Schooled on the Mainland: Part 1

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Coming into Mission Year I anticipated that I would learn a lot about culture from the community surrounding me. I was moving into a neighborhood in Southwest Philadelphia where the majority population was African American as well as a large African population (from many countries). The neighborhoods I had lived in before in Akron and Bowling Green had been overwhelmingly populated by European Americans—these were the people I built relationships with. One reason I chose to sign up for Mission Year was a desire to build cross-cultural relationships to learn more about how we as people can perceive the world differently depending on where we come from.

I anticipated that this would happen by living in Southwest Philadelphia. What I didn’t anticipate is that this cross-cultural learning would also happen by living with my team in my house community.

If you would have asked me what I thought about Hawai’i before this year, I may have mentioned that it’s a vacation place to escape and unwind, a tropical paradise of sorts where all your problems melt away. I may have mentioned that I thought Hawai’i was the epitome of paradise (the pictures I had seen were beautiful), and the ultimate vacation get-away.

I may have told you about the many themed “Hawaiian Days” we had every year at school where people dressed up in grass skirts and tropical shirts and wore plastic leis from Party Place and a coconut bra (that’s only if you were really getting crazy with the theme, of course.) I may have also told you about the Hawaiian-themed birthday parties I saw or went to. There would be relaxing island-themed music, more leis, tiki torches, grass skirts, hibiscus flowers, pineapple and ham, the limbo, swimming, flip-flops, more pineapple—Hawaiian themed party.

That’s what I knew of Hawai’i coming into this year. I knew a caricature of a place based on grade school theme weeks, birthday parties, and escapism vacation advertising. In my mind people didn’t actually live on Hawai’i; it was just a paradise-land that people visited—a paradise land where all your problems went away.

Growing up with this framework, one can see why meeting my teammate Brandon was a disorienting experience. Brandon was born and raised in Hawai’i. I had never spoken to someone about Hawai’i who wasn’t a vacationer (although I didn’t think about that at the time.) Upon having just one interaction with him at Mission Year’s National Orientation, it was clear to me that my knowledge of Hawai’i was poorly informed and needed to be dismantled immediately. I found myself beginning to ask this question: What does Hawai’i look like not from the perspective of a vacationer, but from one who calls Hawai’i home—from one who has laughed, cried, and flourished there? Brandon spoke of Hawai’i not with the flippant commercial escapism I had heard from others coming back from vacation, but he spoke as one deeply in love with the land. With my framework of “Hawai’i as the ultimate vacation get-away” and his deep love for the land of Hawai’i, it became clear that he had much to teach me if I would first humble myself and listen.

Thankfully, I chose this road less traveled, and admitted that what I knew of Hawai’i was a caricature and not at all representative of the reality that my teammate knew. I owned my ignorance: I knew nothing about Hawai’i, but I wanted to learn. Since that day, Brandon has been relentlessly gracious into inviting me into the Hawai’i that he knows—a Hawai’i rich in history and culture, a Hawai’i that has a valuable perspective and worldview to offer the mainland (and the world).  

This year in building a relationship with Brandon I am continually being invited into seeing Hawai’i as a place and not an objectified paradise. I am being schooled on the mainland. And I think both of our lives have been enriched by it.

*  *  *

* * *

I remember the day that I tip-toed in childlike wonder across the perimeter of our musty basement in late September and called it beautiful. 

To the outside eye, it would appear that I had made an ill-informed statement. The basement was a narrow strip of crumbling walls and debris piles that smelled of dank mold. It was the place where we stuck the trash, hiding the leaking bags away in its corners until the garbage truck came. It was the place that gave some teammates bad vibes to the point where they refused to step down into the space, and a stench that gave others nausea. Before that day in September the basement was a place that I, too, had dismissed as worthless.

But that afternoon I looked around the space with my mouth agape, perplexed as to how I had not seen the beauty of this space before. Where I once saw piles of garbage with pieces of brick and broken metal, I now saw a floor dusted with the years of many occupants. Where I once saw rusty pipes and barren walls, I now saw the beauty in the structure’s honest imperfections. The basement, a space that I had once dismissed, I now saw had mass potential to be a space of solitude as well as a space of community. I rolled up my sleeves and began to transform the space, yearning to unveil the beauty I was gifted eyes to see.

