Love Your Neighbor Like Yourself

I am finding it more and more rare that my clients will really open up about their HIV or AIDS diagnosis. They tell me just about everything - struggles with family, substance abuse, and mental health; struggles financially - but when it comes to HIV, it goes un-talked about. I found myself completely caught off guard on Thursday when a couple I had never met before came into the pantry and the husband, a little Hispanic man from NYC, all of a sudden started telling me about his life and the 20 years he has been living with this diagnosis. He began to tell me that he a recovering IV drug user, and that when he lived in NYC, he would do just about anything to get high. I was surprised when he said that he was fully aware that he could get HIV by sharing needles, but sometimes the fear of becoming infected was overshadowed by the need to get high. One day when he was feeling desperate to shoot up, his cousin gave him the needle that he'd just used. He rinsed it under water until it did not seem like any blood remained from the previous user, and he used that same needle to get high.

Not long after that, he found out that his cousin was HIV+, so he went to get tested. Turns out that his cousin had known all along that he had HIV, but did not bother to tell my client. I was dumbfounded, so confused about how someone could put someone they love in clear danger. How can anyone knowingly infect someone else with a virus that will not only affect them for the rest of their lives, but has the potential to kill them?  I've been thinking a lot about what love means and why I feel so called to love each person I encounter regardless of who they are, where they've been, or what they've done.

I've always remembered the passage in the Gospel of Matthew when Jesus says the two most important commandments are to love God with all your heart, soul and mind, and to love your neighbor like yourself. Jesus calls us to love each other, to respect each other's dignity, to embrace difference, to treat others like we ourselves would like to be treated. In reflecting on this passage of scripture the other night with my wonderful community, I started to wonder if these verses are what have informed my compassion throughout my life. I quickly realized that there was no way that it was scripture that sparked compassion inside of me, but that it is scripture and liberation theology in particular that continue to inform my love for the human race. My experiences growing up in East Hartford are what sparked my understanding of suffering, injustice, and pain. Hearing the stories of friends I had growing up and their struggles growing up in poverty, surrounded by violence and drugs - that's when I first experienced compassion.

It is because of those initial experiences with friends growing up that I become frustrated when people express such hatred for others or when people are judged by others because they are marginalized in some way. What good does it do the world if we all frown down upon those suffering from injustice? What kind of world do we create when we judge others based on appearance, sexual orientation, criminal record, or HIV status? Take that one step further: what are we saying to those who are infected or affected by HIV when we don't use condoms or clean needles and put ourselves at risk?

After writing my senior thesis, "HIV and the Sexual Practices of Fordham Students," I noticed that even though many students I spoke with were very educated about HIV and risk factors for becoming infected, that did not make them more likely to protect themselves. They talked more about fear of unwanted pregnancy than of becoming infected with STDs, especially HIV. It seemed as though HIV/AIDS was a taboo topic to discuss. I have been working with a 22-year old client a lot in the past few weeks. He is 12 days older than me and became infected with HIV because he got caught up in the moment and did not use protection. I think so much about my friends in college and the conversations I would have with them about sex. There was this general feeling of invincibility, like HIV could not happen to them, even though they were sleeping around.

For the past three years, after the amazing experience I had in Nashville in 2008 working with Nashville CARES, I promised myself that I would do everything I could to educate others about HIV/AIDS and how to protect themselves and their partners from infection. Since the day that Greg told us that he was HIV+, I promised that I would fight to see this epidemic be brought to an end - not for my safety or for that of my friends; but for the sake of each and every individual I have met in my life who is living with HIV or has been affected by it. My kids at Incarnation Children's Center, the men and women in Nashville, my clients here in Raleigh, the awesome guys I worked with at CARC in Hartford. We must love our neighbor like we love ourselves. Do you want to become infected with HIV? I'm guessing the answer is no. So why do we constantly put ourselves and others at risk? What role does love for humanity play in this? If we just stopped and focused on the common good rather than on selfishness, greed, and power - we could experience a love so close to what God's love for us must be like. We could create a better world based on peace and justice.

The world would be better off
if people tried to become better,
and people would be better
if they stopped trying to become better off.
For when everyone tries to become better off,
nobody is better off.
But when everyone tries to become better
everyone is better off.
Everyone would be rich
if nobody tried to become richer,
and nobody would be poor
if everyone tried to be the poorest.
And everybody would be what he ought to be
if everybody tried to be
what he wants the other fellow to be.

