Sights and Smells of Baltimore

Sitting in the bustling Enoch Pratt Library in downtown Baltimore, the sights, sounds, and smells are overwhelming. Upon entry, I go straight to the restroom (for obvious reasons, ie. I need to pee) and encounter a woman doing her hair and makeup. Red sores cover her face and she is muttering to herself. I escape to the bathroom stall only to turn back around. The stall is filled with the smell of urine is overwhelming. It not only fills the stall but covers the floor. The woman continues to mutter to herself. I finish my business and hurry to leave the smells that won't stop penetrating my nose. The library is the one place that the homeless can come to. It is public space. Here they can gain access to countless resources, internet, books, bathrooms, cheap coffee, and a place where people won't openly stare. As I look around, there is a woman slouched over in the corner sleeping. Here she feels safe. Safe enough to lay down her head against her chest and slip into slumber. I do not escape the smell of stale body odor and wet feet. They surround me, reminding me that cleanliness is a luxury.

Where is the church in all of this? When will it become public space? A space that the homeless or broken can come to rest. Where we will not shy away from the smells but embrace them. Every week after Open Table, I get ready to go to class and smell my hands. They smell like the men and women that I have just embraced and let embrace me. I am ashamed when I am so eager to get to the restroom to wash away the smell. Will we ever get there as the church? Will we ever get to the point where we care less about our possessions, our buildings, our ministries, that we will finally get to the point of ministering and building relationships? Relationships are messy, sometimes difficult, but ultimately what the church is about. How many homeless or ex-convicts or people in recovery are really in our churches? Not many. Probably because the church has become some place that they don't feel safe anymore. It has to start somewhere.

An Updated version of "Front Porch"

I adapted my earlier post to turn in for my Field Ed reflection paper.

“Listen! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and you with me.” –Revelation 3:20

I want to open the door and sit on the porch but I am afraid. What do I do once I'm out there? What if no one talks to me? What if someone does talk to me? Will I look obvious; like I'm trying really hard to fit into a world I can never understand?

In Sandtown, everyone sits on his or her front porch. Five, six, seven people will be gathered on these itty, bitty four steps in front of houses that are seamlessly attached to one another. Some sit in front of abandoned houses, the boards marking the poverty that has ripped through this community year after year. This is where the community meets, on the porch.

My outsider status is obvious, beige in a sea of brown. What would I do on the porch? Do I bring a book? Do I wait expectantly for someone to talk to me? Or do I just start talking to one of them? I am plagued by this battle in my mind. Can I step out into their world? They will know that I don’t belong. Do I stay trapped in the comfort of my gated backyard and Hulu filled evenings?

I grew up in small town USA. I understood community. You gravitate to the people that you are most like or you enjoy the most and you are weaved into one another’s lives. Everyone was like me there in my population 5,000 town. But the more I experience community the more I realize that my safe haven of rural Illinois was not community. Community is allowing others to invade your life that may not be like you at all but you learn to lean on anyway. Community is seeing one another at your worst and at your best. It is allowing yourself to be vulnerable, with all your imperfections and insecurities. You become their family and they yours. We do not like this type of community.

Will they accept me? I want to step out. I want to open the door and wait on the steps, somewhat awkwardly, letting people know that I want to learn, to listen to the stories I know they have to tell. But I am the one that is afraid. I am the one not ready for community.

I am not advised to walk around the block alone. There have been three shootings in our neighborhood already in the three weeks I have been here. The sirens never stop. They are a constant melody. I cannot imagine growing up in this neighborhood, hearing them non-stop. The sirens are a way of life here. In my hometown, you stopped what you were doing to watch the sirens go by. The sirens could mean another life is gone. I cannot fathom what that must be like, day after day. But I know that I will never understand it if I do not at least try to hear the story. If I don’t take those steps forward, to ask the questions, to listen, I will never know.

