tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89676202358998853012024-02-19T00:37:35.510-08:00Coffee In Hand, God In MindAs I start this blog, I vow to do three specific things for every entry. The first, I will always have a cup of coffee next to me. The second, I will incorporate my faith. (Bet you could have guessed those two) And finally, it will include what I've learned about my faith from the people I love!Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-52176094918602149102017-08-20T08:46:00.002-07:002017-08-20T08:46:56.101-07:00Gaining The Courage To Press The ButtonI'd be lying if I said I've sat down multiple times to write this post. I've <i>thought</i> about it multiple times but decided I didn't have the energy or that I wouldn't have anything of substance to write about. I took it upon myself to decide that you, the reader, wouldn't want to read any more about my troubles in the last few months. But this morning, as I sat in bed drinking my coffee, I thought about how much I missed Uganda. The busy streets, the work I was part of, the few words I learned in Luganda, and mostly the people I got close to. Missing them made me realize I needed to finally get my thoughts down.<br />
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Physically, I am healthy again. I didn't suffer from any huge disease. Malaria wasn't what sent me home. But after a series of treatable ailments-a stomach bacteria and an allergic reaction to some sort of bite, I decided with those who know and love me most that my body needed to be back in the States. What kind of social worker would I be if I didn't take into account my health while working for a health organization? Ultimately, I am glad I came home. I gave my body the time it needed to recover- not only from Uganda, but from Germany, from graduation, and the seemingly endless weeks of finals for grad school. I realized I was so focused on getting to the next task or destination that I didn't let my body heal from the previous one. Yesterday, I admired with a friend that for the first time in two years, maybe six if we're being honest, my nails were healthy. They weren't chipped or frail because I wasn't picking at them. Sure, it's a small detail, but to me it means the world.<br />
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The post could be over. I could summarize for everyone reading that I am officially graduated and on the job hunt and all is good in the world. That I am confident that my degree will land me a fantastic job and I can start movin' on up. That is a lot of what I have been telling people who ask because it's easy. It's expected.<br />
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Those things aren't totally false, but it isn't the whole truth. The whole truth is that I am <i>extremely </i>anxious that I won't get a job I'm proud of or am excited to go to every day. Most days I wish that I had a few more years of work experience before jumping into grad school. I often question if I should have gone to such an expensive school-will it really pay off? I'm anxious about having to come home halfway through my practicum experience. I felt like I failed my organization because my body couldn't take what my mind wanted to accomplish. I see friends and family members doing incredible things and I am both proud of them and envious. I feel stuck.<br />
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Being stuck with anxiety feels like being trapped in an elevator with someone who won't stop talking. They say all the things you don't want to hear and bring up worries you didn't know you had. It starts to get stuffy because they are sucking up all the oxygen and you just keep looking up, praying that the elevator starts moving again. Sometimes you scream hoping someone will hear you. Hoping they will find you and that you aren't forgotten about. People on the other floors are moving on with their life, doing what they planned for the day, not realizing you're stuck somewhere in the middle, unable to move. Unable to do what you planned.<br />
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In that elevator, there is an emergency button. One to push to let someone, even if it's not anyone you know, come rescue you. For a long time, I knew I needed to press that button, but I was too stubborn. I thought if I just keep looking up, just keep praying, just keep thinking of ways to pry open that door, I wouldn't need outside help. But it got really stuffy in that elevator. The voice of anxiety got louder and more convincing. Keeping me from sleep, taking away my own voice.<br />
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A few weeks ago, I pressed that button. I decided it was time to admit that prayers weren't enough. I needed someone else to hear me. I found myself in the offices of a counselor and a doctor asking for help in quieting the voice of anxiety. Rationally, I knew it was anxiety and not truth speaking. I knew that it's normal for someone in such a transition period like grad school to be stressed. I was fully aware that my experience in Uganda triggered a lot of nervous thinking. But I didn't think I would need to push the button. Social workers are normally the ones who respond when that button is pushed, but we have a very hard time being the ones to do it. I know I've mentioned that in this blog before.<br />
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I still feel like I'm in that elevator most days, but I've pressed the button and know help is coming. It isn't an automatic response by any means, but man, do I wish it was. I am finding out how difficult it is to talk about my own problems because all I want is to be seen as put together. Sometimes I don't even have words for how I feel, which is incredibly frustrating. How can I not even express why I'm anxious? Why I wake up in a panic at night? It's a vicious cycle. But I'm slowly learning that I need to listen to myself, even if I don't have the words. Just like I did with my physical health, I need to take an outside look at my mental health and trust one day, I will be healthy again.<br />
