twin lamps lit, like the Brady Bunch parents or something. It was surreal but cute. We stayed there until midnight, when KT drove me home because my mom refused to come get me. 

I thought seeing such old friends would be like an end, or a beginning. Like a doorway we could pass through to begin something new. But once I got back "home," I just felt kind if lost. Karin was perfect - I can't imagine a better friend than she is & has always been, to everybody - but otherwise it felt like everyone was really eager to find fault w/ me. Susan seemed rapacious for bad news about my family, esp mom & poor nonChristian Pete, & the G's lectured me forever about getting an education (by which, of course, they really just mean a title or degree, THEIR type of education). & Kaitlin just didn't seem to care. 

I don't know, I guess I just thought they'd be content w/ my choices now. I feel like I finally have the opportunity to do something good, & still people don't think it's good enough, because it's not their version of success. It's really disheartening. At first I felt sort of disillusioned - just sort of sad & scared & like what's the point? You know? But then I thought, screw it! I don't regret a SINGLE thing I've done (or not done), so why should I let somebody who doesn't understand me make me think I do? If I'm living it right - well - my life is never going to look like somebody else's, let alone what everybody else wants it to. & that's SUCH a good thing! Honestly. 

Returning to my house was depressing, my family was depressing. Lots of things were depressing. But I weighed them against my own standard, not ones borrowed from anybody else. So it was a doorway, I guess. Something small opening. Promising. Do you know what I mean? I can do whatever I want. Not in a go out & get wasted way -- almost the opposite. I don't know if I can explain it properly, but I'm finally grasping shades of gray. Not in salvation issues or commandments, of course, but in all the little rules I bind myself with. Like veganism? I really like it, but sometimes I'm bad at it. So what? Is anything really horrible going to happen if my cereal has .2% honey in it? 

I'm just tired of legalism & hypocrisy, mostly in my own life. I'm tired of reliance on titles to tell us somebody's worth. How can I grow if I'm always confining myself with tricky labels & half understood definitions? I know it's all very cliche, & I apologize for rambling. As stupid & obvious as these things seem, & as long as I should have known them, I feel like I'm finally opening up to embracing options I have taken. I know I've made the right decisions, even if it doesn't seem like it, & now I'm gaining the courage, through that, to make even better choices for myself.

Home again

Oo, I'm so glad to be back! Tony and Jorge (my first re-encounters) were kind of weird, but Vijay and Sharon and Nick and Jimmy and Dion and Chris were so reassuring! I was especially worried about Chris, but he punched me hard and friendly in the arm and shouted, "Hey! You're not in St Louis anymore!" laughing and sounding genuinely joyous. A lot of people thought I was pulling an Alyssa. But I'm back, and glad to be. The apartment was toasty and glowing like a real home last night. And I took a cab, alone! Painfully expensive (my entire Rocky pay with tip - over $40), but the guy seemed to think I knew my way around a bit ("Take the BQE, right?"), and it was bliss stepping out of that yellow fly-by-night onto the silent shining familiar streets of Chinatown. Sliding my own key into the deadbolt of 5209, smelling that same indefinable mission apartment air I first inhaled at 16. Rolling my worldly goods into the beloved place I have willingly and now fully moved into. Man. It was so hard saying goodbye, but it's good saying hello again. To know that I do belong here and am more and more making this community and these people my home.

Cloud Cult

Flying home.

Silverson Pickups

Two of my first graders passing the park between school and SAY Yes.

"I never would have got here if I'd followed my heart."

Ahh, staff meeting! Whit came and everybody shouted and sighed and pouted. I stayed quiet and happy. So content. Tony bought me burnt black coffee and as soon as VJ flipped open the enormous office calendar I announced I was leaving. Nobody complained, and Whit even volunteered to help with SAY Yes Wednesday and Thursday! What a relief.

I'm so excited for the holidays, too, for that rush of winter that starts, essentially, as soon as I get back from St Louis. On Halloween Emily and I are going to make "boatloads" of brownies, and then the youth group and a bunch of us are going to set up a table outside of church and hand out brownies, hot cocoa, and Halloween-themed tracts to the trick-or-treaters. (Free! 4+pm) And there's a staff Thanksgiving dinner, and a Christmas potluck....

So now that everybody knows I'm going, I'm pretty excited about my two weeks home. My goals are to bring back winter supplies, see my friends, be good to Pete, patch my clothes, gather crucial documents, make money.... I really wish I could raise support and NOT need a job. I want so much for my life to be made up of full-time church ministry and soup kitchens on the side!

Zachaeus, you come down!

