How I ended up at the Hmong Slaughter House

These words feel like a meager offering in return for the cherished gift I received with this experience and friendship. Yet it felt wrong not to write about it. 

I had half of this story written a week ago, and low and behold, you let your kids anywhere near your computer and a blank page greets you when you return. Ugh. All of my raw feelings and thoughts and words that flowed naturally no longer exist, but that's real.

Instead we can start from a more seasoned place where all those experiences have had a chance to expand and grow in knowledge and understanding. 

Three weeks ago I asked for help on Facebook in finding an Hmong grocery store so that I could bring an offering of food to my next door neighbors whose husband had just passed away. 

(We have lived next door to the same family for 15 years. They speak Hmong, and we don't. We have worked in our gardens side by side. We have exchanged plates of food for every birth of every baby. My kids play with the grandkids all the time. We are neighborly. Ms. Yang's children have been able to help me translate at different times, and we chat. It's been wonderful.)

I could have easily just looked it up online and gone about my way. I included my network of folks for a few reasons.

1. I knew I could bring a lasagna and that would be fine because my culture dictates that's what I do. But I believe a true gift is one that is thoughtful and says, "I took time to recognize your culture and traditions and learn a little about you and bring a gift that would mean something to you, not to me". 

2. There is so much knowledge and wisdom and ideas and creativity housed in the people who live around me and I wanted to tap into that humanity instead of a stale electronic search.

3. I love giving people an opportunity to be apart of something bigger then themselves. Asking for help does this. Including folks in the process does this. Do you know that people I rarely talk to ended up reaching out to their neighbors and asking what an appropriate gift for me to give would be? People searched all over and sent me messages and texts and emails sending me to all sorts of great locations and ideas of what to give. Strangers were invested in this simple gift to say "I'm sorry" to a woman who just lost her husband. The circle of care and kindness that surrounds this one little act now extends all across the city. That's why I did it! Come on, I am an intelligent woman, I can figure this shit out on my own. That's not the point. 

Lastly, two incredible things happened by being vulnerable and asking for help. First my neighbor and friend Mai Neng Moua offered to meet me at the local Good Deal market and walk me through it. She met me after work, taking time out of her day, away from her family to help me learn more about Hmong culture and food and traditions. We strolled down every aisle  rich with ingredients I recognized and a bunch a I didn't. Explaining and teaching me Hmong for the items I couldn't read. She showed me the difference between herbs and different pork sausage.

I was very humbled that this woman would be so patient with me, and also very kind in giving me her time so that I could learn more in turn so that I could love more.

It is often in the position we take that will increase our relationships and expand our knowledge. When we can openly and humbly ask for help in learning what we do not understand, those who hold that knowledge often can meet you with more understanding because of our willingness to learn.

Mai Neng Moua's willingness to walk with me through a generally uncomfortable experience (I was clearly out of place in this market, especially not being able to read much of what was around me, or how to use half of the items sold there.) made it possible for me to release my ridiculous fear and be ready to shop there even more. She turned something uncomfortable for me and made me feel comfortable. 

Thank you Mai, I can't wait to cook with you soon and have our families share a meal. 

Now... the reason for this story. Mai's husband Blong Yang read my post on Facebook and sent me a message that said, 

"A 50lb bag of rice is a good gift and says, 'I'm sorry for your loss and I care.' But a slaughtered pig says, 'I'm sorry and I love you like family.'"

Wait... what? Really? I mean I guess I assumed somewhere there was a place where those things happened, but truthfully, my meat comes dead and wrapped in paper from the store.

Then. "If you are serious about the pig, I can take you to the slaughter house down in south St. Paul. Do you want to try to give them a pig?"

As I was sitting on my couch, I looked over at Paul to which he squinted his eyes at me and said, "You are completely curious aren't you?"

Um... Yeah! Wouldn't you be?

For the next 45 min, Blong proceeded to walk me through multiple layers of cultural context surrounding death and rituals in the Hmong culture. I told him I was in. I wanted the pig. Since I was convinced already I wanted to do this, I then decided to ask. "What does this entail?"

"Well... you pick a pig. They weight it. They kill it. They clean it. They gut it. You take it home."

"You mean like in a cooler?" Is my brilliant and naive response.

"No, like in a tarp. Fully intact. Oh and bring a bucket for its insides."

And.... we have officially entered unchartered territory. What exactly have I done I wonder as a full fledge city girl who has incredibly limited experience on any type of farm. 

In the end, we set a date to head to the slaughter house. 

The next day I hit the streets and started door knocking to my neighbors in attempt to collect enough money to bring a pig to a family in mourning. 

A family in mourning. Friends, I wish I could unhear my sweet and devastated neighbor as she sits on her back porch and wails from the depth of her sadness. I have never heard crying sound like this. I have never heard pain sound like this. Every morning, before the sun is up, her tears are falling and it is her cries that tell me another day is coming, and she will be facing it alone. And every morning as I lay next to my own husband, I squeeze him a little tighter as my heart breaks for her a little more. It feels like a pig is the very least thing I can organize. 

Our official "Get the pig day" arrived with a trip to the gas station to pick up coffee, the golden rule of getting up early, and I went to get Blong for our adventure at the Slaughter house. 

When Blong gets in the car he asks, "Do you have any idea what you are walking into?"

Nope.

Not at all.

Not even a clue. 

But I packed my garden rubber boots just in case. (who knows right? Not me obviously.) And a jacket. And I put a tarp in the back of the minivan because you know... full faced empty pig.

Blong and I make it to the slaughter house around 8am, to discover it is already packed with people. We came to realize that it was Ethiopian Easter and so everyone was there. Blong takes me to the back where the livestock is. They have separate sections for chickens, cow, and sheep and lambs. Blong looks at me and says, "Pick one".

Sure. Just like that. Just. You know...pick one. 

But how? How can you tell if its a good pig? Or a bad one? Should it be fat? Do the marks on the skin matter? What about short legs, or bad breath? Do I pick a slow one or a fast one? How in the world do you a pig to be slaughtered? I mean, I stood there with the full weight that I was now solely in charge of ending the life of a living thing. I know my eyes got big, my heart lurched a few times, and I will admit it took me a little bit of time to decide. 

This struggle of ending a life to give a gift. To bless a family. In trying to do a good deed, I felt like it was starting with a dark deed. To give to one, I must take away from another. And I had to wrestle with all these heavy feelings in a span a few moments, because the guy speaking Hmong in his rubber apron and paddle was coming towards us to mark the pigs we had chosen. 