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I write this blog not to elicit comments or reassurance. Like I mentioned, rationally I know that my education will lead me to fantastic opportunities like it already has. I am proud of my accomplishments and know I won't live with my parents forever. I write this for anyone reading who still hasn't pushed the button. If you need help, if you feel like you are stuck in an elevator or however else you view anxiety, it is okay to push it. You don't have to let the voice of anxiety take up all the oxygen in the room. You have a voice, too.Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-15689921213860646082017-06-16T07:00:00.000-07:002017-06-16T07:00:13.476-07:00"Nothing is more critical than life"Things I've done while I've been in Uganda:<br />
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<li>I've put my hand in the Nile River.</li>
<li>I've tried some local foods-motoke (mashed plantains), posho (dense grits of sorts) and loved them</li>
<li>I've watched a little gecko crawl out of the top of my toilet and tried not to freak out</li>
<li>I've battled with a few crickets in my room-and won</li>
<li>I've contracted malaria in record timing (and will be finished with medication tomorrow) </li>
<li>I've played with children, listened to them call after me "Muzungo" which means "White Person"</li>
<li>I've met Mayors and very important district officials</li>
<li>I've played endless rounds of skip-bo with a good friend, Sumayah</li>
<li>I've needle-pointed and thought endlessly of home</li>
<li>I've begun to learn local greetings-which I'm learning only get me so far</li>
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I've doubted if this was the right way for me to spend the summer. I've cried for my boyfriend,my mom, my niece. I've cried for everyone in my family. I've sat and just listened. Listened to the early morning or the late night. I've sat in the back of a van full of 10 people and simply admired the beauty of this country, the acres upon acres of fertile land, the kindness of individuals and bravery of animals trying to get a stray piece of maize on the other side of the road.<br />
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I wish I could say it's as glorious of a start to the summer as I imagined. I thought I would be able to adapt to the weather, culture and job seamlessly. I've spent the last two years of grad school imagining this trip. I just knew I was cut out for international work and I could jump right in. That didn't happen. </div>
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The first two weeks have been filled with frustration-not with the people or my job or the country, but with myself. First, because I am so incredibly terrible at being dependent. Two days in I was mad at myself for not knowing how to navigate the town. I hated that I had to (get to, really) be driven around my my organization's van. It is of course for my own safety while I learn the city but I HATE that I was so reliant on the van. I didn't know anyone other than fellow interns and staff members and I was frustrated that I didn't know everything yet. The end of last week felt much better than the start. We had a pool day-which always cures a bad mood. We walked around a new city, Jinja, and ended by a pool, then a sunset boat cruise on the Nile. I was absolutely exhausted by that point, but energized to start the next week with greater assurance that I knew I would find my way. The next day I walked the whole town with Sumayah, a godsend of a friend here in Uganda. She showed me shortcuts, where to buy food at the market, what the best fabric store was and how to get from my hotel to the office. Finally. </div>
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Monday was a typical day at the office, settling into my job, beginning my responsibilities here as a practicum student. On Tuesday I woke up with a migraine-I figured from dehydration, so I called and told my bosses that I wouldn't be coming in. I would work from the hotel. Hours later, I woke from a nap with a fever and body aches-things that don't come with my migraines so my wonderful friend who works at UDHA graciously took me to the health center that is practically connected to our office. In what I think is record timing, I had contracted a very low-grade case of Malaria. (For those reading, don't worry, I was treated) The typical time it takes to contract Malaria is between 10 days to 4 weeks. As of Tuesday I had been there 10 days...</div>
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(A break for people unfamiliar with Malaria. Many travelers to countries with high rates of Malaria will take anti-malarial drugs each day. However, these drugs are like a flu shot-they only protect against certain 'strains'. So even though I did all the things I could've done to prevent it, "One stubborn mosquito" as my doctor called it, did the trick. It is typically treated with shots and/or pills and the recovery time is relatively quick-about a week.)</div>
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So here I was, already frustrated with being dependent on others and wondering how I was going to make it the next two months and I'm bogged down with a stupid illness caused by one dang mosquito. If God was quietly hinting at a lesson the first week, he was screaming it the second. Asking people for help doesn't make me any less dependent. Any less of an adult. It shows vulnerability, sure, but it doesn't take any part of "Abby" away. Everyone who has been sick away from home-be it from their mom, their partner or even just their own bed, knows how miserable it is. For me, it's also frustrating that I'm not better yet. I've never had this illness and already I'm telling myself I should be better. I should go back to work. </div>