-Peter Maurin's "The Case for Utopia"-

Not One Step Back

It has been another beautiful weekend here in Raleigh, and the coming week's forecast is beautiful. Saturday brought about one of the most powerful days of my life as I joined up with hundreds of people for the annual HKonJ march and rally. HKonJ - Historic Thousand on Jones St - is a march and rally for justice organized by the North Carolina NAACP with 90 partner organizations and agencies. It began five years ago as a movement to encourage the state legislature to make change and to promote justice for all people. It's main purpose is to advocate for a 14 point People's Agenda that includes points such as quality education for all children; livable wages for all workers; health care for all; reforming the prison system; protecting the rights of immigrants; etc. (See http://www.hkonj.com/ for more).

The rally started outside Shaw University, the very location where the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee was founded decades ago. People were coming on the stage to pump everyone up, reminding us that we were here to move forward together, and not take one step back. I saw people of all ages, all races, all genders, standing side by side, fighting together for change; fighting together for justice and peace in our world. There was so much energy in the crowd - an energy fueled by a passion for justice, unlike any passion I'd ever seen. A spoken word artist came on stage and began talking about the Greensboro four - four black college students who wanted nothing more than to be accepted by society and to be treated like humans. The way the artist told their story was so moving, connecting many different issues besides racism. I began to look around the crowd that had gathered in preparation for the march to the state legislature on Jones St. They were begging for change, with signs that said: "End racism now." "Affordable health care now." "End AIDS." "Every child deserves a quality education." and many many others. I saw all the people. I saw all the signs. I felt like a part of a movement for the first time in my life. All these people were there for a common purpose - to see to it that justice is created in our world.

Rev. Barber, the president of the NC NAACP, began to speak once we got to Jones Street. I believe that each time I see him preach or speak, I am listening to a prophet. He is charismatic, and the passion and energy he exudes is unlike anyone I've ever heard speak. He captivates an audience with this charisma. He speaks out not only against racial injustice, but against all injustice. He connects faith so magically to the fight for social justice. He is truly a prophet of our time and I feel called to join the movement each time I hear him speak. Rev. Barber has the ability to connect with anyone - young or old, black or white, gay or straight. He speaks truth. He knows the reality and is not scared to stand up for what he believes is right: that which God created our world to be like, a world in which there is peace and justice for all people. And he brings people together, reminding us that we cannot do it alone, reminding us that it is about more than the moment - it is about the movement.

Next on stage was a high school aged young man, who I remember from September when he spoke at a prayer service for the Wake County School System. He had been arrested at a school board meeting while advocating for integrated, diverse schools for all. I have never been so entranced by a young person speaking; I was drawn into his every word. He took Rev. Barber's energy and charisma and carried it through his own speech. He apoke about the importance of diverse schools. Not only does it help distribute resources equally so that all children can receive the same quality educating, but being around students from different backgrounds and different experiences teaches a person perspective; it allows one to think for himself/herself; it encourages understanding; and it allows a young person to look outside themselves and see the complex web of human life and human relationships. As I listend to the young man speak, I thought of my own experiences in the East Hartford Public School System. I had many positive experiences growing up with students so different than myself, and looking back now, I realize that if I hadn't grown up in East Hartford and in it's public schools, I may not be where I am today - fighting for justice. I may not have been exposed to racism or poverty in my everyday. Listening to that young man fired me up and made me remember part of the anger the fueled my valedictory speech at graduation from high school. Injustice is not the answer to the problems of the world, yet so many school boards and local governments keep pushing injustice on its people.

I stood atop a wall as I watched and listened. Next to me was an older couple, who would later introduce themselves as the Irvings, long-time residents of Raleigh. Every once in a while, the wife would rub my back in an endearing way, but also in a motivating way, as though to say, "You can do it. You need to do it - for us. For all." I felt such an incredible connection to those strangers standing next to me, encouraging me. We stood together, sometimes arm-in-arm, listening to all of the incredible speakers who wanted to empower everyone in the crowd to keep fighting. Like the undocumented young lady who pays her taxes, and is tired of being reffered to as an "illegal alien". And then there was Darryl Hunt, exhonorrated after serving 19 years in prison for a crime he didn't commit. And then there was the CEO of the NAACP that reminded us that we are still fighting Jim Crow, though in a different way. He reminded us of the school system in Halifax County, NC where there are 8,000 children and three separate school districts - one that is 95% black; one that is 97% black; and one that's boundaries are juxtaposed down the middle, incorporating certain neighborhoods, and is 75% white. Injustice exists all around us.