I tell you that I would have not survived without Blong. As one a very few women in this place, I was also the only white person. Oh the extent of my Hmong speaking skills are about nill. Not only do I look out of place, it is clear I have never done this before and am struggling to communicate. Blong led this whole ordeal for me, he answered all of my questions, and was so patient as I know I asked some ridiculous questions. I mean not only are our cultures very different, I also have very limited experience with animals in general and my skills in the kitchen are still new. So I feel a little green in all things in this situation. 

Because it was so busy, we stood in line waiting for our pig to be next in line, we got to talk about everything. From our families, to different cultures and thier impact on America, his wife's book, North Minneapolis, politics, what it means to be an unseen minority. You know...small things. 

After a couple hours and a tour of the rest of the warehouse (with cows being skinned and chickens being chosen and feathered), it was our pigs turn. My heart turned over once realizing this was the moment that I set into motion. In full disclosure, this moment was hard for me yes, but knowing what a gift it would be to the family made it better. Knowing that Hmong culture animals are sacred and there is only respect for the animal in giving up its life. They utilize and eat every part of the animal so as not to waste it. I came to this with understanding, but the reality was just... more real.

I don't know that I want to write about the process of what happens next. Not because it is simply to grotesque to discuss, but because it really isn't the point. I wan't ever disgusted by what was happening in front of me. I simply kept thinking, 

"Everyone in here is Hmong, or Muslim, or variety or version of a "minority" here in America. There is such a strong cultural experience happening here that I never knew existed. I am experiencing something that I never would have had the chance to see and know without the gift of Blong and my neighbors."

For this small moment in time I got to see a little bit of their world and what they experience. Not only their culture, but truthfully? I was a minority that day in a place where my language is second. Communication was hard. I clearly stood out because of my skin color and my gender. I believe it is imperative, especially for white folks, to put themselves in uncomfortable situations and walk a bit in someone else's shoes. For a brief moment, and in a fraction of a similar context, I experienced what it means to be in a place that doesn't fully make sense. I didn't hold all the knowledge of what happens in this place. I was lacking in almost every way to know how to navigate this. 

Yet people were kind, though maybe looked at me a little funny. We made our language barrier work, and I met some really wonderful folks while waiting for this whole showdown. And I was there for awhile. 

Yeah. Cause this girl? Picked the only sick pig all morning. After it was all dead and cleaned and ready to go, they slit that pig open to find out it was diseased. 

Yeah. I am really good at this.

So we had to start all over. From the beginning. Blong looked at me and said, "Pick another one!" I thought, "Clearly I showed my lack of skills last time around. I can't even be trusted in this!" 

But I scored a good one, and they rushed us through to the front of the line where we watched the whole thing again. Where they gave us all the innards in a bucket then wrapped the pig in a tarp and dropped in my trunk. 

Blong and I enjoyed an authentic Mexican lunch (where I ate tongue tacos for the first time. This was a day of many firsts!). Hours and hours later (Seriously, he was going to be with me for two max and ended up spending six hours with me on this adventure!) I dropped him off at home. 

Then with a car smelling of dead pig that is getting warm from the sun and the hot car, I started to make the drive to a northern suburb where my neighbors family was gathering. Ms. Yang's son has a home about 20 min outside of the city. 

In my sweatpants, big garden rubber boots and tank top, smelling like slaughter house, I pulled up to a huge family gathering with tents and lots of food. Many of the adults were sitting around tables quietly talking while kids played in the yard trying to distract themselves from all the melancholy adults. Then there's me, timidly looking for a man I have never met before who owns this house. A woman stops me and I say,

"I am the next door neighbor of the grandfather who passed away. The neighbors and I pitched in to buy your family a pig as a way to say we are so sorry for your loss. I hope this is an appropriate gift to bring and I haven't done anything offensive by bringing a pig. Otherwise this a really terrible practical joke." 

We laughed together. Whew.

And I looked at her hoping I made sense and praying that I did't have to keep explaining myself, still feeling unsure about looking so out of place, in the suburbs, with a Hmong family and a rotting pig in my trunk. I mean come on.

Everyone came out then, and I had to talk again, and I was so uncomfortable and the attention was getting to me, and grandma just kept hugging me, and then they sat me down and kept bringing me food to try. The family sat with me and talked for more than an hour.  More than we ever have. 

It was so incredibly overwhelming. 

It was so incredibly beautiful. 

It was so incredibly humbling. 

My day started at 630am. I came home at 7pm. This was what I was going to do with my morning. I was gonna make a quick trip to the slaughter house then "drop" off the pig with the family.

I am reminded again that people do not belong on a timeline. That giving of ourselves means sacrifices we never thought we would need to make.

I am reminded that being in someone's pain with them is potentially one of the most powerful things we can do. 

I am reminded by the beauty in people. That Blong and these neighbors of mine would give of themselves without expecting anything in return. They simply gave because someone was hurt. Human interest stories aren't going to save us, but they do give us strength to go on. That's what this did for me. I saw the Beauty in people. I saw hope and love. I saw the way it could be when we look out for each other. 

I learned what it means to walk a little in someone else's shoes simply to know them more. To understand them in a way I didn't before. To grow my heart and make room. To remind myself that my way isn't always the best or only way. 

My neighbor still wails in the morning. I still wake up to hearing her cry. Her pain is deep. Yet, now, she stops and hugs me. We didn't do that before. 

A wall came down.

We are closer now.

We share something now.

Special Note: I did not take any pictures of this as it felt insensitive to me. I wasn't there to capture something for you, I was there to experience it fully for me. (yes I am sharing now, but only after I took everything I wanted to keep and protect for myself. You get the highlights)

Special Thank you: Blong Yang and Mai Neng Moua for ALL the time you gave to walk me through this. To help me see and understand. For your patience with all my questions. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. 

To my neighbors who contributed to make this moving gift happen. We couldn't have blessed them without you.

To all the folks who shared info with me, asked their neighbors to help me, and took time to do research for me. You went above and beyond and that was very heartfelt. Thank you.

Life on the kitchen floor

I found myself sitting on the floor at night in the little refrigerator room off my kitchen this weekend (#smallkitchenproblems) helping two of my small children with big life problems.

15 min after telling them to get ready for bed, I found my six year old hiding on the floor behind the door with her head in her lap crying. I sat down with her and wrapped my arms and legs around her. She proceeded to tell me how she was tired. She was tired of being the best in her class. That her friends always want her to be the leader. That she needs to be the best. They come to her for answers. She feels as if she is the center of the energy that everyone depends on. Between sobs, she confesses,

"Mama I don't want to be the best. I don't want the attention. I don't want the boys to like me or my friend to want to be like me. I don't want to be the leader, I just want to be me. Why isn't just plain me enough? I am tired."

Whew.