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This morning, one of my supervisors, Michael, came to check on me. I told him I would do some work from the hotel today and he shook his head and said, "Nothing is more critical than life, Abby". That's it. The silly lesson that I couldn't see. No matter how frustrating it is to be vulnerable or dependent on someone to make me eat or make sure I'm drinking fluids, it is to make sure I keep on living. Keep living so I can keep learning. I didn't ever feel like Malaria was going to kill me, but I thought my boredom might. Instead, I am trying to be grateful for recuperation. I am immensely grateful for the people who have taken care of me, offered prayers and acted as a source of comfort while I am away from home. Even if it was just a smile that inferred "it will be okay", I noticed and appreciated it. </div>
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I am appreciative of the people who love me back home. I didn't tell many people outside of my family and boyfriend of being sick or even admit that the first few weeks here have been tough. I still felt like I had an image to maintain-though I don't know who would see that image-seeing as I haven't been great at posting on facebook or sending emails. It has been bittersweet to be relatively disconnected. I miss the constant photos of Hadley, though they have been increasing since I'm sick and I miss regular talks with my boyfriend and my family. I miss the laughs of my friends and know there will be major changes to adjust to when I get back. But it is also nice to wake up in the morning to the sound of a chicken clucking in the garden outside of my room. To go sit in the restaurant area of my hotel and read a good book before work. So far, Ugandans have taught me the power of kindness and hospitality, and how to enjoy downtime. For that, I am grateful.</div>
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Oh, and for anyone out there reading this with the thought "What is Abby going to do after Uganda?" the answer is extremely unknown. </div>
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Oh, Oh, for anyone who is wondering what I'm actually doing in Uganda: The organization is called Uganda Development and Health Associates. It is in Iganga district and I am working on the Health Systems Strengthening project. It aims to train Community Linkage Facilitators to go into various districts and encourage residents to access health care and figure out how to make it more accessible. UDHA is also working with other Community Based Organizations in those districts to increase access and educations surrounding major topics like HIV, TB, Malaria, and Maternal/Child health. Pretty cool stuff. </div>
Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-24198772936630781372017-03-10T13:10:00.002-08:002017-03-10T13:10:45.450-08:00Not just another post about Lent<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I could make up an excuse as to why I haven't blogged in a while, but we all know you'd see right through it, so I'll just get to typing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">One of the things I love to do most is looking back through my blog, especially the posts about the posts during Lent. It is a good reminder of where my head and my heart were at the time and looking to see if I still feel and understand what I posted. So here goes another post about Lent for me to look back on in a year:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I struggled with what to give up for Lent this year. I normally take pride in thinking of something both creative and challenging, and I was at a loss up until I was at church on Ash Wednesday. The gospel for that day read: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"...And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Matthew 6: 5-6</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This passage used to confuse me, especially when it is read on Ash Wednesday, where we wear ashes on our head, proclaiming our faith. But it made me realize that I shouldn't be giving up something just to be creative-or to impress those I tell. It should be something to remind me of God's love, the sacrifice Jesus made and to bring me back to my faith. So I decided to add 30 minutes of reading my Bible each day. I'll admit-there have been days when its been 19 minutes or that I forgot all together. I won't use the excuse of grad school or being tired either, because I could have found time in the day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The first day, I sat with my Bible open, reading all the notes or highlighted passages but I didn't have much of a plan on how I would spend my 30 minutes each night. I started reading Proverbs because it's been on my list of books I haven't read all the way through but want to. Boy, did I choose a tough book to get through. Not because it's heavy, but because it is filled with so many little pieces of advice, often written in a metaphor (what I love most is that when Solomon discusses Wisdom with female pronouns!) Since it is so complex, I later chose to read one chapter each night. Two nights ago I read chapter 13 where it states:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Pride only breeds quarrels, but wisdom is found in those who take advice."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Proverbs: 13:10</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It is such a great reminder that being right isn't the only thing that matters. I LOVE being right, anyone who knows me knows this. But it can also be dangerous to get so confident in myself that I don't look for or accept advice when I need it. I act as though accepting advice would hurt my pride, when it would only increase my wellbeing. Sure, there is some bad advice out there, but there is also some <i>really </i>good advice. Like what Matthew 6 says-I don't need to stand prideful at the street corners telling everyone how good of a Christian I am, sometimes I need to go in my own room and listen for God's advice. That sure is harder said than done, though. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">With all the anxieties that come with finishing grad school, like finishing coursework and finding a job, I haven't done a very good job of seeking help. My focus is so much on being able to do these last papers on my own and job searching and preparing for graduation, that I am overwhelming myself. I am not asking for help or advice because I don't want to seem like I'm not put together-and that is just what the Proverbs passage is cautioning. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Moving forward through the Lenten season, I am really going to try to ask for help or advice on things that feel overwhelming. Areas of my life that could use an outside opinion, rather than trying to maintain my pride. Because there won't be much left to be proud of if I can't get to the finish line. </span></div>