Mrs. Irving linked armes with me and rubbed my back every once in a while. In a world of hatred, injustice, and oppression, I felt true love from a complete stranger. And then Rev. Barber told us to look at the person next to us and tell them: "You are my neighbor, and I love you. And I will fight for your family because your family is my family." I had tears in my eyes as I told Mrs. Irving this very thing. We really are one human family. We must fight together, hand-in-hand. We must fight for each other. We must fight for justice. We must fight for peace. HKonJ is the most powerful event I have ever attended. I feel inspired, empowered, educated, and ready to confront this fight head on - for the rest of my life because "We can't go back. We won't go back. No justice....no peace."





Forward Together. NOT ONE STEP BACK.

More Than Just The Girl Behind The Desk

I truly appreciate all the love, thoughts, and prayers sent my way after my last post. They were much needed. Things are still pretty tough out here. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed that I forget to appreciate the little things, and I bypass those "God moments". I'm slowly starting to remember to see the beauty in each moment and the blessings in each day. My clients have really brought my spirits up in the last week or two.

Over the past few months I have noticed an array of attitudes towards the services we offer at my agency. Three days a week, I run the food pantry and meet with about ten to fifteen clients a day those days (if not more). There are some clients who are always grateful for the assistance, and make sure to thank me before they leave. Even on the days when there is very little food in the pantry, they still express their gratitutde. These are the clients that make my day each and every day. They constantly remind me of why I love working with people and why it is so important for me to do what I do. I see God in each one of them as I watch our relationships grow over something as simple as sharing food. On the flip side, though, there are also clients who express a deep feeling of entitlement. If there is no fresh produce, they always make a point to remind me that there is none. When the food supply is low, they throw their arms up in the arm and growl at me. I had one client actually call me last week up in arms that there was only ground turkey in the freezer. This gets to be very frustrating, especially when I know my clients really count on us to provide them with the services they cannot get elsewhere. They often times come to the pantry so they can save the money they use at the grocery store and apply it to other bills and expenses. I also know that I work my butt off to make sure there is food in that pantry and to assure that I am doing my best to provide my clients with the services they need. This can be stressful and overwhelming, though, when that client sense of entitlement breaks through, as it often makes me feel like I am nothing more than 'the short girl behind the desk' to them. It affects me in hard ways sometimes and really challenges me to find new ways to provide services for them, while also finding ways to communicate with them that our assistance is not an unalienable right. It is something we are lucky enough to provide for them - whether it be assistance with food, prescription costs, transportation costs, or help with rent and utility bills.

This past week, I saw a combination of clients - those who are grateful and those who feel entitled. When the phone rang on Thursday morning, and I saw the phone number, I knew exactly which client was calling. This particular client expresses his love for me often and always says thank you for the littlest things - even if it just me telling him a good website to check out that talks about tenant rights. I was confused when he started yelling at me over the phone, not sure what I had done wrong. He started questioning the rules we abide by when it comes to the pantry, particularly our first come first serve policy. Then the words came out: "It is ridiculous that all of those people got to shop before me and only left me ground turkey for a meat." I took a deep breath and very sternly told him, "Kelly, listen to me for a minute. It is no one's fault that there was only ground turkey in the freezer. That is all that was available at the Food Bank. I cannot get meat besides what is at the Food Bank. Please just be grateful that there was any meat at all." After that, he backed down. He didn't apologize for blowing up, which I am ok with because he did say thank you. "Thanks for taking the time to listen, Ms. Cavaliere. I just needed to go right to the source to get the right answers. Thanks." As discourageed as I had grown in the middle of the conversation with him, by the end I realized that his own frustrations really have nothing to do with the ground turkey. I know this client so well as I have been working with him since the beginning of my time in Raleigh. Though in that moment he expressed some feeling of entitlement, I began to realize (after hanging up the phone and cooling down) that he really doesn't feel like he has a right to our services...he is realizing that he has grown dependent on them, a feeling that is far more challenging for him to deal with than his anger over ground turkey. He called me again on Friday, in a much happier mood, just to touch base with me about some things we had been working on together, such as figuring out what his rights are as a tenant and a renter.

Sometimes I just need a little time to process my daily interactions with clients. The learning moments may not be clear at first, but become crystal clear later on as I dive more deeply into a situation. There are those times, though, when my clients let me know exactly how they feel. Like last week when an older client came in to my office seeking financial assistance with her incredibly high electric bill. I was stunned when I saw how much her bill was for, especially knowing that she lives by herself. Like Kelly who I talked about above, I met Patricia at the very beginning of my time here. A loyal shopper at Under One Roof's food pantry, I see her twice a month without fail. And when I don't see her, I begin to worry - like the time she didn't show up in November and I had to find out from someone else that her mother had passed on. During our appointment, she kind of chuckled at me and said "What can you possibly do to help with this?" unaware that I do a little more than run the food pantry each day. We sat for an hour discussing ways in which she can alter her daily habits in order to conserve electricity, and thus lower her bill. She was very receptive to my ideas and continued to throw in her own ideas during our conversation. Together, we came up with a plan. Before she left, she gave me a big hug and said, "You know I love you, right? As though you are my own daughter."