I think it is important as parents that as our children bring their hurt to our laps, that we don't immediately question it. This is real pain to my little one. I need to FIRST make sure she knows she is heard. That she is held. That she has a safe place to fall apart and won't be punished or shamed or dismissed. And PLEASE DON"T RUSH THIS. Sit in the uncomfortable and hurt and pain. Hold and be there with them. After a few moments I said,

"Baby, did you want to just tell mama because it was bothering you, or would you also like help finding a solution? What do you need from me?"

"I just wanted to tell you. It was bothering me."

"That is absolutely OK. Would you mind if I thought on it a bit so in case you change your mind and you want to find a solution, I might have some ideas later?"

"Yes mama. Telling you and being with you already makes it better."

A kiss. A squeeze. And she was off to get ready for bed.

Outside the door was my sweet 11 year old who feels big things. He then entered my temporary "office" and we sat on the floor, (Seriously I should wash this floor more often if I'm gonna keep having therapy sessions on it!)

I have tried reading between the lines lately with him and seeing signals and warnings of things he might be struggling with. Drinking seems to be a trigger for him lately and he had made an off handed comment that night about alcohol and being out of control. I had him sit with me so I could find out where it was coming from. If an incident had occurred and he didn't tell me.

As we sat and started talking, he couldn't really point to an event that happened. He doesn't like things being out of control. He has had some dreams and some kids at school tell stories, but all of a sudden he started to get physically upset. As his eyes started to become wet, and tears struggled to fall, his confession came.

"Mama, I am scared living here. I'm sorry. I feel sad saying it, but I get scared a lot and I don't know what to do about it. You and dad grew up in nice areas and your family was all around. It feels safe and fun and easy. I want that. I don't want to make you feel bad, but I'm scared here."

And my heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces falling from my eyes to join my son's on our hands that were clasped together, now wet from his fear and my guilt.

We sat there in our pain.

Just sat.

Hurting.

Holding each other.

Not rushing.

"I hear you." I whispered.

"I see you and I hear your fear. It is real and you have nothing to feel bad about it. It is so incredibly hard to be a child who has to live with the decisions your parents make. When your dad and I moved here, we couldn't afford anything else. We only had enough money for here. And sweetheart, we don't know if we could go somewhere else now, but God has kind of put a passion and love for this place in our hearts. I don't know how to hold our purpose being here and your pain together without hurting someone. We don't want to hurt you, or ignore you, or dismiss you and your very real fear at the expense of everyone else.

I don't want you hurt. I don't want you to grow so comfortable with fear that you don't know joy and peace and safety. I want you to be able to trust and be generous with yourself. I don't want our choice to hurt you. Oh baby, but I hear you."

"Thank you. I think I just needed to tell you."

I don't know much. I struggle with living in the paradox of purpose in community and purpose in family. The conflict of self and others. The tension of how to hold all things dear close to my heart where sacrifice is often required. No one ever told me how to parent, especially in racial, cultural, societal, global, religious, low income ridden, abusive, violent tension.

Thing is, living in the neighborhood that has a stereotype of being "the worst place to live" in the Twin Cities due to high violence, crime, and limited access and support to programing brings a unique set of challenges and strain. It is the neighborhood you turn your eyes from. The people that you can easily dismiss. The poverty you can ignore.

North Minneapolis is literally on the "wrong side" of the highway, the river and the railroad tracks. Historically, traditionally, and currently, North's narrative is one of minority oppression and neglect. It is a place to house all the folks and the problems that make life messy, because you know, they look different.  Our white story here is not the same as the story of being black in the inner city, but we live on the same block on the wrong side of right apparently. The tension and injustice is real and we have found deep and profound insight, wisdom, and knowledge of what their journey means and how to walk alongside in the fight for justice and equality.  

So we are simply just trying to live in this place and raise our children with a heart for mercy and justice, but that includes exposure to all the hard, complicated struggles of poverty. And that stress is real.

So I held him and prayed my words out over him. Begging for peace and God's stronghold on his heart to be stronger than anything else. To allow God's truth of mercy and compassion and love to be stronger than anger and fear and resentment. I prayed for boldness in speaking out, for confessing all things in safe places. I prayed that God would keep us as ally's for one another. That my son would know that God is for him and his dad and I will never abandon him. I prayed for a spirit of strength in wisdom and kindness. I prayed and wept all the words I knew over him.

I wish I could tell you that the tears disappeared and immediate peace fell over us. When my young son looked up at me, his eyes still wet, I'm not sure it was peace I saw, but maybe acceptance. A mutual understanding that I can't fix this problem, but I am in it with him. I can't make it go away, but we can sit on our gross floor together. We can eat cookies together. We can pray and cry together. We can play together. We can be in it together and hopefully over time, as we never cease in praying for deep soul inner peace, that one day when we wake up, we might feel that.

Until then, you can find me on my kitchen floor.

Please note: Before you all judge me for parenting technique, or the choices we make for our family, know that one never really walks in someone else's shoes. We only ever see each another's journey from the outside. I choose to believe that most of us are simply just trying to do our best. I ask that you credit me with the same respect.

And our lives are always changing, we as humans are always changing, and as a family, and as parents, Paul and I will continue to be faithful to each other, to our family and to our faith in how we make our choices. With new information, new fears, new circumstances, all these things are taken into consideration. We will always try hard and do our best for these children and our marriage that we have been gifted with. We do not take that responsibility lightly. 

Thank you for being on this journey with us, and thank you for being kind in your response. (That was my passive aggressive way of saying, please don't be a jerk in your comments.) *wink

Finding my truth

He is not my knight and shining armor. 

He is not my prince charming.

He is not even my best friend.

He's not hearts and flowers and rainbows.

He's not my captor or my savior. 

He is not my everything. 

He isn't candy hearts and sweet nothings in my ear. 

He is most definetly not my yes husband.

He isn't my better half or a fix to any daddy issues I might have. 

But he is... my truth.

When I was a young woman trying to find who I was, he could see me. I mean honestly, truly see me. The hidden pieces, the secrets, the madness in my mind. He could see who I was pretending to be and who I was hiding. He could see me struggling to be what everyone else wanted while loosing myself in the process. 

He could see me before I knew me.

And he loved me. 

He looked at me and spoke softly, "I see who you are and who you could be. I love all of you. I love the light and the dark in you. If you never change, I will continue to love you. Either way, I am in."

I am starting to think I might feel lost my whole life. Looking and searching and rediscovering and redefining myself. I often feel adrift and wandering. I wonder if I will ever find my center, or peace in the process. My dreams shift and change and my passions are vast and wide. I carry the same struggles, never really letting go, always dragging my baggage a little behind me. I also live as a kid in a candy store, wanting all the things, loving all the things, wanting to try all the things. All the dreams, all the projects, all the ideas, all the music, all the art, all the books. It is impossibly hard to live with me.