The pegged board I outlined with a red jump rope and transformed it into the prayer wall. Here pictures, art, and quotes could be hung up, serving as a place of quiet centering and reflection. An old giant paint bucket became an end table where you could place your morning coffee as you spent time in solitude—maybe reading, praying, or simply existing. I looked around, knowing that the space wasn't fully transformed; the community space had yet to be created. I placed two bed frame boards together near the back wall, transforming them into a stage for performances. The stage received two microphones—one a lightbulb-less standing lamp and another a broken pool stick standing in an empty five-gallon water jug. A hula hoop was leaned against the back wall with some sticks—stage decorations. “We can have open mics down in the basement and do slam poetry and dance and sing!” I exclaimed to my teammates. I stepped back from my work with a sigh and surveyed the space.

The basement that I once dismissed as worthless was transformed into a space alive and humming with invitation.

*  *  *

Since that transformation, the basement has been a space used for centering and reflection for myself and my team. People have gone down there to collect themselves, to work through conflict with one another, to call friends and to be in a controlled space of solitude. For myself, the space had been a place of creating music, poetry, and dance, finding solace in the crumbling walls after long and difficult days. As for a space of community building, though, the basement had never been used. Over the months my passionate dream for the stage to be used as a form of community building had subsided into a quiet longing. I began to recognize that realistically an open mic would never happen in the basement—after all, even in its transformation it was still a musty basement. The stage became a sort of joke that was brought up occasionally in the house, and I laughed too as the impossibility of the idea.

That’s why on Saturday evening after Community Dinner it was such a shock when I found myself in the basement for over an hour with neighbors and teammates alike, singing and dancing and laughing and creating—together.

I’m not quite sure how it happened, really. Somehow four of us ended up there on the stage—Lateysha, me, and two new young friends. “Let’s make up a song! You two can use the microphones to sing!” Lateysha was the back up singer and I on the guitar. “Dragons, castles, lilys—they grow.” We sang this quirky declaration of transformation over and over, adding on new nuances with each repetition. Others came down to hear our concert, placing chairs on the musty floor. Erin filmed the songs as I kept exclaiming, “I can’t believe this is actually happening!”

After a few songs from our newly formed band, the audience clapped and the stage became open to receive the creativity of the people in that space. Lateysha boldly gifted an improv slam poem, my teammate Joe graced the stage with an improvisational dance full of movements of freedom. Cynthia and Tracy (who had just met one another that evening) came together to sing some 80’s classics that we all ended up belting out together. The rusty pipes and wooden beams amplified and held the rich sound of our voices. 

A half hour later, we found ourselves ending our time by standing together on stage in a circle, eyes alive. “Let’s choreograph a dance!” Lateysha began the choreography, gifting a flowing movement from side to side. Cynthia was next and gave a movement in the form of waves from side to side. We began the dance again, adding the two movements together. 

I looked around the circle as we continued choreographing, soaking up the wholeness and unity I was experiencing in that moment. Together we were crafting a story through choreography, and each had the power of being a contributing storyteller. What I was experiencing was so different from what the narrative that I see panning out around me in the every day. Everywhere I go I see how people assert their storytelling as more important or powerful than another’s storytelling, and how this divides us from a whole people into a fragmented people. I found myself in that circle yearning to invite everyone I knew into this little glimpse of wholeness that was unfolding before my very eyes. I kept thinking that if only people would get a taste of the wholeness I was experiencing in that moment, that we could no longer choose apathy regarding one another. What I was experiencing, what we all experienced that evening during that spontaneous open mic, was sacred.

And to me the best part was that this time of creativity and wholeness took place in a basement once dismissed as worthless. 

“It is the one who is least among you who is the greatest.”

The musty basement is actually a sanctuary, and the beggar is actually royalty. 

In the kingdom of God, everything is upside down.

I am continually being gifted eyes to learn.

A lot of what Mission Year has been for me is learning from people and places that in other seasons of my life I have dismissed and am now seeing with new eyes. When you think of your own transformation and life journey, is there a person or place that you have dismissed that has actually served as an important agent of transformation in your life? Email me at amber.cullen116@gmail.com; I’d love to hear your story!