Then there was another woman named Patricia. I mentioned her around Thanksgiving time when she told me, "I feel like I've finally found my family here," in reference to me. She just celebrated her 44th birthday and was excited to take some time for herself to celebrate. She has two young daughters who she has really dedicated her life to, and she often doesn't have a chance to step away and focus on herself for a night. She came in to shop at the pantry and told me she needed to talk to me first. She was so excited to tell me about the dinner she was planning with her friends. As she was talking, I started to get the feeling that she was going to ask if I was willing to babysit her girls. She started telling me all the details of the dinner: where they were going, what time they had to get there, etc. She says how she's only inviting a few friends, and looks at me and says, "One of them is you." I was so flattered and so grateful to know that Patricia sees me as more than the girl she talks to when she goes to the food pantry.

Things have been crazy, I'm not going to lie. One day, work is super busy and the next, it's as slow as it can be. And each day is a rollercoaster of sorts - new things I've learned, new perspectives, new ideas, new emotions. The greatest part of it all, though, is realizing that some of my clients look at me as more than just the girl behind the desk. They see me as a friend.

Lessons Along the Way

Overwhelmed with anger and other emotions the past two weeks, I've started to really think more deeply about my work, with focus on my clients as well as what it means to serve those clients and fight against HIV/AIDS in the process. The past couple of weeks have been very challenging as I watched two woman whom I care deeply about lose their jobs as we all sit and wonder why. Each passing day is a struggle as I try to figure out my role at my agency and how to best provide for my clients.

I have learned a lot about compassion and non-judgment in the past few months from my colleagues. They have opened my eyes to what it means to be with our clients and how I can approach them in a way in which they will feel comfortable. I remember some of my first appointments back in September. As I would listen to my clients tell me of their struggles and hardships, I recall trying to connect with them on some level, as though I have been through struggles and hardships equivalent to theirs. Some of them would look at me as if I was crazy trying to get on their level. Others would nod and just keep talking. I have realized that there is no way in which I understand the struggles my clients go through each day or the challenges with which they are presented. I have no idea what it is like to live in poverty; to be discriminated against based on my appearance; to live with a life-long, life-threatening disease; to feel uncomfortable sharing my deepest secrets with the people who care most about me. I do not remember a time in my life in which I wasn't allowed my basic needs of survival - shelter, food, water, support. I cannot connect with my clients on that personal level in which we can both share our stories and find the similarities because, at the end of the day, I do not know what it is like to live in their shoes; my shoes are very different than theirs.

A recently published article that I read talks about a gay white man living with HIV who works for an HIV/AIDS service organization that serves mostly African-Americans living in poverty, much like the agency I work for. The article describes the man as middle class. He owns his own small business and works full time at the HIV/AIDS service organization. The author writes that his experience with HIV is much like that of the people whom he serves. As I read the article a bit more and started to feel like I knew the man they were writing about, I found myself thinking about my clients and their experiences with HIV. Most of the clients I have met share with me that they struggle financially each day. They make just enough each month to pay for their basic needs, and sometimes do not have enough money to maintain a nutritional diet. Remember Michael who did not have $12 to see his son play basketball? Many of my clients share such struggles. The man who the article was written about seemed to have enough money to not only pay for his basic needs and to maintain a nutritional diet, but he also has enough money to get his HIV medications with no outside help besides that from his private insturance company. My clients often do not have health insurance, and if they do, it is Medicaid. Medicaid does not provide them with enough money to cover their medication costs, which leads them to need to seek assistance with our agency or with a federal program called ADAP - AIDS Drug Assistance Program. Another irony I found in this article was how stigma still penetrates our society when it comes to HIV. Here is a white gay man with a good job who lives with HIV - similar to the face of AIDS in the 1980s when it was considered a "homosexual" disease. Rather than the article focusing on the changing demographics of today's population living with the virus, they chose to focus in on the stigma that has been associated with the virus since Day 1.

How do I talk to my clients about their challenges and struggles when our society is still so caught up in the stigma associated with HIV/AIDS? How do I best approach a client in dialogue when their whole lives they have heard things like "you deserve this"? But mostly...how can I be confident that our HIV/AIDS service organizations across the country have our clients' best interests in mind when those who care more about the clients than about themselves are being fired? 