He is the truth who keeps me grounded. He is the truth that speaks into my madness when I have lost my way. He is the truth that calls bull crap when I start to pretend to gain acceptance again. When I throw excuses at him, or try to lie, he calls me out and brings me back.

When I am lost or confused or stuck in unhealthy patterns, he is my true north.

He sees my brokenness and says, I love you.

He is in the thick of it with me when my weaknesses take the strength out of our life and says, I still have patience.

When I have given up on myself, he says, I'm not done believing in you.

When I pull the blanket over my head and want to stay in bed all day, he climbs in and says, I feel it too, but we are at least in this together.

We don't see each other as the polished and fancy versions that can be captured in photos and tag lines. We aren't sugar and spice and everything is perfect and nice people. We're kind of gritty, dirty, sarcastic, reality folks. The kind that can own our vast disfunction and say, Hey, we're doing the best we can.

Our version of romance looks like having the perfect way to snuggle on the couch so we can be touching from head to toe, but he can still reach his scotch on the table.

It looks like him scratching my back every night because he knows, HE KNOWS me and how it relaxes me and is my favorite thing at the end of the day. 

It looks like him showing up every night to his family because he chooses us again every day.

It looks like each of us having "going out time with friends", because we both understand that we can't be everything to each other. We still need our tribe of individual and independent friendships. 

Romance for us looks like hard truths, commitment, and even when we are excruciatingly annoyed with each other, which we can be often, it still says, "I don't like you right now, but I still choose you."

That is my truth.

He is my partner. He is my champion. He is my biggest advocate. He is my wise council. He is my listening ear. He is the one I have vowed to create a life with. To be together and create family together. He is the one I come home to, no matter where I have been. No matter how long I have been gone, he is my home.

He also doesn't understand all of me, but accepts me all the same. He knows on a very real level that I will always live in a bit of madness. That my issues at this point might never be overcome.

And yet... And yet... he stays. He loves. He gives me truth. He gives me home. He gives me space to be me and wrestle with myself. He doesn't give up. 

We have this intense partnership that involves honest conversations, hard truths, accountability and lots of passion. We love big and we fight big. We don't agree on much and have very different opinions about things. Our marriage is a meeting of two driven, powerfully spirited people with lots of thoughts, deep emotions, and a million ideas. This was never a "you complete me" kind of thing. It's more a "Wow I think you are incredible and I would like to know you and love you for the entirety of my life" kind of thing. A choice to stay and build on the life and love we had when we started out.

We are what I like to call "full folks". We are full of it. All of it. All the time. Drive. Passion. Commitment. Ideas. Love. Anger. Wonder. Fear. Regret. Hope. We got it all. 

Both of us. It's a very full relationship over here.

Much of our life feels steeped in a battle. We fight for peace in our neighborhood. We fight for open communication and healthy relationships with our children. We fight for our marriage. We battle for contentment while pushing hard towards dreams. We battle to find truth in politics, art, religion and culture. We battle to be true to ourselves and to each other. 

Which is why him being my true north, my steadfast one, is the best version of  romance I can come by.

So to my sweet and opinionated and passionate husband, I love you. Thank you for choosing me. Every. Day.

Happy 14th Anniversary. 

Working through your shit is sexy

I should be over this. I said.

No you shouldn't. Shouldn't doesn't exist. She said.

It feels so silly.  I said.

It's not. You weren't ready before. You are now. She said.

I'm too old for this. I said. 

You are in your 30's and prime for this self discovery. It's your new birth to self awareness. She said. 

Being in your 30's means now is your moment. This is the perfect time for you in your prime and it makes the most sense. She kept going.

And nothing is sexier than when a woman does the hard work to let all the bullshit go and starts to truly love herself. You pouring into your healing and really stripping away all the preconceived ideas and expectations, all the baggage you accumulated. It's inspiring to watch, and it's really sexy. She said.

I clung to those words like a life line. 

I need them to be true, because mostly... well... when you start pulling your life apart and let all your emotions and insecurities and bruised pieces of your heart sit there out in the open, all you can help but think is, "When did I get to be this twisted up? How did I not see how broken I was?"

The very last thing you feel is sexy. Or awesome. Or even capable most days.  

I emotionally, spiritually, and mentally crashed and burned last fall. If I'm honest, I was teetering on the edge for awhile. Sometimes I feel like those are big dramatic words to describe me, but it's how I really feel. I built my life on a lot of crazy expectations and lies that I believed about myself, a lack of self worth that I can't believe I have to own. Patterns and habits that hurt me and my family. I came to a point where I was so tired of trying to hide, or living my life in a way that wasn't honest or real for me. I was letting my life, my emotions, my choices be ruled by other people and their opinion of me. I could go on and on, but that's for another day. 

But now here I am. I now have the wreckage of cracking my soul wide open to deal with. It's just lying there all over the floor while I have to sort it out. And anyone who has been through the wringer, knows that kind of healing takes time. This is not a weekend project, clean a room time, but day after day, week after week, month after month, learning to choose different. It is a mind game unlike anything else. Nothing feels natural because natural responses got me in this place and I question every decision I make. My relationships all feel like they balance on a hinge. Normal interactions carry a different weight because exposing all your crap means you live more raw and tender, which again, strains relationships.  Every little thing takes immense strength and concentration, which brings you back to being tired all over again. Just for different reasons. Before I was tired because I was over stretched. Now I am tired from relearning myself every damn day. 

Because becoming self aware and relearning yourself can't be summed up in a meme. It takes more strength and time than that. 

Because even when if feels silly and small and maybe even that your own personal journey to real true discovery can't compare to others struggles, you know you have to keep going. 

My skin feels strange to me. My thoughts confuse me. My emotions feel like they can't be trusted. I want to drink more than I ever did before. I want to be honest but kind of terrified if people could really handle what really goes on in my head. 

Feeling strange in your own body and mind is a really good reason to want to stop this process, but I know I can't. I know that no matter what happens on the other side of the journey, I may not look any different to you, but I will find me. Mark my words, at the end of this grievous road, though I don't feel it now, I will claim my voice back, and I will feel sexy in my own skin again. 

Discovery, exhaustion, quilts, and isolation

"My fingers feel as if they are bleeding, I am scraping the bottom of the barrel so much just hoping and praying to God that there is even a drop left soaked into the tin."

That was my response when anyone would ask how I was doing last fall. And not that many asked because I had almost literally, entirely cut myself off from most of the world. I would peek through the key hole to see the outside just long enough to make sure that life and humanity were going on in my absence. 

