Washing Of The Feet

It is rare that I write about my faith on my blog, but I am realizing more and more how my passion for social justice goes hand in hand with my faith and my beliefs. This became incredibly clear at Holy Thursday mass, when I was overcome with emotion as I heard the Gospel, watched the washing of the feet, and reflected on the things I saw and the things I heard this week after the tornadoes ripped through my city.


During the day on Thursday, my co-worker Donna came into my office to update me on the destruction she had seen in northern Raleigh that day. We talked about the feeling of speechlessness that overwhelms us each time we see new damage or even drive down the same streets. I had yet to see any of the damage in the northern part of Raleigh because I never travel up in that particular section of the city...hence my focus in my last post about southeast Raleigh (my section of town). As Donna talked to me about what she had seen - roofs off of big commercial properties, large trees down everywhere, trees snapped in half - I was once again left without words, unable to describe how I was feeling. The word that kept running through my head was "why"...why such destruction? Why such pain? The feelings came and went as the day went on until Kristin came into my office a couple of hours later. She had just visited a client of hers who lives in the trailer park where three boys were killed during the tornado last weekend. When she walked into my office and began to tell me about what she saw, I could see that she was visibly shaken by the sights. She pulled out her camera and began to show me the pictures she had snapped while she was there - huge trees literally snapped like toothpicks, trees smashed right through trailers. Speechless again, I just stared at the photos, unsure how to respond, unsure of how I was feeling...confused, startled, scared, feeling my heart break for those affected by the storms. Kristin looked at me and said, "I'm going to bring my client food later today if you want to come." I knew that I had to.


As we pulled up to the entrance of the trailer park, I saw cars parked on both sides of the street and some tents set up just outside of the entrance. Volunteers were cleaning up after handing out food to the families in the neighborhood. A police officer was patrolling the entrance so that only people who needed to be in the area were there. After Kristin showed the police officer her Wake County ID, we headed into the trailer park. I quickly caught sight of some of trees that had fallen, but the devastation was not yet clear to me. We visited Kristin's client for a few minutes, bringing her new food from the pantry because her food had spoiled after being without power for five days. After the visit, Kristin drove me around the trailer park. Her client's trailer had been unaffected by the storms, and most of the trailers directly surrounding her home were unharmed - maybe a broken window here and there, or some siding that had come off, but nothing devastating. We drove a little bit and then I started to see the real devastation. Entire trailers were ripped to pieces with trees right through them. There is no way these trailers can be repaired. Families have lost everything. I looked at those homes and all I could think was, that was someone's life...and now it is all gone. I saw a bed cut right in half. I saw clothes everywhere. I saw the insulation of a home wrapped around a tree. Entire lives...gone. How can they rebuild? Mostly immigrant families living in deep poverty...how will they rebuild?


That night at Holy Thursday mass, a powerful feeling came over for me as Fr. Ray read the Gospel and then got down on his knees and washed the feet of 12 parishioners. For those of you who do not know, in the Gospel of John (John 13:1-15 to be exact), John recounts the story of Jesus getting down and washing the feet of his disciples. An act that servants would not even perform for their masters, Jesus sat before this disciples and washed their feet. The Bible says that Jesus said to them afterwards: "Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord; and you are right, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you." Fr. Ray stood before us and helped us to understand this part of scripture, explaining that Jesus has provided us an example. Jesus is not necessarily saying, "Go forth and wash the feet of all the people," but he is telling his disciples to go forth and do as he has done...be one with the poor, the sick, the marginalized, and spread his message. Or as St. Francis once said, "Preach the Gospel, and if necessary, use words." Jesus says it himself...when I die, do not let me die. Continue to live in the example that I have set for you. As Fr. Ray washed the feet of the 12 parishioners, I cried and cried. This year has been a spiritual journey for me in so many ways. I have come to be able to articulate my faith in a new way and have realized how my spirituality and my passion for social justice go hand-in-hand. Jesus left an example for me...be Jesus for others. Spread the compassion. Look at the people of the world and recognize that we are all brothers and sisters; one people; one humanity. As such, we must all work together to bring about peace on this Earth. We must give to each other in order to bring about a reign of justice. It is together that we can bring about a better world, a peaceful world, a just world.