During Re-orientation last week, I realized how important it is for me to be an advocate for the rights of those living with the virus, as well as for those most at risk for becoming infected. However, I cannot advocate for my clients if my clients cannot advocate for themselves. Many do not even feel comfortable telling their family members about their HIV status out of fear that they will be disowned. They often feel like they have no support from those whom they crave that support from most. How can we expect them to stand up for themselves to complete strangers when they struggle so much to disclose their status to the people about whom they care the most? I especially know that it is not my opinion or voice that counts...it is theirs. They are the ones who need services and who know their situations best. How do we empower them to stand up and be heard?

I have learned a lot in these few months and am grateful for each and every moment. My only hope is that I will be able to answer some of the questions which I have posed to myself in these months. Please pray for my colleagues and my clients.

Twelve Dollars

Being back in East Hartford after four months was really a blessing. Spending time with the fam and my wonderful friends was much needed relaxation and a good break from the routine I have been living in Raleigh. It was interesting to watch myself the first few days as I immersed myself in the relationships I've left back home, and kind of dive back into my life at home. It wasn't until halfway through my vacation that I realized I had left JVC behind.

For the past few months, my community members and I have discussed how important it is for us to connect our lives back home to our lives in JVC; how necessary it is for us to keep our experiences at the forefront and really be able to make it more than just an experience, but an actual part of us. I fell so easily into the comfort of life back home - watching ESPN everyday, watching TV as I fall asleep, going out to eat for many meals. On Christmas morning, though I did not get much under the tree, I had the opportunity to get a new pair of boots and my favorite TV show on DVD.

Upon my return to Raleigh last week, it took me a lot longer to fall back into my "JVC life." Even as clients came and went, I felt so lost and confused. It wasn't until my second day back in the office that I found my compassion again. A client of mine came in for assistance with his rent. He has been struggling to find a job, though he has a great skills set in non-profit work. He has created payment plans with each of the companies he is billed by each month so that he can catch back up on his payments. As he talked, I just listened, though inactively. He started to tell me about his 17 year old son and how he couldn't even provide much for him for Christmas. His son lives about two hours away with his mother. He is an honor roll student and a talented athlete. When my client moved to Raleigh, he was so excited to be closer to his son, but has not even had enough money to afford the gas to get him to his son's town. As he told me this story, he began to cry. A few weeks ago, his son came to Raleigh for a basketball tournament. My client was so excited to see him and his son was also really pumped. He was going to go to one of the basketball games and see his son play. When he found out the games' admission cost $12, though, his world came crashing down. Where would he get the $12 he needed to go see his son for the first time in over a year? It was impossible.

Twelve dollars...an amount of money that seems like pocket change sometimes. Twelve dollars that my client didn't have and rarely has to spend on anything except his monthly bills. He barely has enough money to feed himself each day. His son was five minutes away and he couldn't even see him. As he cried in my office, I snapped back to reality and out of my comfortable life back home when $12 admission to a basketball game was never a problem.

This past weekend, my community set off for beautiful Dalton, PA for re-orientation. We got to see our friends we met a few months ago who are doing JVC up and down the East Coast. We finally got to talk to everyone about our experiences, our struggles, and our joys. It was a great time to get re-focused, especially after feeling disconnected when I was back in CT. Our entire day Friday was spent talking about social analysis - how do we take the experiences we've had and really ask the question why. Why are my clients poor? Why are those who are already marginalized more likely to become infected with HIV? Why are African-Americans more likely to live in poverty than whites? We learned more about analyzing the social structures of our country and really dive into looking at who benefits from the way society is structured today.

I really got to thinking - Why does greed and power rule our society? Why do the rich continue to grow richer while the poor lack the resources to break through the poverty circle? Why do elected politicians listen to only some of their constituents when they are elected to represent ALL of their constituents? Why is it that many of my clients, like Michael, cannot afford the $12 to see their children in a basketball game? My time at re-orientation really re-focused me, re-centered me, and re-energized me. I feel called to action; called to do more research and reflection; called to discern what my role in all of this is and how I can work to really CHANGE the structures. The structures and institutions were created by people, and as such, by people, they can be changed. I am grateful for the privilege with which I was born and raised, and I am grateful that I grew up in East Hartford, CT where I had the chance to interact with many cultures, where life was diverse, where some of my closest friends growing up may have had a different skin color than me, but were still my closest friends. I work for social justice because I know that this society is not just; that, if given the chance, those living in poverty could move out of poverty. But how? How do I work for change especially when so many Americans are comfortable with the way society is right now? How do I convince others that it is our God-given responsibility to work for justice and equality and for the well-being of ALL people, not just ourselves? These are questions I am struggling with not only in my interactions with clients, but also with recent happenings at my agency, and even in conversations with family and friends.