The phone would ring and I wouldn't answer it. I had literally thousands of emails I hadn't returned. I would open my laptop, see the messages, the emails, the notifications and my breath would get short, my heart started to hurt, and so I closed it for another day. I wasn't ready.

I wasn't anywhere near ready.

Sometimes even my mom would call. No matter what was going on, I answer her call. Or she is the call I make when hell is swirling around me ready to sweep me up in it's power and destruction. She is my life line and last fall was the first time in my life that I remember I looked at the screen and couldn't do it. She would see through me, or want to care for me and I couldn't do even that. 

It wasn't even that I was empty, which I was.

It's not even that I was lost, which I was. Terribly terribly lost. Not like, "Oh I took a wrong turn, I can correct myself." Or, "I've been in these woods before, I can figure this out." It felt more like someone stuck me in a country I had never visited with people who didn't speak my language and I somehow had to figure out how to eat and live and create a new life in a new world that was overwhelming strange to me.

And the thing is, I couldn't even articulate my confusion or exhaustion or isolation to the people around me. I wasn't proactive in my break down. "Oh hey, I've been going full force these last few years, and I think I'm gonna need a break. I'm starting to melt down and simple tasks like making dinner or having drinks with you is causing me to have an anxiety attack. I don't have anything to give right now, could you please be patient with me as I figure myself out again?" Oh no. I just left my relationships. My dear friendships that mean the world to me. The one's I have spent years cultivating and being present in and investing in. I have some of the worlds most ridiculously amazing people in my life that I am so honored to call my tribe. My people. My friends. My family. 

And I just left them. I didn't answer their calls. I couldn't be me for them. So I hid. Under my covers. Partly in my work. A lot in my children. And I quilted. Slow work, but it's all I could handle after the frenzy in which I normally live my life. I didn't have words to describe it. I didn't have the follow through to actually know what was going on. I simply knew I was tired. I couldn't say yes. To anyone. For anything. I was barren.

Looking back it's interesting to me, because I wasn't taking care of myself in this reprieve. This wasn't a planned sabbatical or time off or reinvention of myself. All of my baggage and false expectations, and deeply rooted identity issues physically wouldn't let me continue. The words couldn't come. The feelings weren't there. I couldn't move forward and continuing on as I was wasn't possible anymore. My only choice was to face the demons of my past, the ghosts I cling to and the monsters under my bed. (Seriously one of my favorite songs ever). I don't want to do this, and somehow at the same time I am more than ready to make peace with them, make amends, let them go, throw them a party, I don't know. They exhaust me. But more than anything, they are keeping me from my future.

For those of you who might not have lots of baggage, and you look at those of us who are mostly dark and isolated on the inside, I am jealous of your bright life. A life that isn't haunted by ghosts and demons and monsters. I haven't met any of you yet, you're kind of like a unicorn to me, but in my mind, there are many of you.

To my people, I am sorry I am not all I want to be for you. I am sorry for shutting you out. I am sorry for not being there in your times of need. For joy and sorrow. For love and for struggle. Part of my identity is being able to be there for you, so that has shaken up a few things for me. You all are my heart and light and guides to the north star. I am so incredibly thankful for you, and I long to return to a depth and conversation where we are in it together. (And I get I probably shouldn't apologize, but I do. All the time. I am working on other dark horses, so this one stays for now. We'll deal with my need to apologize for living later.)

To those who read these words in this little part of the online world, I used to try to craft blogs that would sound good, or promote well, or could be inspiring enough to be shared around the world. That's a lot of pressure. Good grief. So much so that I couldn't even do it but attempt to try once every couple months. You want to know why that's total crap? Because I can't please everyone, and I have a severe need to, which I hate by the way. But also, it stops becoming my truth because your opinion of me sensors my expression of my own life and heart and experiences and art. I can't do that anymore. This space is now where I write raw and not for the intended purpose to be discovered or shared. This is now simply a place where we do honest living together. 

Which was what it was originally intended to be.

I remember reading "Nice girls don't change the world" by Lynne Hybels years ago. In it she said something along the lines of, "I just stopped. I sat at my window and just stared out to the street for days. I wasn't praying or reading or meditating. I was empty and I simply sat." That makes sense to me in a very profound way now. When you have been so full and information bombards you and your past catches up to you and there are so many tangles that you have made out of your life, sometimes you simply need to sit. In silence. Because sometimes there aren't words for prayer. It is the slow seeping out of all the noise that needs to happen first.

To simply be. To sit. in the empty and respect it.

if you feel that way, trust me, you are not alone. Even if you want to be, or you feel lonely or isolated, I understand some of those feelings. I get it. 

We are in it together.

The power of presence

When we often are looking for the right words to say, I have discovered that simply being present is all I need to be.

There is something irrevocably powerful in simply being there.

The power of presence communicates:

I see you

I hear you

I want to be here with you

Your pain matters

Your joy matters

You are real to me

You exist

Your life matters

You are worth my time

There is nowhere I would rather be in this moment than with you. Right here. Right now.

You. Are. Not. Alone.

We can often do damage with the wrong words. But our presence is never a mistake.

It is our feet in the street. It is our statement of solidarity. It is our voice when words fail us.

The power of being present.

What's the rest of the story?

I love catching up with my friends, but I have never been a fan of small talk. I like knowing the real things. The hard things. The struggles of life, the temptations, the scary dreams and I feel especially honored if you tell me the things you are never supposed to say out loud. It means we are in. We have open the door and exposed our insides trusting them to someone hoping they won't reject us.

Due to time and friends living all over the globe, maintaining that level of depth and transparency is difficult at best. I don't know how you do it, but I have found one simple question cuts through the awkward back and forth banter that we all dance to trying to reestablish relationship intimacy. 

After our general and casual catch up I love asking, "What's the rest of the story?" 

It reminds us that even though the easy surface stuff is real, it is not in truth the whole story. There are always feelings and moments and stories that exist under the surface. 

It acknowledges that yes, I love knowing those things about you, I want it all. I want to know all of you. I want to help hold your heart and your hurt and your fear. 

It recognizes that somehow, even though and time and space separate us, we are still intimately connected. I haven' forgotten the real stuff. I long to know the "whole you". 

Asking "Now tell me the real story" implies that the easy day to day stuff isn't real, which just isn't true. Those small surface experiences make up the fabric of our life as well. There's just...well...more. The fun things are real. The easy moments are real. The boring things are real. 

They just aren't the whole story.

I love this question. 

What's the rest of the story?

I use it for a whole host of my friends. 