It is so fitting that I visited the trailer park on Holy Thursday. When I heard the Gospel that night and watched as Fr. Ray followed Jesus' example and washed the feet of my brothers and sisters, it was then that I realized how powerful of a sight I had witnessed in the trailer park devastated by the tornado. Among the destruction and my own feelings of helplessness, I witnessed something beautiful. Compassion. Hope. Through the devastation I saw volunteers everywhere. Helping to inspect homes, giving out food and clothes, working to cleanup...around each corner, there they were. I saw neighbors helping neighbors and strangers helping strangers. Brothers and sisters working together. Men and women following Christ's example and "washing the feet" of their fellow people.

"In a spirit of thankfulness, 

we wash each other's feet, 

uphold each other's lives. 

In a spirit of joy and praise, 

we serve each other now, 

at the table of the Lord."

Serving You

This Is My City.

As most of you know, this weekend was a scary one here in Raleigh. Severe storms ripped through central North Carolina, producing tornadoes - one of which touched down less than a mile from my house. Hanna and I were at the YMCA, hoping to workout at the same time the thunderstorms came so as not to drive through the rough rain. Never did we think that within five minutes of our being there we would be evacuated into the locker rooms because of tornado warnings. Who would ever think that there would be a tornado in Raleigh, NC? NOT ME....or any of my roommates for that matter. As we watched the meteorologists track the storms on TV in the locker rooms and told Samii and Kate to do the same, they began to talk about a possible tornado in the downtown area. That surely scared us and once the storms passed and we couldn't get ahold of the girls at home, we rushed home to make sure everything was ok. Thankfully, all was in order back at our house and in our immediate neighborhood (aside from the giant tree up the block that was ripped in half).

Once the initial fear disappeared, we decided to drive through town to see what really happened and if it was as bad as we had originally heard on the TV before we lost power. As we drove down Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd, the impact of the tornado and severe storms became instantly clear. All of the streetlights were out; huge oak trees had been completely uprooted and had fallen into the street; small trees had been snapped in half; big green highway signs had been destroyed; trees were resting on houses; the roof of Shaw University's student union had been blown right off and windows in the residence halls were blown out. We drove through the neighborhoods closest to ours, feeling so blessed that we were ok and that the tornado had missed us. The fear vanished but was replaced by other powerful emotions, namely sadness and anger. On one of the busiest streets in the city, all of the streetlights were without power. Some of the heavily traveled intersections had police officers directing traffic, while others were without traffic control. It was at these intersections that the anger and lack of understanding began to take over. Rather than treating these intersections as 4-way stops, people were breezing through them without regard for oncoming traffic. Each time a car would stop at the intersection, taking the precaution of avoiding an accident, a car from behind would beep. How could people be so impatient at such a time? Did they miss the news that this neighborhood just got hit by a tornado? It was impossible that they did because on the same street we were driving on, there were trees everywhere, destruction that was clearly evident. I couldn't (and still cannot) understand how people could breeze right on through as though they had the right of way, when, in reality, getting to our destination should not be the most important thing on our minds. 

Without power, we were completely out of the loop, unaware of how much damage there was aside from what we had seen right after the storm. We had no idea that people had died or that there was another neighborhood in north Raleigh that was equally as destroyed as the one in the southeast section of town. On Sunday, we drove through southeast Raleigh once more on our way to the ordination of my old supervisor. Her church is smack-dab in the middle of one of the toughest neighborhoods in town. A place where poverty is ingrained, this section of Raleigh happens to be one of the areas most devastated by the tornado (the same neighborhood described above). My anger from the previous day turned to sadness as I began to witness the devastation to the neighborhood. Entire roads were blocked due to fallen trees and fallen power lines. Many houses had trees inside of them. There was still no power. Cars were smashed. The next day I talked to my co-workers about how they had been impacted by the storms. My boss' neighborhood is  a mess. Another colleague's mother's home is devastated. I instantly began calling clients that I am close with to see if they were ok. It was then that I realized the impact the storm was having on the most impoverished part of Raleigh.