I start the second half of my year focused and ready to take on what seems like the impossible. This is the start of learning what it really means to be a woman for and with others. Would you like to join me on this journey?

"Look How Far I've Come"

It feels like this week has just been a huge blur. Sure, the days often blend together because most of my days contain the same work but with different clients. But this week has been different. I spent four days working with the same client, a nice man named Terry. On Monday, Terry came to me for a financial appointment. As he walked into my office, I asked him the typical, "How are you doing today," to which he responded, "Not so good." Each day I work with clients who are not doing so good, but it is very rare that a client will tell me that. They often times will say something like, "Blessed to be here" or "Doing alright." When Terry told me that he wasn't doing so good, I sensed that this appointment would be a little different than the others.

Terry was given a two-day eviction notice last tuesday from his apartment where he had lived with his friend for almost five years. His friend found a place to live instantly as she has a little bit of income. Terry is jobless and makes his money doing odd jobs when his arthritis isn't so painful that he can barely move. Terry is not the first homeless client whom I have met and worked with, but he is the first one who asked me for help in finding a place to rest his head at night. I sat with him and went through the resources I know - the Wilmington St. Men's Shelter and Raleigh Rescue Mission. We went back and forth talking about these options, but his frustrations were so strong that he wouldn't accept those as his only options, either. He kept challenging me to look for more resources, to push harder to find something that would work for him. At one point, he looked at me and said, "Just shoot me in the head. Might as well end it now." I became so overwhelmed, almost to the point of tears, that I couldn't think straight, let alone look more closely at available resources. But Terry wouldn't let me give up on him like that. He wouldn't let me just watch him walk away. I felt the pressure, and I knew it was not him saying that I wasn't doing enough or not doing my job. He was feeling hopeless and so confused. I knew he was asking himself how it could have gotten to this point.

I went to Ms. Jeanette and begged her to talk to Terry, to hear his story, to do whatever she could. I could not just watch him walk out the door without some kind of solution to the problem. She spent about 15 minutes chatting with him, listening to him, and came up with an idea for which she gives me credit. There is a men's "shelter" run by the AME Church that provides men with a place to sleep, a place to shower, and one meal a day for $60 per week. The men are guaranteed a place so long as they pay and can stay there all day, every day, if they so choose. Ms. Jeanette came up with the idea that we could see if we could pay for Terry to stay there for a few weeks, at least through Christmas. When I asked our boss, he said yes - an answer I honestly did not expect. Terry now had a place to stay for at least 2 weeks. Also, James told me that I could refer Terry to the Hustead House, one of AAS-C's residential homes for people living with HIV. I sent Terry on his way to the AMEC shelter with the agreement that he would return the next day to fill out the Hustead House application with me. My hope had been restored, at least for that time, as I watched Terry walked out the door knowing he had a place to stay that night.

When he came back on Tuesday, he was looking more cheerful. He was walking straighter with a little more pep in his step. I told him that he looked a lot better, that I could tell he was in a better mood than the day before. He was clearly more comfortable and feeling like he was in a better situation. He joked with me throughout our appointment and when I told him his whole demeanor seemed more positive he told me, "This is the real Terry." As we filled out the Hustead House application together, I could sense that he was a lot more comfortable talking to me about his situation and telling his story than he was the day before. He told me about his kids, who are around my age, and how his youngest daughter is in college now. He told me all about his brothers and sisters, and his mom. He talked more about when he tested positive for HIV two years ago and about his struggles with drugs. He spoke as though we'd known each other for a lot longer than 24 hours. 

Wednesday morning, I walked into the office to two new messages from Terry telling me that he could not stay at the shelter any more, that it was not sanitary and he didn't think it was good for his health. I tried to get in touch with my boss to see if Terry could move into Hustead House that night. Luckily, his brother was willing to let him stay with him for a day or two if needed. James finally called me back and told me that Terry could move in that night if I went and picked him up and brought him to the house. I called Terry and told him the good news and we worked out a time for me to pick him up from his brother's place. This is the "big break" we'd both been waiting for. While living at the house he'll have time to spend looking for a job and he won't have to stress too much about his finances. During our car ride, Terry talked to me in a way that shows that he really trusts me. I knew as we talked that he is comfortable with me, that he believes I'm there to help, that he can talk to me if he needs to, and that he would protect me if ever needed. The ride felt like a typical ride with my dad, just chatting about the day's events, talking about football, and just making small talk. We both expressed our frustrations with certain things in life, our excitement about others, about my family, and about his. Though it was only a 15 minute ride, it is something that will stick with me for a very long time.