But for my girlfriends? Because we are a highly emotional bunch, I usually ask, "How's your heart?" Talk about cutting right to the depth of the matter. There is no hidden agenda there. I want to know. is it bruised? Broken? Wounded? Full? Tired? Embarrassed? Lonely? I beg wanting to know, "Trust me with you".

I just don't think there is any point in wasting time not knowing the people we care most about in the world.

If you are longing to deepen your relationships, maybe try one of these questions. It's incredible how quickly conversations get real and good and honest. it's beautiful, and I am thankful for those in my life who are brave enough to answer honestly.

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I also travel the country as an inspirational speaker on similar topics. If you are in need of a speaker for your next event, check out my press kit to see if I am the right fit for you.

Wide open space: my life in transition

***Update*** This was a post I wrote a few months ago, but wanted to wait to post. Funny how these feelings still feel the same.

I sent my last child off to school this morning.

All I feel is a strangeness now and I don't know how to live in that place.

The strange and unfamiliar is a constant presence outside of my space; the neighborhood, my job, friendships, interests all have experienced or gone through a strange induced growth period.

But now my safe haven, my home and existence, the center of how I live, has been altered and thus threw my core off balance. Things have shifted and left me stranded in the middle of the living room not quite sure how to navigate this new reality. The last time I experienced such a strange and unfamiliar space was when I became a stay at home mom, and that, with the birth of our second child, threw me into a year long depression. 

That is my history with strange new spaces that alter my core and it makes me anxious.

When something shifts and exists off balance, new space is created. It has moved, and so now it is not the same leaving emptiness, newness, openness.

Right now, the only thing filling that new space is questions. Questions like, "What am I going to do now? How do I feel? What do my days look like now? Can I really pull of a career as a writer and speaker? How do I spend my time now?" 

Today I can't stop moving because somehow it feels like if I do, I might fall apart. My hands are shaky and I feel nervous. Moving seems to medicate me somehow. Now this isn't a, "I miss my daughter" kind of thing, it feels more like if I am standing on a cliff looking out at a vast open canyon full of wide space.

As of today, I currently stand on the threshold of my dream. (My dream of developing and becoming a stronger writer, speaker, community activist and planner, gardner and food preservationist, artist, quilter and seamstress, wife and mother.) I have time to push into these things in a healthier way than ever before. I have time to develop myself, my family, my career. I don't want to screw that up, and I could. So easily.

If I try and push hard into my purpose for life and my dream and fail, that's ok. For me, I stand behind the truth of try and fail is better than not trying at all. But what I don't want? What I don't want is to waste my opportunity by being afraid of it. By not trying. By excusing my time to other things and never really trying at all. I could waste my opportunity by reading smut novels for days on end and ignoring the potential I have. I could easily distract myself by cleaning and organizing and volunteering all my hours away. And I especially don't want to justify "how hard I work" with then lounging on my couch for hours getting sucked into the Netflix vortex.

My greatest fear is that I am not the great self motivator I want to be or think I can be. I have no boss. My dreams are limitless and I have a bad track record of time management. Now I am left with a thousand ideas and wide open days. 

So if you find yourself in a strange new place filled with wide open spaces and wanting to fill those new spaces with health and good fruit and growth and learning, I am with you. Change rarely is easy, nor is often fun. What I will promise myself is to be patient. To be kind to myself as I navigate new roads. 

And I think I need to stick a post it on my bathroom mirror that says, "Dreams aren't accomplished over night. Keep at it. Don't give up and always pray for wisdom."

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Community Garden Adventures: A bittersweet life.

I think what I love and what is hard about living in North Minneapolis is that all the time, in all circumstances, no matter what, simultaneously things are awesome and difficult. Beautiful and painful. Bittersweet. Roses and thorns. Inspiring and hopeless. It's a weird thing to recognize and an even weirder thing to live in all the time. 

And as I write this I recognize that this is the nature of humanity. I believe that to be truer than most things I believe in. However, I think we are really good at hiding it. The painful and ugly parts at least. So while we inherently know that nothing is perfect or all good, or just simply beautiful, in many American subcultures it appears to be true. That things are better in the suburbs. That nothing bad happens in rural America. That if you have a big house and someone else comes to cut your lawn and the hot pool boy is just your style, then your life is great. No skeletons in the closet if you will.

And that is total rubbish. 

But living here in NoMi there is no pretending. I mean At. All. People live as unique individuals, fully and wholly themselves. You are who you are if someone has a problem with that, then that's on them. We are a personal and public proclamation that there is good and hard in not only each person, but that it manifests itself in our cultures and communities. Just the other day a gal boldly walked down the street in just her bra and tight pants. People here live their lives out in the open. Arguments in the front lawn or back alley, derogatory remarks being thrown out windows like candy in a parade. We don't hide. We embrace it almost to a fault. I actually enjoy the freedom that this openness brings. But there are many days I wish I could go back to being a bit more ignorant or naive to all the hard things like I was before. Living the lie that if you don't see it happening then it must not be real right? Well, we see a lot here, so our carefully crafted world of make believe no longer exists. Every day we are reminded that humanity and sin can be dark and scary and sometimes it pretends to be your friend, till it back stabs you or shoots you with 9mm.

And yet, there is still something more in this for me. More than the understanding that there is evil in our world. It's never just a reminder that we as people have a long way to go in using our powers for good and not evil. My understanding that because I believe God created each and everyone of us, than each us has been touched by him. That we each live with his imprint on our soul. It is this belief that we have both beauty and madness in each of us, and this has a way of slipping under my skin and actually changing the chemical make up of my DNA and how I live and approach the world from this point forward. 

This past Sunday we hosted a gathering at the NoMi Homie Community garden. It was a time for neighbors to come together and help weed the plots and install the Free Little Library. Folks came and it was so good! Kids were running in the sprinkler, people met new neighbors and got to know one another, and we weeded a bunch. (Yet, with a garden our size, it still didn't seem to make much of an effect!) If the very nature of community gardens is to bring people together to nurture real food and real relationships all the while reconnecting to the earth, than Sunday we hit it out of the park. It was all of those things and I know it warmed each of us there from the inside out, bursting the jaded parts of living here with bright lights of hope. It was restoration of faith in humanity at its most simplest of forms. It was catching glimpses of God in each of us in the way he longs to be seen. When the work was done, we grilled out, harvested lettuce from the garden poured the chilled wine as the adults rested and the kids ran free. 

That was when we noticed a small 2yr old boy running in the sprinkler that didn't belong to anyone. We kind of gave each other the look of, "He has to have parents around here somewhere right? Or at least a brother or sister or cousin who is watching him?" We pulled him out of the garden, (as he was just trampling over everything) and asked him where his mom was. Nothing but a big smile and a giggle.

So we tried again. 