Things I'm realizing about myself

1. I always knew that I was a little co-dependent but have never wanted to admit it before. I AM CO-DEPENDENT. So, what does this mean and how did I finally come to accept it? Well, I hate going places by myself. Seriously hate it. I just love talking with people and everything is always more fun when you have a companion. I love coffee (that is a given) and I love going to coffee shops but I hate going alone. When I try to go by myself, like I did today, I sit there longing to have a conversation with someone. Usually that means that I stare at the people around me hoping that they find me intriguing and want to talk to me. But usually ends in me attempting to read a book and look around for most of the time. I long for people to come up and talk to me

2. I'm much more of a coward when I am by myself. It is a fact that I am more bold when I have other people around who know me. It is almost like I need the affirmation that it is ok to be myself and people won't think I'm weird.

3. When I don't have people around me that really know me I tend to be more insecure and need to be sought out. I hate inviting myself along places. I need to be invited or else I feel like I am forcing people to be my friends (which I have been known to do before).

4. I'm lonely and desperate. *Gasp* I know. I said the two words that women are neversupposed to admit to but it is true. I'm lonely and that makes me a little desperate. I long to be seen (notice a theme?) and I long to be loved. Most of you don't know what it's like to never have felt like you are loved by anyone. But I know that some of you do. And I don't mean loved in the sense that my friends love me because I know you do and ya'll show that in fantastic and wonderful ways. I'm talking about the deep love that only comes from a significant other. The type of love that changes you in some way.

5. I like to stay busy. This whole "finish-working-at-5:00" stuff is killing me. I do nothing but play around on the internet and watch movies. I don't like doing stuff by myself and I don't know the area so exercising is not appealing. Plus, we can't really walk around our neighborhood alone. I'm bored. I need more socializing in my life. I need something different. This is something that I want to be aware of as I graduate. Note to self: get involved in lots of stuff. Tutor, have a dinner club, have a roommate, take dance lessons or art classes.

6. I won't be able to live alone. For reasons, see 1-5.

Megan

Front Porch

I want to open the door and sit on the porch but I am afraid. What do I do once I'm out there? What if no one talks to me? What if someone does talk to me? Will I look obvious, like I'm trying really hard to fit into a world I can never understand?

In Sandtown, everyone sits on their front porch. Five, six, seven people will be gathered on these itty, bitty four steps in front of houses that are seamlessly attached to one another. Some sit in front of abandoned houses, the boards marking the poverty that has ripped through this community year after year.

My outsider status is obvious, beige in a sea of brown. What would I do on the porch? Do I bring a book? Do I wait expectantly? Can I step out into their world? Or stay trapped in the comfort of my gated backyard and hulu filled evenings. Is that a way to reconcile? But will they accept me? I want to step out. I want to open the door and wait on the steps, somewhat awkwardly. I will do it before I leave. Hopefully it will be sooner rather than later. Stay posted.

Catch up which sounds like ketchup...depends on where you're from.

School is done! Greatness. I finished with more than satisfactory work (at least in my opinion which is the only one that matters). And now I've managed to go to 4 states in a month. NC, then to Cali to see my bff and fam, back to NC, then to Kansas to see my babies graduate, back to NC, and then heading up to Baltimore this weekend. Interesting, I know.

Vulnerability. I like to think that I'm good at it but in reality I am not. So let's make a few attempts.

1. I think about being a mom sometimes and it freaks me out. I don't think I'd be a good mom. Sometimes I don't think I'm nurturing enough and the thought of staying home bores me to tears. But then I think about being a part of something, something being half of me and it is exciting. And then I think about teaching my child about life and that is really scary. And I think I might be a little selfish too....ok, maybe a lot selfish. I understand having a child comes with a lot of personal sacrifices and I don't think I'm ready yet. Part of my fears stem from not having met any person with whom I would be comfortable raising children with.

My parents did a fabulous job raising me (I'm also very humble) so I don't know where these thoughts come from but alas, they are there.

Well, there is my first attempt at being vulnerable.... :) more to come.

And if you ever want to talk about these more in person, I would also like to start being more vulnerable in person :)