James met us at the house and showed us around, introducing Terry to the other house members and talking about the rules. He asked Terry about his goals, to which he responded that he wants to better himself and not have to worry anymore. As the discussion continued, it became clear that Terry was still in shock, that the past few days had also become a blur for him. Just four days before, he was homeless with no place to go and now he had a place to live for as long as he wants so long as he follows the basic rules and pays his rent. So much had happened to him in one week that he really couldn't believe this was his place now. He kept thanking me and thanking James, saying how blessed he felt. At one point he said that he didn't know how he can ever repay us. James looked him in the eye and said, " In six months, when you can look at me and say, 'This is where I was; this is where I am; look at how far I've come,' that will be enough for me. I couldn't have said it any better myself.

The whole experience was an emotional roller coaster for me - from feeling helpless to feeling like I really made a difference in Terry's life. There are plenty of times at work when I have felt helpless, when I've had to tell clients that I cannot help them with their light bill or with their rent. But this was a completely different story, a completely different situation. It experience was not about making sure a client had a place to sleep. It became more about watching Terry's emotions change, seeing our relationship develop, and seeing him develop a sense of hope when just two days earlier he was feeling completely hopeless. It became more about realizing how the structures in our society hold the poor down, how the marginalized will struggle their entire lives to move back inside the margins, how the disenfranchised are constantly dealt the bad hand, time and again. How do we work to change the structures? I ponder this question every single day.

No More Names

A week has past since World AIDS Day on December 1st, and it has taken me a week to process all that occurred in the few days leading up to WAD and on WAD itself. I had no idea what it would be like for me this year, after working day in and day out with those who are living with HIV/AIDS. I am so used to our more passive events that SGAC put on at Fordham - movie screenings, benefit dinners, HIV 101. AAS-C's Faith Ministries department - directed by Ms. Carolyn - held two events, one on AIDS Sunday and the other on World AIDS Day. Please bear with me as you read this...it is still very difficult for me to express all of the emotions I felt in those days. It has truly been unlike anything I have ever experience, and I have never become so emotional when directly confronted with stories of those living with or who have died from HIV/AIDS.

On AIDS Sunday, there was a candlelight labyrinth walk at Millbrook Baptist Church. For those of you who do not know, the labyrinth is a maze of sorts, but rather than not being able to find your way out, the path is clearly defined and there is only one way to the center and back out. It is a time for deep individual reflection. The only time I have walked one was this past March in Nashville with my wonderful team. When we got to Millbrook, I was stunned by the beauty of the garden and by how incredible the labyrinth looked with the candles all around it. Throughout the walk, a continuous reading of names took place. Names of those clients whom AAS-C has lost were read, along with other names from the AIDS Names Project. After each name, a bell was sounded. This continued for one and a half hours and about 2000 names were called - an incredibly small number/percentage of all those who have been lost to AIDS in the last 30 years. I helped read some of the names, and tears came to my eyes as I read, and I didn't even know any of the lives behind those names. I have my own list of names of people I have met who are living with HIV/AIDS: my clients, the kids I worked with this spring at Incarnation Children's Center in NYC, the guys from the ACES program when I interned at the CT AIDS Resource Coalition, and the wonderful men I met in Nashville both times I went down there. Someday they, too, will be a name on that list. I just pray that they do not die from AIDS, but from natural causes after living long, healthy, fulfilling lives. My heart breaks to know that with the right education, this pandemic can be slowed. Yet, each day I meet younger and younger clients who are living with HIV. How do we stop this? How do we fight so that no more names will have to be added to that list?

As I walked the labyrinth myself, I heard those names being called. Name after name after name. I began to reflect on the injustice associated with HIV/AIDS and about all of the people I have met who are living with the virus. Each one of them was a member of a marginalized population before they became infected. The poor; drug addicts; homosexuals; convicts/prisoners; prostitutes. Though there are people living with HIV who are middle class or even wealthy, the virus spreads much more rapidly amongst the already marginalized. Why is is that those who are already suffering are made to suffer more? It is the harshest realization to know that vital resources, resources that are essential to live and live well, are not available to all people. Even in our own country, people are living in desperate conditions - homeless, jobless, in homes that are falling apart, without running water or proper sanitation, without nutritional foods to make them stronger. And these are individuals living in the US who are most likely to become infected with HIV. Suffering on top of suffering on top of suffering, but why? How do we reconcile the idea that God created us out of unconditional love with the fact that the previously marginalized are becoming even further removed from society because they are more likely to become infected with HIV? The stigma has not disappeared and will not disappear until change is made; until new programs are implemented; until comprehensive sexual education is available to all people; until poor mothers living with HIV can afford formula for their babies so that they do not infect the infants through breastfeeding; until homosexuality is accepted. I was so angry with God as I walked toward the center of the labyrinth. As I listened to those names, my anger grew stronger. I just kept asking why. Why hurt those who are already hurting? Why take away their feelings of dignity? Haven't they suffered enough?