One thing I love about my Redeemer Bible study is the way it's made classic, almost cliche passages fresh for me! Tonight we read the story of Zacchaeus, and what newly struck me is the difference in Zacchaeus once Jesus noticed him. Zacchaeus went to all this trouble to see Christ, and that's huge. But what if Jesus had ignored the outcast up a tree? What if, like it seems so natural to do, He had just kept going wherever he was going, with the same people following Him? Zacchaeus would probably have enjoyed what he saw, but eventually climbed down from that tree, gone home, and continued, albeit a little guiltily, with his life. He would have seen God, and that would have been great, but he probably wouldn't have ever MET God, let alone His grace. This honestly astounds me: Jesus sought this man out, and, just by accepting him, changed his entire life. Not only did Zacchaeus completely turn his life around, he made amends for his past sins. All because Jesus spoke to him, publically sought his company. He said nothing about money or transgression or redemption, but things changed anyway, because of who He is and what He's done.

I think what really hits me is the conscious interaction Jesus instigated. With all these Sunday school changes proposed, I've been thinking a lot lately about the point of our ministry. Thanks to Francis Chan, I'd come to the conclusion that we want to show others God - create a space for them to see and meet Him themselves. But I thought that giving kids - and adults - a glimpse was enough. I thought sharing a Bible verse or warm smile was enough to let them see Christ in me. And in some cases it might be, but, in others, maybe MOST, just seeing God from a distance isn't enough; it wasn't, I'd argue, for Zacchaeus, and it probably isn't for those Sunday school kids either. In order to truly change lives people have to MEET Jesus. And I've got to interact. I bear Christ's name and, hopefully, His spirit. My love, in action, is the fruit by which I am - He is - to be recognized.

Afterschool of late

The Howling Fantods

David Foster Wallace hung himself on Friday.

Is it weird to feel so effected by the suicide of a stranger? This is a man I never saw, never knew, never spoke to. Yet he spoke to me. Infinite Jest alone is 1100 pages. Add to that all the essays, the short stories, his other novel.... I'm more familiar with some of his opinions than I am with those of my own friends.

After I found out (Saturday, from a former coworker), I called Pete and tried to be as gentle as possible in breaking the news. He introduced me to Wallace, and loves him so much more ardently than I do. This morning, Pete emailed me McSweeney's tribute, which is primarily composed of testimonials. It's comforting to go through the words, to mourn with strangers who felt the same way, many of them, again, about a stranger. Reading David Foster Wallace helped me understand what was going on when I felt depressed, misunderstood, mute, and thus brought me closer to trying to overcome it. It's hard realizing that what he did for me and for countless others, he couldn't do for himself. Somehow, that doesn't make his words weaker, but stronger. I believe in them. I've seen them work. Words can never be enough, but they're powerful, and they can help.

"Fiction is one of the few experiences where loneliness can be both confronted and relieved. Drugs, movies where stuff blows up, loud parties -- all these chase away loneliness by making me forget my name's Dave and I live in a one-by-one box of bone no other party can penetrate or know. Fiction, poetry, music, really deep serious sex, and, in various ways, religion -- these are the places (for me) where loneliness is countenanced, stared down, transfigured, treated."
David Foster Wallace, 1962-2008

Shine a Light

This is the first time I've had more than an hour on a computer since I moved here, so even though it's late, I can't seem to pry myself away! Outside, six boys are sprawled across air mattresses and old youth group couches, exhausted from their trip so far. And I'm here in the dark church office, trying my best to be productive: replying to emails, updating this blog, etc. I'll add a few photos from my week.

Emily tutoring at a student's house. Tutoring and meetings are how we fill most mornings.

Chinese soup for lunch. For three dollars you get this humongous jug of broth with meat, rice noodle, and Chinese vegetable. Here, Emily picked fish ball for her meat, and chicken for mine. ...An ENTIRE chicken, except, thank goodness, head and feet. They hack it up and boil it in front of you before dropping it into the soup. See all the chicken on the lid? What looks like dark meat is all, like, bones and little ventricle things - veins and guts. I'm pretty sure it hasn't been long enough since vegetarianism for me to tackle this whole soup. Thankfully, the purple box back there has Chinese cake from yesterday, which is a little more my style.

One Saturday a month, church hosts a free "pancake feast" from 9-11 am. That means we volunteers begin working the gridle as early as 7 o'clock! This week, breakfast cleanup was followed by an emergency SAY Yes meeting at noon and a farewell BBQ for the pastor's family at 4.

SAY Yes has started!

Emily tutoring at a student's house.