With each call, I heard the fear in voices of clients who live in southeast Raleigh. Fear because their food had been spoiled due to the power outage. Fear because they don't know what to do about the damage. Fear because there is no money to rebuild. Dwayne told me that he was still without power, that he had no food, that his neighbor's truck was destroyed. Jabbar told me his mom's car was literally sitting on top of another car and that he had no more gas in his truck because he had helped her get the insurance agent and run other errands. These are just two of the stories. My hear broke and continues to break as I realize the impact this tornado is having on those who already struggle each day. Why did the tornado have to hit that neighborhood of all places? Why did it have to devastate a section of town that is already devastated by poverty? The things that I know I take for granted each day are the things these people need most but are struggling to get in such a time of need - food, gas, money to rebuild. I keep thinking that if the tornado had struck a little further west, the devastation would still be bad but rebuilding might take less time. Those who already have so little have now really lost everything. Why southeast Raleigh?

I never would have thought I would be able to say I made it through a tornado - and maybe I can't really say that now. But I have definitely realized how those feelings of invincibility are a part of who I am. I have never witnessed a natural disaster...sure we have blizzards back home and pretty bad thunderstorms from time to time, but I've never seen a tornado, never been through a hurricane, never felt an earthquake, never seen a wild fire. Every day on the news, I witness the sad stories of homes lost to fires (like in Texas right now) or entire cities destroyed from earthquakes (like in Haiti). But here I am...in Raleigh, NC...seeing it with my own eyes. A tornado ripped through one of the most impoverished areas of the city and many have lost so much. This is my city. This is my life. These are my clients, my friends, my brothers and sisters. What can I do to help? What can I do to ease the pain? I feel blessed that this city and county are responding to the tornado in such a positive way and I hope that I can lend a helping hand somehow.

Take A Deep Breath

I sat on the Metro North heading downtown to Grand Central Terminal, looking out the window at the city that I have loved for years. It felt so good to be back home, but this time, things were different. As I gazed out the windows on the 20 minute ride from Fordham into Manhattan, I felt like I was looking through a new pair of eyes. The neighborhoods that I had passed by hundreds of time on that very train now looked different to me. I began to notice the trash outside the high rises in the Bronx and Harlem. I started to see the broken windows of the apartments. It was as though I had on new glasses that showed me reality - a reality that, though I was aware of while living in the Bronx, I seemed to have ignored to a certain extent. This feeling sums up my entire visit back to NYC.


After working day in and day out with those most affected by social injustice in our country, I am really beginning to see how my perspective has adjusted, shifted, and even changed. Listening to the stories of my clients and their struggles with unemployment, poverty, homelessness, and HIV/AIDS has forced me to confront reality. When I hear a client tell me that she cannot pay her electric bill for the month because she had to go to New York to bury her mother, my heart breaks. When I hear another client share the story of his inability to visit his son who lives less than hour away because he cannot afford the gas, my heart breaks. I have learned this year that I need to take that heartbreak and delve deeper. Why is it that so many people struggle from day to day to make ends meet? Why do those living in poverty find it so difficult to escape? Why are those living in poverty so much more likely to become infected with HIV/AIDS? Why are middle class neighborhoods clean and poor neighborhoods strewn with garbage? 


My visit to NYC helped to re-energize me, as it reaffirmed my passion for the fight for social justice. Spending time with my mentors and friends helped to remind me of where I come from and how I got involved in this fight to begin with. Watching Dr. Naison's passion as he told his class about the Vietnam War was one of the most powerful experiences I've ever had in a classroom. As he was nearly brought to tears - tears of anger and sadness - my heart broke a little more but the vigor in me was inspired to keep pushing forward. At the GO! Gala, I was reminded of how my passion was sparked. As we listened to the former director of GO! talk about the program, I realized how my experiences in Nashville changed the course of my life forever. Building relationships, taking risks, embracing difference, recognizing new things, and opening yourself to heartbreak - these are tenets I live by now, not just ones that I experienced in 2 week long projects in Tennessee. This is how I learned how to confront the world. This is how I learned about reality. By making myself vulnerable and opening myself to struggle, I have been able to experience the world in ways that many people will never have the chance to experience. 