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Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-83228343169245554492016-12-05T09:41:00.000-08:002016-12-05T09:41:06.323-08:00Convos with Hadley, my Goddaughter!I'm overdue for a post, I know. I didn't keep to my monthly commitment and I'm sure I am not the only one who had a crazy November so I won't use that as an excuse. I'll just promise you that there are pictures of the most perfect baby in this post and hope that you will forgive me.<br />
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My November started out in the most wonderful way possible. I got home after a long day of both school and work to a little envelope on my bed. It was addressed to me in Kelley's unmistakable handwriting. I immediately tried to remember what gift I had given her that warranted a thank you (Kelley has always been on top of thank you notes). Little did I know that inside the envelope was a gift for me! Hadley personally asked me to be her Godmother! I immediately started crying, with no one to hug because it was close to midnight and my parents were long asleep.<br />
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I am not a big crier, but this little girl has my heart. Since our alone time in the NICU, while Kelley and Matt caught up on sleep, to the conversations we've had snuggling on the couch, I have tried and failed to convey how much love I have for her. Hadley will never know, but I won't stop trying to tell her what she means to me, her parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles (both literal and figurative). It is my privilege to be her godmother and make sure that not a day goes by where she doesn't know she is loved.<br />
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Two days later, I woke up in a panic. I read my CNN updates and I immediately thought of my sweet Goddaughter. I went into my parent's room and cried in my mother's arms because I didn't know what else to do. I, along with many other men and women, walked through that day numb to whatever came our way.<br />
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A month later, I realize that having Trump as president is our new reality as a country. It has been a rough month, but I came across a quote that stuck with me. I have shared it on Facebook and with friends and family and received mixed feedback.<br />
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<i>"It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept and celebrate those differences." -Audre Lorde</i></div>
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I want to be clear in saying that I do not condone, accept or celebrate any act of oppression, hate or bigotry. This quote, however, helps me to realize that a person who is different or opposite of me does not necessarily approve of those things either. Sure, there are racists and bigots out there. Believe me, I am working damn hard to decrease the amount of ignorance in the world, but I don't want to condone hate or exclusion on my end because of what a person calls themselves. I don't want Hadley to grow up thinking that because a person is opposite of her, they are bad or wrong.<br />
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I had a talk with Hadley the other day about God. Not the first, and most certainly not the last. I talked about how God created her exactly how He imagined, and that He has plans for her that she, nor I, know about. I encouraged her to wake up every morning, thanking God for another day in His creation, just as I do.<br />
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I don't know what the future holds for my dear Goddaughter, but I do know that it will be filled with love and many more conversations. I admit, these last few months the conversations have been a little one-sided, so I cannot wait to hear her input in the future.<br />
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Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-985311908475019392016-10-13T16:01:00.001-07:002016-10-13T16:01:03.846-07:00Learning to Thaw In keeping with my commitment to post monthly, I want to post some of a personal essay I wrote for my Domestic Social and Economic Development Policy class. The prompt was simple: write about the Black Lives Matter Movement. I wrote it as if I was writing a blog post, and it ended up not being so bad. It doesn't have any explicit reference to my faith, but I'm realizing now that my faith doesn't have to be explicit in my thoughts and actions. God is in all that I think and do. Enjoy.<br />
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I am a proud Saint Louisan. Or at least I thought I was until August 2014, when I learned there were pockets of St. Louis that I knew close to nothing about. Sure, I had a basic understanding of my hometown. I’m technically from St. Louis County and growing up, there were only a few places in the city my parents allowed me to go to. The ‘city’ was really only worth going to for a baseball game, Soulard for the farmer’s market, and University City was okay if I was home before dark. I knew some of my high school classmates were bussed in from the city, but I had no idea where from and it never crossed my mind to ask.<br />
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In 2008, when I was a sophomore, Charles “Cookie” Thornton shot and killed five people in a town hall meeting, before being fatally shot himself. I woke up to the news that among others, a classmate of mine lost her mother, an officer I worked with in the past was killed outside the building and our mayor was in critical condition. I went to school, but quickly realized there would be no academic education that day. I did learn, however, that racial tensions run deep in our quaint little town of Kirkwood and the surrounding area. It was the first time I realized that my town needed to hear that Black lives matter.<br />