In the past 24 hours, I’ve talked to Mom, Luke, and Pete, and texted with Sara. It’s weird to realize life is changing for everybody else, too. I knew it would continue, but I guess I assumed it’d be constant, and when I return in a year or however long, I would pick up where I left off July 1st, 2008. Mom has a new job, Luke has multiple new love interests, Sara’s breaking up with her first boyfriend, and Pete is moving out of his parents’ basement!

I was lying in bed this morning, thinking I should get up and take a shower soon, when I heard the front door bang open. “Emily?” Pastor Tony bellowed into the apartment. “Emmy, are you here?” She wasn’t, but of course I was, messy-haired and make-up-less, lounging under blankets and pajamas at nine in the morning. Ha. Roy and Kim, a couple from church, were with Tony, touring the apartment for necessary repairs before the appraiser comes again. Hopefully I’ll know about that (unlike this!) beforehand, so I can at least get out of my pjs!

Em got us Chinese soup for lunch. For three dollars you get this humongous jug of broth with meat, rice noodle, and Chinese vegetable. Emily picked fish ball for her meat, and chicken for mine. ...An ENTIRE chicken, except, thank goodness, head and feet.. They hack it up and boil it in front of you before dropping it into the soup. See all the chicken on the lid? What looks like dark meat is all, like, bones and little ventricle things - veins and guts. Gag. I mean, it tastes good, but I'm pretty sure it hasn't been long enough since vegetarianism for me to tackle this whole soup. Oh, and the purple box has Chinese cake from Sunday, which is a little more my style.

I missed staff meeting this morning. I keep forgetting. That it’s Tuesdays at 9:30am. That I’m STAFF. I’ll try again next week.

Cecilia called me into her office right after lunch. I haven’t gotten over the feeling that, anytime an adult asks to see me in his or her office, I’m in trouble. Of course she just wanted to discuss Chinese Sunday School, which I’m now in charge of (!). We exchanged numbers and shallow suggestions. As usual, I felt awkward: too tall, close, uncomfortable. I guess it will take a while for me to get used to this lifestyle.

Girls on the Brooklyn Bridge for Emily's birthday

I'm employed!

I now tutor this cute boy two days a week.

Junkman's Obligato

We're at the bus terminal. Port Authority. I fell asleep in the apartment and Em tapped me on the head to wake me up. I shoved some last minute additions into my bag while Em took out the trash. And then we were outside in the humid dark, bound by backpacks and duffel bags, stumbling toward 4th Ave. We spent a silent subway ride with few fellow passengers, jolted awake together at every local stop. Switching lines, we watched orange-vested MTA employees hosing off the tracks and tiled walkways. We slid on the slick linoleum and eventually landed in Times Square, staggering blindly after pointed directions to Port Authority. Inside the worn lobby, I hoisted my duffel onto the ledge of an empty employee window as Emily queued for our tickets. I couldn't see the woman running the transactions, but I watched Emily's pale reflection in the glass as they spoke. Her lashes looked dark, long, dramatic, and they tilted with more emotion than their true selves seemed to posess. They seemed anxious, unsure, but in a tragic and beautiful way, whereas Emily herself seemed merely tired. We got tickets and wound our way toward the appropriate terminal. Having taken turns in the bathroom, we're now sitting on our biggest bags, watching people, waiting on line.

I feel homeless tonight. My shoes are too small, my belongings have broken my long frail shoulders, I've slept on the subway as best I could, and my back has pressed against surfaces that I'm sure are unsanitary. I'm wearing ratty jeans, messy pigtails, a borrowed sweatshirt. I've eaten from the sack I've been carrying for hours, and I'm leaving, by bus. I feel homeless, yes, and tired, and wise, and, mostly, young. Not young as in 22 of 70 years, but young in the span of the thousand years I suddenly feel I will live. It's an ageless thing - I'm young because I haven't slept, because I'm awake after, meaning before, what feels like everyone else in the world. I'm young because I can fit all I own into carry-on packs and leave when I want, traveling to places I don't know with people I've just met. Everyone in this terminal seems to me as young as I am tonight, regardless of actual age. We're poor, scruffy, sleepless. Some huddle in gritty corners and talk to themselves. But so many travelers here are smiling at the strangers beside them. So many are watching. Laughing. We're all waiting. And then we're all leaving. Which means, of course, that we have something ahead. And it's the ahead that makes us young.

Sara flies back to St Louis

Jimmy and I just got back from dropping Sara off at the airport. That means that today I officially start my life in New York!

On the subway at 6am
Sooo enthusiastic to be in Austoria
Waiting for the M60

I'm lying on the dusty wooden floor of an ancient church on 8th Avenue, listening to the commotion a level below me, two levels even, and watching the stained glass windows. I'm dreaming.

Five weeks ago I moved to New York City, indefinitely, and I had no idea until last week!