The greatest lesson I will take away from my time back in my favorite city, though, goes a bit deeper than remembering the little moments that helped create my passion. During Paul Francis' last words at the GO! Gala, he talked about things that we, as alumni, can continue to do to support Global Outreach and its mission. The first thing he asked of us is that we continue to share the GO! story, that we never cease to share our experiences with others - so that some day someone else will be inspired to take up the fight. As he reminded us of the importance of telling our story, he began to talk about his time at this year's JVC East orientation and, in his own way, mentioned how he saw me instantly sharing my story of GO! with my new friends. I began to cry as I realized he was talking about me, not because he chose me as an example but because I stopped and listened. And in that moment, I heard God say to me: "This is where you are supposed to be. Never give up. Do not be afraid, I am with you." The next evening at 9pm mass, I had another God moment as Fr. Florio gave his homily to kick off Ignatian Heritage Week at Fordham. Fr. Florio began his homily with the words, "There are none as blind as those who refuse to see." It was as though God, once more, was reaching out to me, reminding me that I have been called to do His work here on Earth. I am here to help others see, to see the reality, to look beyond the comfortable, to make oneself vulnerable to the point that she, too, will return home looking through a new set of eyes.


Walking through the streets of New York City, I began to realize how much I miss the big city feel, but how much I appreciate life in Raleigh. The slower pace, the kindness of the people, the openness of each individual. As I walked with my friend, Nick, we looked up at the buildings and we watched dogs run around. He said to me, "I am in no rush. I have every other day to rush." That's when I knew that JVC has changed me. That's when I knew that I now see through a new set of eyes. Life is not about success, or money, or power. Life is about being. My visit home to NYC reminded me that sometimes I just need to stop, take a deep breath, and BE. Sometimes I just need to stop and appreciate the beauty of the world.


As I rode the Metro North from Fordham to Grand Central Terminal and I passed the dilapidated high rises and streets covered in trash, I couldn't help but wonder how I had missed that for four years. It's amazing how the experiences in my life have changed my perspective so much that those were things I saw this time around. 

The Cycle

The other day I finished reading Adrian Nicole LeBlanc's book Random Family: Love, Drugs, Trouble, and Coming of Age in the Bronx, a great book recommended to me by Dr. Naison this past summer. Focusing in on the Tremont area of the Bronx and a family that lives there, LeBlanc really dives into the everyday struggles of living in poverty - the violence, the substandard living conditions, the lack of optimism for a better future, the cycle of poverty, and the drugs. While reading, I noticed a lot of underlying themes that really made me think about new approaches to preventing the spread of HIV and other STDs.

By looking at youth growing up in the Bronx, LeBlanc writes about how sex is almost like a currency in impoverished communities. Sex has little to no moral or intimate value. Sex is a way to get what you want. Girls sleep with guys because they need someone to but diapers for their babies or because they need help with something. Youth become sexually active as early as 10 and 11 and many young girls are getting pregnant by 16, if not younger. I was thinking a lot about my thesis while reading this book. While I was planning out my thesis, a classmate had offered up the suggestion that I look deeply at the HIV statistics in the 10458 zip code - Fordham's zip code - and dive into comparing that with the culture at Fordham. Though that is not the route that I eventually took in my thesis, reading LeBlanc's book made me do this in a less detailed way.

Often times when people talk about the prevention of HIV, they focus on a few specific ways on how to stop the spread of the virus, all of which revolve around one thing: education. Prevention education typically discusses what HIV is, how it is spread, and how to protect oneself from infection. I remember my days in East Hartford where we started talking about AIDS in 6th grade. Our education was exactly as described below: this is what it is, this is how it's spread, this is how to protect yourself. We never talked about much more than that. We never discussed condom negotiation or relationships. Most school districts around the country don't talk about more than the basic facts unless they are mandated by the state government to do so. 