Longing (and other thoughts)

There is deep within my soul a longing for a world that I do now know but yearn to see. 
It is a world where all are flourishing.
It is a world where all honor the other's dignity.
It is a world of wholeness.
I am cognitively aware that this world will not in its entirety manifest itself within my lifetime, yet I remain confident in this: It will come (Revelations 21:1-5)

The longing reverberates like a gong in my soul. Sometimes its ring is diminished by my own jargon. There are other times where the gong is crystal clear. 

This is one of those seasons.

*  *  *

My friend was saying how he sees God most clearly in the disparity. I didn't quite understand what he meant by that, but it stuck with me throughout the next day.

I was on an hour long train ride where we traveled through the center of Philadelphia to its suburbs. I watched as rowhouses (some caving in on themselves, others renovated) transformed into vast spaces of living. I watched the signs change from advertising opportunities for benefits and low-cost phone plans shift into advertisements for colleges and schools of business. I watched as the close proximity of people in the city transformed into pockets of insulated isolation. These environments speak two different languages.

(The men on the train talked of their possessions as trophies, but their eyes spoke of a need these items did not and could not fill.)

The disparity.

*  *  *

I long for spaces of transformation where this flourishing world manifests as a reality. 
I long for those sacred places where people, though different, step into the uncomfortable space of relationship.
I long for those spaces, for in them we can see and live into the actualization of our common humanity.
I believe that it is here that change can happen.
I believe that these are the moments where the kingdom comes on earth as it is in heaven.

These are the moments where the sacred and the Divine is a resounding gong in my ear:
"I am here."


*  *  *

I've been thinking recently about the spaces in my life that have been particularly transformative. 
I've been thinking about the psych ward.
I've been thinking about South Street Ministries.
I've been thinking about Mission Year.
I've been thinking about how in these spaces I've experienced the Divine through interactions with those around me.
In these spaces, I've journeyed with people and people have journeyed with me.
We've grappled through life together, through the day to day. 

We've held one another.

And I think that trust and vulnerability and "in it with you" has made all the difference.

*  *  *

My teammate led devotions this morning. It was beautiful to me. He began with a story about a recent situation that led him to reflect on the beauty of language as a part of culture. He then read The Lord's Prayer in Samoan (he himself identifies as Samoan.) I shut my eyes and allowed the words to wash over my being, their syllables new to me. I thought of the many times I have recited these words with my church families in Akron and Bowling Green. And then something beautiful happened. 

As the sounds filled my ears, I felt deeply connected to the Body of Christ as a whole. I felt connected to this larger Church, this Body of Christ of people who confess Jesus as Lord in many tongues and nations. I thought of groups of people all around the globe who are praying this prayer and yearning for the kingdom of God to manifest in our world.

Praying for a world where all are flourishing.

Praying for a world where justice and peacemaking mend.

Praying for a world where we affirm and celebrate the gift that is one another.

Restoration to wholeness.

"Your kingdom come."

*  *  *

There is deep within my soul a longing for a world that I do now know but yearn to see. 
(I long for You.)

Lament:(v)

Today is a day of ache.

It is a day of facing my own depraved humanity right in the mirror.

“White privilege is alive and well and it’s me.”

I think it could be nice to take a little vacation from this nation.

Maybe my journey would take me to another country where I can act as if the world is not one giant groaning system of people mistreating people mistreating nations not listening to nations and we sit and stare and wonder “When, O Lord, will this all end?!”

Maybe it would be nice.

But that nation would have its fair share of non-flourishing as well.

(No matter where I go I see the brokenness of the sun.)

Some days I can’t remember what it is to flourish in a world of fear.

Some days like today I weep with anger and pain as I feel a sliver of what life might be like for another whose life is marked by a constant state of societal oppression.

Some days I wonder if I have ever truly chosen to love after all (for I more often choose fear than unmasking honesty.)

I wonder.

I wonder what it would be like to dance on the back patio in the snow.

Maybe we could build a snowperson together, and you could teach me your name.

We could fumble through the awkward misunderstandings that come along with navigating one another’s difference culture.

Maybe we would talk about our families or what brings us life.

It would be a challenge, but it would be a relationship deep in grace and forgiveness.

Maybe, just maybe

We can build a glimpse of the put-together-sun—

Together.

(We are a unified breath of humanity.)