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I traveled south for college where it was easy to point out racist comments, ideology and practices. I boasted that I was from a much more diverse city. I majored African and African American Studies to make sure no one could call me ignorant to our country’s history. I felt like I could be a part of tough conversations surrounding race, and knew these conversations were not something to shy away from. If we were going to improve as a country, we had to have these conversations. I was looking at the big picture, but hadn’t applied this to my hometown. I was still a proud St. Louisan.<br />
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August 9, 2014 was the first time I was scared to tell people I was from St. Louis, not because of the shooting, but because I had no idea where Ferguson was on the map. For the first time I felt like I knew nothing about my city. Two weeks later, I left for a volunteer year in Philadelphia. I left the 24-hour news coverage on channel five. I left the nightly vigils and confusion. I was able to leave.<br />
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When I landed in Philadelphia I felt both relief and anxiety. Stepping off the plane, I watched the news that the rest of the country saw, not the local news. I saw what was being included and knew what was being left out. All of a sudden, I became the spokesperson for St. Louis for the 30 people I worked with. I tried my hardest to sell them on the idea that despite what was going on, St. Louis was still a great place. I made sure to mention that Ferguson is a fraction of the larger St. Louis area. I still wanted to be proud of the city that I just left.<br />
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Then I came back. I came back after the jury chose not to indict Darren Wilson. I came back after the Black Lives Matter Movement arrived in St. Louis. I was home to recognize the one-year anniversary of Michael Brown’s death and I happen to be in a racial justice training at the time. It was a hard homecoming. I was coming back to a city that I wasn’t truly proud of, but I didn’t want to admit it. I wanted so badly to erase the racist history of St. Louis, at the same time jump on board with the Black Lives Matter Movement. I wanted to take what I learned in my undergraduate classes and explain to people that not all racism is overt, but I was frozen. I was frozen with the fear of not having a place in the Movement. I still am.<br />
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In that same racial justice training, I was confronted with my Whiteness. I understand that People of Color and Native People face both explicit racism and systematic oppression that I will never have to experience. I understand that changes need to be made not just on the personal level, but at the policy level as well. What I could not grasp during that training, and what I have been working on for the last year, is how to both own my Whiteness and contribute to the Movement.<br />
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The Black Lives Matter Movement existed before Michael Brown’s death and grew larger after the jury’s decision not to indict. It exists beyond St. Louis City and County limits. I know this, however, St. Louis is the lens through which I see the Movement. It is where I can reasonably participate, more than just the discussions in an academic setting. Yet, I admit, I haven’t done much.<br />
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I am frozen because I don’t know what my role is. I left St. Louis at one of the most crucial times to stay, to raise awareness and fight for change. I was able to leave, not just geographically, but because of my Whiteness. I am able to turn off the news and I don’t have to fear for my life when I am pulled over for speeding or a stalled car. I have stood in solidarity for pictures and posted on Facebook that Black Lives Matter and that we need to stop killing our neighbors, but it does not feel like enough. At the end of the day, I go home and choose what news I want to see or read, while my Black peers are not able to get away from it. It is their reality, not mine.<br />
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In another racial justice training, the facilitator used a metaphor. She said the fight for social change is like rowing a boat. Often, White people stand at the shore and yell commands or provide ‘encouragement’ to the Black people in the boat doing the work. Instead, we need to swim out to the boat, climb on board and start rowing. I struggle with this metaphor because, on one hand, it makes perfect sense. On the other, I wonder how I can get on board without taking someone else’s seat. I know that White people have a place in fighting for racial justice, but I am deathly afraid of looking like the White Savior. This may be my own insecurity or an excuse for my lack of involvement, but it is where I currently stand in the Movement. I want to figure out how to use my voice, my privilege, to amplify the voice of others.<br />
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Hope is not lost, though. In trying to move from my frozen state, I’m realizing I do not have to write a law or make a speech to have an impact. Being a White person involved in the Black Lives Matter Movement does not automatically make me a White Savior. Actions of a White Savior are ones that highlight their own hard work and sacrifice. I have never enjoyed the spotlight and that won’t change now. Moving forward, I am starting to see the impact of simple conversations with neighbors, or what it means to share a post on Facebook. Sure, these are small steps, but they are steps nonetheless.<br />