Prevention, though, is about more than the most basic of education. This is clear in the way that LeBlanc writes about sex in the Bronx among young people. We have to look at the culture of those who are most at risk for becoming infected with HIV if we are to really work to prevent the spread of this epidemic. It is very apparent that the basic education is not working because sex is an everyday part of life for those living in poverty - it is all around them. Think about it: a mom got pregnant at 16 and gives birth to her first child; this child grows up without being exposed to a different way of life and is very likely to get pregnant at 16 and give birth to her first child. Sex is all around - sexual abuse, casual sex, sex for money, sex for drugs. How do we take this culture and understand it to the point that we can make a significant impact on the way sex is viewed? We cannot effectively prevent the spread of HIV until the culture of life in poverty is understood, and that culture is worked with in order to educate. Not just that...education must go beyond the basics. Comprehensive sexual education is a must in all schools, especially those in communities most at risk for infection. We must talk about more than transmission! We must talk about SEX.

In my time at the Alliance of AIDS Services - Carolina, I have worked mostly with folks in their 40s and 50s. These are the clients I have established relationships with - the ones who come to the pantry the most, who I see often. Something I've noticed, though, is that many of our new clients, especially those being bridged into services, are much younger - my age. Our assistant director of prevention was talking the other day about a 19 year old female who they just diagnosed. Young people are still the age group with the highest infection rates...across the country. What can we do about it? I wonder that everyday, and I really think that Random Family gave me some deeper insight. Until we really look at poverty and the culture of those living in poverty, we are going to keep doing the same things, and those methods are not working. Sex is still seen as having little value. Fatherhood is not valued. Pregnancy is not seen as the end of the world. Life in poverty is not life in the middle class. Until we look more deeply, the cycle will continue...

Turning Home

As my anticipation grows for my trip back to the greatest city in the world for a little visit, I've found myself focusing a lot on where I come from. There's this song I've been singing over and over in my head for months now: "Turning Home" by David Nail. In the song, he talks a lot about the challenges of living far from home but the beauty in remembering the wonderful things home has taught him. It's been making me think about all that I've learned from my two homes - East Hartford and NYC. All the people, all the experiences, all the challenges, all the joys...each has taught me something special and has helped shape the person I am today.

A few weeks ago, my dad sent me a random email that ended with the words "If you hadn't gone to Fordham, you never would have joined JVC. I wonder where you would be today if that was the case." I think back to those days in the East Hartford Public School System. I still remember my best friend in middle school, Berri's, stories of her growing up and how angry the injustices made me. I can easily recall speaking in front of the Board of Education to tell them not to cut out sports, music, or the honors program because it would only make our school system worse. There are those long talks I used to have with Mr. Apostalon about his students and their stories; about the students that slipped through the cracks. I vividly remember the day he locked me in his classroom by myself and told me I needed to write my Valedictory Address for graduation...and the tears that came down my face as I put my entire heart into that speech. I remember the passion in that speech - my need to take a stand, to let the Board of Ed know that they weren't helping us, but they were harming us. To let everyone know that there is no reason to fear East Hartford or its schools. To remind my classmates how lucky we were to grow up in a racially and economically diverse town, where we were exposed to all of life's struggles. I remember watching Mr. Apostalon tear up when he read it for the first time. I remember our principal telling me to change some of it so it wouldn't sound like an attack. I clearly remember Mr. Jordan asking me right before we processed out for graduation if I had changed it, and telling him he would just have to wait and see...Of course I did not. I remember the day I got deferred from Columbia and exactly three months later when I found out I didn't get accepted at all. I clearly remember the heartbreak...but looking back now, I couldn't be happier that I attend Fordham University. It was at Fordham that my passion for change and my passion for social justice really had a chance to flourish. Those Jesuits definitely got ahold of me and reminded me that we are all here to make the world a better place, not just for ourselves but for everyone. That has fueled my fire for the past few years, on top of those experiences back in East Hartford. Living in the Bronx for 4 years opened my eyes even more.

