Where's the thesaurus? I need to look up another word for "change."

June 22^nd, 2013

The early morning wake-ups are the same. Groggy and tired, I shut off my alarm. Ambling in the dark down the path to the main house is like stepping into the past. So much has changed at Open Arms: new kids, the deserted main house kitchen, tatas (male childcare workers), and yet, it took no time at all to feel as though I’d come home.

It’s hard to explain. I’ve erased this paragraph about fifteen times now. Change, it seems, is the theme of this trip, but I know I will contradict myself in the next few entries; after all, consistency is what we’re aiming for here.

What a strange phenomenon it is to be here, two (plus) years after my first departure. Everyone assumes how weird it must feel to see the kids two years older. Yes, they are taller. Yes, they are beautifully and wonderfully, brighter and more self-assured. They have so many more stories and so many more experiences to talk about. And, of course, there’s all that baggage they pick up along the way too. But oddly, it’s not them that I notice the most change in. I arrived to Open Arms seeing the world from what feels like a different set of eyes than I did before.

I didn’t know it was possible, but I think I love them more. I find myself watching them play, or talking amongst themselves, or doing work, and I am blown away by the incredible young people that they are.

A few years ago, I swiped a quote off of a friend’s Facebook wall (thanks, Charlie) that I scribbled down on a scrap of paper. It has followed me around for some time now, but currently it hangs beside my bed in the white house at Open Arms:

I did not know then, as I know now, this quality of in-loveness when we see individuals as God sees them, in all their beauty; and all the earth seems transformed. Suddenly, all around me the world has lightened, the fog has lifted, and the air has cleared, and one understands what we are capable of becoming and how many ways we are indeed the image of God.

There have been a handful of times when I can find no more perfect words than these to describe my experience, but now they seem more fitting that ever before.

These children are often difficult, frustrating, irrational, and sometimes just plain mean, but I suppose the long and short of it is that we all are; something which I was kindly reminded of when one of the children asked me if I had ever sinned. Ultimately, you know it’s love when, despite it all, you still find them so beautiful.

I have changed so much in this two years, and while I do want to address this more, I am quite tired and quite in need of some sleep.

Rest assured, I have worn four different pairs of sweatpants (to which the children kindly ask: “Why are you wearing pajamas?” each morning), and just polished off an entire Cadbury bar (Turkish Delight!) in the last three minutes, so I guess not too much has changed.

Oh yeah...

Forget everything I just wrote.

Unbelievably excited to be reunited with my kiddos. Nothing else really matters, right? 12 more hours!

Déjà vu

I was not asked to write this and it occurs to me that writing a blog about my own experiences might be considered egotistical (a thought that, I’m sure, is impressively un-earth shattering to those who know me). Regardless, I am going to write and post anyway because it’s always been more about processing than broadcasting. Anyway, enjoy.

June 12^th, 2013: Typical.

How to explain the sort of non-alcohol induced buzz that the thought of Open Arms sends through my limbs? Not to play into gender stereotypes or anything, but I’m not sure I fully understand how I’m feeling about the whole thing just at the moment. I, quite literally, frolicked around the house with joy when presented with the opportunity to go back. (Just ask Nick and Maria.) But while I am beyond excited, I am also picking up on an emotion that feels an awful lot like fear.

When I came back from South Africa just over two years ago, I was sure I was ready to face ACE with the passion and grace that my biggest fans (you know who you are) expected of me. I thought that my time in South Africa would prepare me for everything. Foolishly, I thought I was above the “adjustment period” I had been warned about.

I was not.

I was, and am, not above anything or anyone. I was ill-prepared for just about everything and I found I had left something of the passionate and graceful me thousands of miles away. I came back scared, anxious, and upset that I couldn’t live up to the newly cultured and compassionate Keaton I had intended on becoming during my time away.

First summer of ACE was misery despite the nearly ideal company (I’m looking at you ACE 17 and 18). But it wasn’t the heat or the cramped quarters of Zahm Hall or the early rising for practicum or even the pink eye that caused my tail-spin; it was the fact that suddenly it was very unclear who I had been, who I’d become, and who I was going to be moving forward.

It’s taken me the better part of two years to feel the sort of peace in the person that I am once again. In February, when I became the final member of DallACE 18 to commit to staying in Dallas for another year, I was overcome with a sense of certainty and peace I’d only known two other times. In March, I became more obnoxious than I had been in a while, declaring that if any more good came to me, I’d explode.

Don’t get me wrong, I am no master teacher, but looking back over these two years, I feel as though I’ve made something of a difference. I have loved coming home tired after tutoring and soccer practice and lunch duty; I have grown more patient with, and appreciative of, even my most challenging students; I have loved living in community and meeting up with coworkers outside of school and exploring Dallas a bit. And while I still hate grading, I feel as though my life has direction. Passion and grace (OK, maybe not grace) have crept back into the picture and, truth be told, I’m a little scared to shake things up once again.

But something that Greg said to me one afternoon on the way back from school resonates with me: for someone who claims not to like change, you sure do invite big changes into your life. 

Thinking on that, I recall the original interest form I completed to work at Open Arms. In it, I write about how drawn I am to discomfort and how important I feel it plays in our growth. We need that discomfort to shuffle priorities and fuel the discernment process. So while it’s a scary thing to knowingly open yourself to alterations, I know that it’s a necessity to the person I am.

June 16^th, I’ll get on that plane and prepare to let the kids lead. And August 8^th, I’ll land in Dallas, hopefully a little better for having relinquished control.