Leadership Spotlight: CIC Students

     As the Program Coordinator for the Center for Digital Inclusion and Technology (CDIT), I live “behind-the-scenes.” Because I work more on the administrative end, I don’t have as much face-to-face contact with students as others in our department do. Although this is the case, I am intentional in meeting our students—adults, teens, kids—all coming to our building to learn skill sets on how to navigate and create on a computer.

     Out of all of our student demographics, it is the adults who teach me the most. I frequently walk by our computer classroom and see faces turned attentively towards the Computer and Internet Class (CIC) instructor, K.B., as he walks the class through making flyers on Microsoft Word or learning techniques in Microsoft Excel. This deep yearning to learn and a thirst for knowledge is an attitude I have seen reflected in the students of CIC from the time they first call me to sign up for the class, to the day that they graduate.

     I have such a deep admiration and respect for our adult students.  Many are older, and haven’t had prior computer training. I’ve had numerous calls with prospective students where they have very honestly stated that they have little knowledge with navigating computers—some not even having an email address. For many, classes with K.B., our instructor, provide an opportunity to have a community to journey with in the process of learning skill sets on computers. To watch the determination and commitment of these adults as they journey through the course is incredible. I aspire to live out my commitments with the same kind of tenacity that I have seen these adults display.

     I met a woman who is a leader in her church who wanted to learn how to make flyers to aid in advertising her church’s community outreach events (her final project flyer was for a Free Clothing Giveaway they were actually hosting). I met a man who yearns to take the skill sets he learns in the CIC class and help others in his community learn how to use the computer. Yet another woman is in the CIC class to gain basic knowledge so she can put on her resume that she has experience in Microsoft Excel. Other adult students yearn to learn skill sets so that they can navigate the computer on their own, this being motivation in and of itself. One woman works at 4:00am and still goes to class from 6:00-8:00pm that very same evening because she wants to learn these skill sets. That is incredible. Absolutely incredible. 

     Two weeks ago, we welcomed our CIC Spring 2015 students during orientation. I introduced myself to the class, being welcomed by familiar faces from the Fall that will be continuing to the next level of classes, and new faces of people I have yet to meet.

     As this Mission Year continues, I am grateful for this season where my story intertwines with so many dedicated students at the People's Emergency Center who are teaching me that education and learning is an empowering, life-long journey.

To learn more about the Center for Digital Inclusion and Technology: http://www.cditech.org/

To support me in this Mission Year: https://missionyear.thankyou4caring.org/ambercullen

We are.

There is freedom dancing in our bones.

Liberation in our pores.

A sacred samba sizzling in our souls.

March on, my sister, march on.

We’re heading to the Promise Land.

Walk with me, my sister.

Weave your story into mine.

Our narratives can hold one another up

As this oppressive citadel is remolded.

Drums.

And singing.

Sweet singing.

“We are. We are.”

Hand in hand.

We march on.

Together.

There is freedom dancing in our bones.

Sweet freedom.

Our hands stretch to the sky.

Hands that create wonders.

Hands that mold and make.

Hands that challenge.

Here begins our dance.

“We are. We are.”

We flourish. We march.

We are.

Women.

Bare

Breath rattles in these lungs,

Still going and going

The monotonous accompaniment of being.

Sweet air crisp on my bare shoulder

Leading me to the fragility of my soul, my God

How

A break in the lament of our lives

We pause to shift our eyes

To what

To where

To whom

(Who cares?)

You care.

Are You—

There?

Sweet Ecclesiastes,

My soul wrestles bare beneath these crisp skies

Hazel eyes grasping forward clinging to air

But falling there.

Dirt heckling into pores unspoken

My God “us” is so broken

Why

You will not leave me here in my tender vulnerabilities--

You are with me.

I still question how Your wisdom is bigger than what I see, Love.

I question if Trust is illogical.

It is.

The crisp air through my webbed palms--

When will all be set right?

When will women dance in freedom?

When will all be free and flourishing?

When will we celebrate one another--together?

Love, when?

Lead us to the celebration here and now.

Lead us to a Freedom Song.

Lead us to You.

Breath rattles in these lungs,

Still going and going

The monotonous accompaniment of being.

Sweet air crisp on our bare shoulders

Leading us to the fragility of our souls, our God

How