Then there were those two service projects in Nashville, TN that changed my life forever. I may seem nostalgic right now, but there's good reason for it. It has been just over a year since I was last in Nashville, the place where my passion for the fight against HIV/AIDS started, and the place where that passion was reinvigorated two years later. I joined JVC because of those experiences. I started working in HIV/AIDS because of those trips, because of my teammates on those trips, but mostly because of the amazing men and women I met while in Nashville. Life in JVC in not easy. Life in a full-time position working not only with people living with HIV, but with those who are poor and sometimes homeless, is not easy. Everyday I stop and remind myself why I do what I do. And I think back to all of you who have influenced my life. I think about my days in East Hartford and my days in the Bronx...and I remember all that has happened in my life. The hurt; the love; the joy; the hard times; the struggles; the people; the passion. I cannot stop this...I will not stop this.

Like my dad, I often wonder where I would be today if my life had been different...if my parents hadn't gotten divorced; if we had moved to South Windsor like my mom had wanted to for a while; if I didn't go to Fordham; if I was never introduced to the Jesuit tradition; if Dr. Naison didn't inspire me; if Dr. Lee didn't teach me about Liberation Theology; if my amazing friends on my Nashville teams didn't push me. There is something about home that always reminds me never to quit. It is home that keeps me going each day, no matter how hard, because it is home that taught me everything I know. Whether it's my home in East Hartford or my home in the Bronx...I would not be where I am today, I would not be the woman I am today, if I hadn't had those experiences. I do not know where life will take me. I don't know what tomorrow will bring. What I do know is I am blessed to have lived the life I have lived thus far and so very grateful for my amazing family, friends, professors, and mentors who have been along for the ride. God bless you all...and thank you. 

Usually take one last pass through town
Stop the car and touch the ground
Watch those streetlights swayin’ in the breeze
Decorated store fronts
Rusty old gas pumps
Try to fill my mind up
With somethin’ before I go
Picture postcard memories
You know they always make for good company

I don’t know no town
Like the old town
Even when the miles are many
I feel like I’m still around
Deep inside me
Like rings through an oak tree
Yeah, there something ‘bout a Sunday when I’m gone
That keeps me turning home

I’m standin’ here beneath these billboard lights
Takes me back to those autumn nights
Hometown bleachers packed real tight
As we marched down the field
My feet would swing from a dropped tailgate
Out on Airport Road real late
No one could walk a line too straight
We usually made it home alright
And glory days I cant re-live
Stories I’ll never forget

And I don’t know no friends
Like the old friends
I never seem to laugh now
Like I did with them
But deep inside me
A piece of history
Yeah, I hear their voices even though they’re gone
And it keeps me turning home

Never twice the same way does it start
And sure enough she stole my heart
On the old gym floor, spinnin’ round and round one night
And though we both tried hard to wait
We sure did love the taste
Of the sweet love being made and prayin’ I got it right
Graduation came and went
Along with all the time we spent

And I don’t know no love
Like the first love
When I think about the best times
She’s the one I think of
Deep inside me
All though the taste is bittersweet
I see her smilin’ even though she’s gone
And it keeps me turning home, yeah
And it keeps me turning home

"Turning Home" - David Nail

"Rewards"

A week or so ago, my community members and I went to the Dominician Priory in Raleigh with our beloved Fr. Ray. Six Dominican priests live in a beautiful, albeit simple, home about 1.5 miles from our house. When we got there, we joined them in praying the evening Vespers - a very new experience for me. Then we sat down for some appetizers and Fr. Jude's amazing pasta and sausage combo meal. The conversations were rich, as we shared our experiences with the priests and they shared their stories with us. Later on in the evening, one of the Dominicans asked us a question that really seemed to catch us off-guard...I know that I was sort of stunned. A simple question: What has been most rewarding for you in this experience? So often, we focus on the negative - the challenges we face each day, the sufferings we encounter through our clients, our own struggles with interpersonal relationships or our realtionships with ourselves. When someone asks something as basic as what has been the best reward in the past 6 months, it has a tendency to take your breath away.

I started to think about the past six months (finding it hard to believe that my first year as a JV is half over) and about my daily work. I began to think about the experiences that I have had that have forced me to confront my fears, pushed me to question my beliefs, and begged me to change my perspective. As I reflected on my time in Raleigh, I immediately realized that each of the most meaningful experiences I have had thus far revolve around people: my clients; my co-workers; my community members. Relationships. It is through the building of relationships with others that I find joy. It is through learning about the experiences of others that I find beauty in this world. It is through hearing the stories of others that my worldview changes. Remember Ja'mez, the four-year old who held my hands to say Grace before eating lunch together? Or Michael who could not afford the $12 admission to see his son play basketball? Or Terry who was homeless? Or the many other clients I meet every day who trust me, who respect me, and who have grown to love me and who I've grown to love?