Nothing. We each looked around and came up...empty. No one was around. No one was sitting on their stoop paying attention. None of the kids remembered where he came from. It was as if he just teleported himself there to the middle of the garden to play in the sprinkler. 

We went two doors down and asked the dude sitting on his porch if he had ever seen this kid.

Nope. But maybe we should try the house behind him. There were always kids there.

So my neighbor Joab and I walked through the alley and started knocking on back doors. Now, being someone who lives here and knows how things work, I did this once and then realized we would get no where. Most people don't even open their front door, let alone the back door. That move is marked with shady and laced with danger. So Joab put our little garden boy up on his shoulders and we started walking the street, asking anyone we saw if they knew this little boy. What his name might be. Where he lived. Do they know his mother. Five houses and a few other poor folks who got caught up in our mystery game as they were getting out of their car and no one had any answers.  

I can't imagine what we looked like. Here two strangers walk up to you and ask if you have ever seen this little boy before. They confess they are trying to find his home because he is lost. It was interesting watching the range of emotion of the folks we asked. Clearly, we have a lost child on our hands. Most aren't that surprised. Which is sad in and of itself. A few were in different, most likely understanding that his home would eventually be found, it wasn't that big of a deal. And then you had the mothers who were genuinely concerned. But I just kept thinking, 

"We have to find this child's family. If we don't then we must call the police and this little boy's life from this point forward will never be the same. The mother who lost him, or neglected him, will be irrevocably punished for her mistake. He would be taken from her. He could end up in a foster home that's abusive. He would be separated from his family if not forever than for a long time in a strangers home with strange people."

In this moment we were holding the future of this child in our hands and the weight of that was incredibly overwhelming. It felt wrong and broken and sad. For him. For his mother or family who didn't know he was missing. It all just felt heavy, in the way you have that foreboding feeling that something bad is going to happen. 

There we stood looking at each other, neighbors and friends, holding this very sweet little boy with no home and no name. (the kids had kindly nicknamed him garden boy) We were running out of options, but we weren't ready to involve the cops. Not just yet. Joab had a gut feeling about a house across the street and down the block. So we went for it. As we approached the house, we called out to the people on the porch. When the guy game out he looked at us a little strange, and it actually took him till we asked, "Do you know this little boy? We don't know where he lives." that he actually gave the child a second glance and was like, "Oh yeah, he's with us. Thanks." All casual and cool and nonchalant. You know, as if missing a 2yr old for almost an hour is no big deal.

So we handed him back. Just gave him over to a family who didn't notice he was missing. Who wasn't looking for him. Who apparently didn't notice his lack of activity in the house or voice or his getting into everything because you know, he's 2!

It was indifference. 

And so with the little boy handed back to his family, we headed our way towards the community garden to share in the communal meal that was prepared. To sit and be with one another. It was supposed to be a beautiful moment of rest and peace and laughter after a few hours of hard work to bring beauty to the northside.

And now it was tainted.

It was bittersweet. 

Beautiful and hard.  

It was tainted with sadness and heartache and the heavy that comes from the awareness of the broken places that always exist that we wish didn't.

From our little corner where we ate, we watched our little garden boy run away from home a few more times. Each time now however, there was a mom chasing him. Or getting to him before he made it completely back to the garden.  And as I sat there, watching all of this, experiencing it in the moment, I thought lots of things:

- That poor mama who's mistake is being witnessed by strangers and most possible being greatly judged for her lack of focus for her child. My empathy is not a full pass to neglect, however, I have also been the mom who didn't know where her kid was at one time. (each per kid. Maybe once a year.)

- It becomes easy to judge others. To sit there throwing around words that cut her down without ever even talking with her and finding out her story. Because I don't know her, she becomes an easier target for my hate and frustration. In on simple act, she becomes the spokesperson for all that is wrong in our neighborhood. The story we make an example of when trying to tell people of all the crazy crap that happens here. It becomes unfair to her and wrong of me to put the entirety of the burden of a downtrodden culture squarely on her shoulders. 

- Then in that moment it had me pondering all of my mistakes which are many and great and happen frequently. I am no different than this woman. Our shortcomings and weaknesses and temptations might be different, but we still both have them.

- The lack of this understanding started to become abundantly clear. One of the issues I have living here is how quick people are to judge and yell and cast stones. And we do because its real easy. I mean people do some really stupid crap here. Then those choices start to separate us. We use it as a divider to keep us apart and on different sides of the block. The people who do bad and hurtful things, and those who don't. Those who are trying to make this place a little bit better, and those who could care less. Those who take peaceful walks, and those who sole purpose is to disturb the peace and shake people up. The more we separate, the less we understand and less we show mercy. Our culture over here on the north side is one of abandonment. We are all on edge living by the scraps of our teeth. We don't have a surplus of mercy because we haven't been shown mercy. I must think about myself because no one else will. I am on my own and have to fight tooth and nail to just break even. 

- When you live in that mentality, yeah, you judge others. You judge because you don't have time for other people to be stupid where you pay the price. This is the underlining current that tears at the need to be connected, especially with your neighbor. It is destructive instead of restorative. We see how we are different, not how we are the same. When I need to look out for myself, I don't have time to look out for you. 

- I really believe in order to create healthy communities, we need to show mercy. We need to find ways to connect despite our gut reaction to judge and tear down. When we tear people down, we tear cultures and society apart. A healthy community can't be built on the backs of broken people.

We need understanding.

We need mercy and patience. 

We need time.

We need to be connected. 

We desperately need to judge less and love more.

We need Jesus.

That mom made a mistake. Yet, I also saw her trying to be better. There is good in her, a divine imprint. And it is also in me. That brokenness and darkness and weakness in her? That too is also in me. Those things we share because we are human. Empathy is not our "get out of jail free card" to excuse all behavior. It is however the bridge we need to cross the wide divide to meet each other. To see where we are the same instead of standing in judgement of our differences. 

So I helped a little lost and forgotten boy find his way home.  I met neighbors I had never talked to before. I witnessed a family be reunited and I experienced a well of emotion and slowly started to evict some of my old school thinking and understanding. I think I started to understand the way of things a little bit more here, and as we all know, understanding creates space for mercy. God's kind of mercy.

Man we desperately need more mercy around these parts. 

And I am extra thankful that the cops weren't involved in this little gathering, as they historically somehow seem to be when we are involved. 

It was a bittersweet day and we live a bittersweet life.

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Bike earned life lessons

The kids and I went for a bike ride today and all of a sudden it was as if my real life collided with my big picture life in the span of a moment. And it happened over and over for the next 30 min.