Once I reached the center, my thoughts started to change. I started to reflect on my place in the world, how I live today, what I do to make a difference. What have I done to change my way of life to the point that I can understand what it is like to live the lives of any of my clients? I recognize that in my own ways, I am only contributing to the issue. I am still trying to separate myself from the poor, trying to prove to myself that I can live simply, but have an out in case I really want something. My clients do not have that out. My clients rarely have such an out if there is an emergency. Peter Maurin once said, "Voluntary poverty is the answer. We cannot see our brother in need without stripping ourselves. It is the only way we have of showing love." God opened me up and forced me to really question my actions and intentions. How an I work to assure there will be no more names? How can I help bring an end to the stigma? How can I change me in order to truly practice what I preach?

World AIDS Day was a very emotional day for me - full of tears that were quickly followed by strong feelings of hope. During the day, we had Rent playing on repeat for our clients and we had our meditation room set up with candles to light in memory of friends lost to AIDS. I avoided both rooms for most of the day - until about 2pm when I sat down to watch Rent for the first time. In the characters, I saw my clients. But I saw my clients in a completely different light. I saw their struggles so much more closely. There was anger; there was fear; there was a desire to end it; there were struggles with love and friendship; there were challenges in understanding; there were financial struggles. Every scene so clearly showed me the inner struggles that I often do not get to see from my clients. I cried and cried as it was revealed to me just what it means to be HIV+ and how important it is for those who are infected and affected to have a support system. It breaks my heart to know that so many of my clients cannot tell their loved ones about their infection. I cried and cried as I realized that I can only do so much, that I am limited.

When the movie finished and the tears dried a bit, I finally made my way into the meditation room to light a candle and reflect. I sat staring at two quilts hanging on the walls - quilts made from patches created by clients, clients' families and friends, staff, and others in memory of those clients whom we have lost to AIDS. One said, "Your lives were worth living." One said, "Thank you for helping me remember why we continue to fight." Some were just names; others said "I'll always love you"; others were prayers. Each one has a story; each one represents a life lost to AIDS, as well as a life lived. I say, and I cried, and I thought about what I can do. The quilt square that stood out the most were the ones that said "No More Names" and "Until There's a Cure." All of a sudden I started praying words that I know so well - "Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things that I cannot change; the courage to change the things that I can; and the wisdom to know the difference." The words just flowed and flowed, as though I had no control over them. I felt so liberated through those words, that I sat down to create my own quilt patch with those words on it, along with a red AIDS ribbon and the words "NO MORE NAMES." I knew, in that moment, that God has really called me to work in this ministry. I am meant to work to fight HIV/AIDS and fight for those living with and affected by the virus. THis is my vocation. THis is what I have been called by God to do.

The day ended beautifully with an Interfaith Worship Service themed "Hope is Greater Than AIDS." Ms. Carolyn asked me to lead the community in a prayer of hope, about which I felt very honored to have a role in. The service really didn't affect me until the calling of the names. One by one, twenty-two of us stood and said, "Tonight, I rise in memory of my friend, who we lost this year; and hope for the day when no one else will have to stand again...for HOPE is greater than AIDS." When it was my colleague Kristin's turn to stand, she began reading the words, and with those words came tears. I began to cry as I remembered the day a couple of months ago when she lost one of her clients, an older man who had no family, but had Kristin. She brought all of his belongings to the office after he passed on and put his Christmas teddy bear on my chair. (It now sits proudly on the bookshelf in my office). As she cried, I cried, we all cried. I saw such compassion in that church. Everyone was there for a reason - to remember those lost, those living and those we still need to protect and to pledge to continue the fight until there are no more names. After the 22 clients we've lost so far this year (make it 23 as of yesterday) were called and remembered, Carolyn asked for anyone who has lost someone to AIDS or knows someone affected by AIDS to stand, nearly every person in the church stood. Everyone is affected; it has never proven to be more true. When I saw everyone stand, I knew that we were all making a vow to continue fighting, to never forget. We vowed to keep the promise to never give up; to continue the fight until there are no more names. With hope, all things are possible. AIDS cannot beat us. For HOPE is truly greater than AIDS.