There is something so beautiful about being able to connect with people on the most basic levels, and to love others like Jesus loved us all and Mother Teresa loved all people. My clients bring joy to my life every day as I watch them grow in our reltionship. Like when Ivan stops shopping just to give me a hug; or when Mr. James tells me about his eating habits; or Patricia tells me new stories about her two young daughters; or when Terry lets me move him into his new apartment; or when Deitra calls to ask what she can donate to the food pantry; or when Ja'mez's parents share their anxieties about his new school with me. There is such beauty in watching love flourish and in seeing someone grow to care about you outside of the basic client-worker relationship. Even through their struggles, my clients bring such light into my life. I feel comfortable wiht them and want to share myself with them, too.

This has all really been symbolized through three interactions with a client who is just 12 days older than me. I will call him Tommy, though that is not his name. Tommy came into my office in January for an intake. He was diagnosed with HIV in the late summer of 2010 after serving in the Army for 3 years. I felt a really special connection with him when we first met because he, too, is just 22 years old. It is as though we know so much about each other because of the simple fact that we are the same age. Though our childhoods have been very different and our experiences differ drastically, in our first meeting, you could just tell that we had a special connection. I remember how anxious he was that day and how nervous he was to share anything with me. He did not tell me much about his diagnosis or how he has been dealing with it. He did not talk too much about his family or his support system, but simply gave me the most basic information - where he works, where he lives, with whom he lives, who his doctor is, etc. Then something clicked. I asked him if he had any special vocational trainings and then watched as his face lit up. He began to tell me about his three years in the Army and all the certificates he had earned. He was so proud of those three years and expressed how much he really misses the Army. It was then that I realized that he was growing in trust with me.

A few weeks later, I had heard that he would be starting up on an HIV treatment regimen and was not sure how he was going to pay for the expensive meds. He came in and we sat down and talked about his options. He has health insurance through the Army, but for some reason it was not working when he went to the pharmacy to fill his script. His anxiety really started to show again, and I told him everything would work out, that he needed to call the insurance company and see what was happening. He called me a few days later, full of excitement, to tell me that everything was all set and he could start his meds and it would only cost $9.00 a month. After that conversation, I really saw our friendship take root. He came in for financial assistance last week, so excited that he had finally saved enough money to move out of his grandparents' house. Even though he was anxious about needing assistance, just seeing me seemed to calm him down. We laughed together about stupid stuff; got frustrated together when talking about his hours and check garnishments. It is difficult to articulate my feelings toward our friendship, but when he took me out to see his new, and very used, car, that is when it clicked. tommy is just like me - a 22-year old, care-free individual who just wants to be himself and to be happy. As he yelled at me not to look at the french fries on the floor of his car, I realized how he just wants to be a young adult, without his HIV dictating who he is, who he can be, or what he can do. I felt us connect on the most bsic of human levels in that moment. I couldn't stop smiling when he left my office.

I feel like I found a freind - someone who will respect me and love me, even if I can't do everything. Though I may not feel this way with every client I meet or work with, I am really beginning to realize how central relationships are to who I am. They shape who I am and what I eblieve every day. My clients teach me new things, offer me new perspectives, and constantly remind me why I have dedicated my life to fighting for social justice. Sure, they also frustrate me on the regular, and often times make me upset or angry. But they truly bless me everyday.

When we got home from the Dominican priory last week, Fr. Ray was talking to us about happiness and what we think is important in life. Our society teaches us to be selfish and that money defines who you are and how happy you can be. I have always said that I don't care how much money I make, so long as I love what I do everyday. Life isn't about the size of your bank account or how many friends you have. Life isn't about the material rewards. Life is about finding joy and beauty in the every day and in the relationships that you build. This is not only what has been most rewarding to me in my JV experience so far; this is what is most rewarding about life.

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"-