My real life would be that this was the first time the kids and I biked this year and the rules are different now. Last year Little was still in a buggy attached to my bike and Middle was on the one wheel attachment with Paul. Big would ride in the pocket between us. Everyone was contained and we could keep our eyes on each of the kids. Paul led the way, I brought up the rear and we were all good. Contained. Dare I say, we were in control?

Then somehow this year, everyone got bigger. Older.  More grown up. Independent. And that means that life changes, rules are different. Little rides the one wheel attachment and both boys are free. It also means that we have the freedom to ride without Paul when he is at work. Our family dynamics have changed and we find that we are still a team but with different roles to play and different dynamics when we engage with one another. 

Life doesn't stand still. Families aren't imortalized. We grow, we learn, we gain wisdom and fall in foolishness. We are human living in a world that requries we keep moving forward.

In my real life, I hadn't ever ridden with the one wheel attachment. Fumbling our way through, I almost lost Little because I forgot that she could get on and off the bike. I realized I had to actually check to see if she was ready. Before, I would just put her in, pile in her books and snack and we were good. I could stop and start whenever I wanted. She was contained and under control. Now the girl has freedom. And I'm not gonna lie, its a little unnerving. So after I almost left without her, then almost dropped her because I wasn't used to her unbalanced weight, we slowly took off. 

That's when it hit me. I can't see my other two kids. I take the lead and they bike behind me. Not only are they biking behind me, because I am the one who sets the path, I actually have to trust my oldest to bring up the rear. Trust him. Trust that he knows the rules. Trust that he will be responsible. Trust that he will communicate when something is wrong and that he can recognize when that might be. That's when my heart start pounding and growing big with panic. 

Once that thought hit me, I realized Little and I were tipping. I am used to carrying dead weight on two wheels while she sits tucked in a sturdy buggy. With the one wheel attachment, she can pedal and lean and the whole bike shifts. And she's only almost five so when she leans and panics, that means she over corrects herself to not fall and screams and panics and yells at me that everything is horrible and she can't do and we need. to. stop. now.

So I say in my most calming, I am not stressed out voice, "Little we are OK. You have to trust me that I will keep us safe. We have to do this together. If you feel like we are going to fall, trust that I can keep us going. We are team now and we can do this together. "

Middle chimed in that Dad gave him the same speech when they biked that way too. 

As we biked along, I realized how quickly my children are growing up. How without even realizing it, they are learning things, growing in wisdom, and becoming real people. (Not that they weren't real before, but they becoming their own I guess in a way that I don't get to dictate or control.) 

Next year Little will be going to full day Kindergarten. I will have my days free to workI and volunteer and take care of my family on my own schedule. My children will be living their lives at school apart from me, learning and growing and I need to trust them. I also need to trust that we are doing our job and they are learning from us at home as well. 

Above all other growing pains I realized today, is that the rules are changing. They are getting bigger and even though they need to learn themselves in new ways, I need to relearn my role with them as well. So many pieces of their lives are out of my control and even though that truth has always been real, it is evident in more ways than our previous years of their young childhood. My role as their mother is not to see everything they do and control it, (though seriously I would beg for that to be the way because I have fiercely good ideas and have made so many mistakes, if they just did what I said, life would be so much easier for them.)

I ride along with them. I ride to encourage and guide back if they need it. I am there to tell them are OK. I am there to say, "You are not alone. If you need me, we got this." I am their support system. The place they fall back on because they overcorrected and made a mistake. 

As kids get older, their personalities and opinions change. They shape their own ideas. They gain independence even though we live as a unit, they need to live on their own two feet. The rules change and its important as parents that we let them learn what that means. But it also means that our role changes as well. I need to learn to trust them. I need to learn that my job isn't to control everything but to guide, support, love and help when they ask.

I was thankful today for the physical reminder of what is emotionally happening in our household. Our bike ride reminded me that even though I have been clutching to hold on, I need to let go a little bit and just hold my children and our relationship gently so they know they can trust me not to overcorrect them in my parenting. 

Our roles change as we grow. And as we grow, we change. I hope I can be patient with myself and my children as we figure out this space in our life. And if you find yourself in the midst of shifting roles and growing pains, I am with you. You are not alone.

Dusting off my passport

I have this opportunity that feels huge and it holds the potential to change the course of my heart. 

I am undereducated.

I am under experienced.

Under qualified.

Under skilled.

It shouldn't be me. Yet it is.

With the above statements being true, I straighten my shoulders, hold my head high and I crack my heart wide open, praying that God gives me grace to have eyes to see and wisdom to discern. 

I get the huge privilege of heading out to Honduras in less than two weeks for a 7 day development trip. I am honored to be on the ground level of designing and scheming and building relationships that will merge three very incredible organizations together that strive every day to honor kids and bring them out of poverty.

About a month ago I found myself in a conversation with Chad Amour, our housemate and and film maker with Humdinger Pictures, involving Honduras and Compassion International, along with Inverted Arts and Viva Network Talk Honduras. These three different organizations work tirelessly to love and see children. To advocate for them and be their voice when they don't have one. Our contact Tania (with Compassion) told us about the program The Good Treatment Campaign where children fight to be heard by adults in their communities to stop the violence against children. The beauty of that program along with starting an art camp to help give a voice to these students is what compelled me to get involved. 

It's children standing up for children's rights.

It's art education and inspiration to give voice to thoughts and feelings and spirituality. It provides an outlet for children who might not otherwise have one. It provides a way to communicate to those in need and those who have a way to help.

It's building relationships.

It's discovering a new culture and how they live and take care of their own.

I am so incredibly humbled to be on this journey and like all things I do, wanted to bring you along for the ride. I believe in the community we foster and I excited to share this journey with you.

The journey for me has already started as I research the country, organize my sitters and schedule, and start learning some spanish. I am excited to share this week of development with you. Including you in the conversations we have and the people we will meet.

As with all things that relate to community, I can't do this alone. If you feel compelled and want to be apart of this trip in a special way, I crave your support! With this being such short notice, I have a bout a week to raise $2000 to go. Yeah, you read right. By this Monday, April 6 I need my funding finalized, and if you feel so inclined, you can donate a tax free gift to Inverted Arts with "Dani Tietjen Honduras" in the memo line at the Donate page.

If supporting this trip in this way isn't possible for you, please keep Chad, Tania, Compassion, Inverted Arts, Viva Network Talk and myself in your prayers and thoughts. So many conversations and planning meetings will be happening the week we are in Honduras and above everything else, I can't wait to learn about this incredible organizations more and see what a partnership with them looks like.

Keep tuned to the blog where I will be sharing this whirlwind adventure with you.

Remember, we are here to make a difference and respond to the needs we see set before us. Let's do this together friends.