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It is an interesting time to be a St. Louisan right now. More than two years after the killing of Michael Brown it feels like we’ve made little progress. The media has moved on from Ferguson to the next terrible killing, the next poor family, the next victim. The Department of Justice has performed an investigation but significant changes are not yet apparent. I cannot say I’m a proud St. Louisan at this point, but I’m not giving up on my city either. The only way St. Louis can improve its history of terrible race relations is if we bring it up from under the rug and start talking, which is why I plan to stay here for a while. My contributions may not be officially related to the Black Lives Matter Movement, but they are keeping the conversation going. Through my education at Washington University, personal reflection, and discussions with friends and colleagues, I am finally thawing from my frozen state, and ready to do more.<br />
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Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-39296041307429079772016-09-19T10:44:00.001-07:002016-09-19T10:44:48.965-07:00Brave to be an AmericanThere's a lot going on in our country right now, isn't there? Is it just me or do other's feel like an election year lasts 10 times longer than a regular year? I can't say I am proud of everything going on and I am still trying to figure out where I stand on certain events. Rather than write a blog about the confusion of what it is to be an American today, I am going to talk about bravery.<br />
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My practicum is at the International Institute of St. Louis this semester, where newly settled refugees come for assistance in all areas of life, from health and housing assistance to employment and education. It has been around since 1919 and does incredible work. I know that's a pretty broad statement, so if you want to learn more let's grab a coffee and chat about it!<br />
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Anyway, last week I was able to sit in on a citizenship ceremony for 39 new Americans. Those who know me well know I don't get emotional about much, except for Hadley Marie, who moved me to tears the first time I saw her perfect face, and the movie Remember the Titans-I cry during the final scene every time. Last week, however, as the court choir sang America The Beautiful and the 39 new Americans stood up to say their names, where they were from, and how long they've been in the States, I could've used a tissue.<br />
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I sat there in almost disbelief. In a time where certain politicians and media personnel are telling citizens who are unhappy with their country to leave and want to place restrictions on entire ethnic and religious groups from entering the country, they still wanted to call America home. They believe in the freedoms promised in our Constitution and believe in the opportunity for success.<br />
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I sat in disbelief not because I think those 39 people are fools, but because they reassured me. It has been so easy to complain about the state of our country. So easy to say I'm turning in my passport if Trump gets elected. These 39 people are brave. They know the power of their vote and their voice. They acted as a reminder not to wallow in my own disbelief that our country can't change because, for them, it has to. It has to be better because they gave up everything to put their hand on their heart and say the Pledge of Allegiance to The US.<br />
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Not every person standing at the ceremony last week was a refugee or came from a Third World country, but every person standing gave up citizenship from another country. They believe so much in what the American flag stands for, that they held it proudly with their certificate of citizenship in a picture.<br />
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This post isn't without its concerns. I struggle with the idea that the American flag and the Constitution carry the same meaning for everyone in this country and abroad. I have seen people strive for the American Dream and are heartbroken to discover inequality in our country. I still say that I'll turn in my passport if Trump is elected, but I am encouraged by those 39 people to keep working. To keep pursuing a career where I can make new Americans feel welcome. To keep educating others of the benefits to welcoming new citizens. To keep exploring better ways to do certain things I was once sure of to better serve those around me.<br />
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I am so proud of those 39 people I never met. They'll never know who I am, but I hope my applause from the balcony of the room meant something to them that day. I hope they realize just how brave they are to embark on a new life as an American.<br />
<br />Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-76240468576803011712016-08-11T13:49:00.003-07:002016-08-11T13:49:49.623-07:00Self-Care, Don't CareI have no idea where the summer went. None. I am back in the thick of training for my fellowship with Residential Life at WashU and soon enough I will be back in the classroom for one last year of classes before you can call me Abby MacDonald, Master of Social Work!<br />
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Yesterday, we had one of many tough conversations surrounding racial justice: how to discuss the negative racial narratives in today's society and share counter-narratives to influence social change. During a time when many people feel uncomfortable discussing race and how it impacts the way an individual moves through life, Res Life has been clear about the need to have tough conversations. The talk yesterday shined a light on a lot, and while we didn't solve all the world's problems, or come up with a solution for institutional racism (which I think would solve MANY of the world's problems), it got everyone at the table thinking.<br />
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I've written about the need for self-care on this blog before and last night, I listened to my own advice. I lit a lavender (supposedly calming?) candle and got back on my yoga mat. Normally I watch a video at home as a guide, but this time I just did what felt right. I realized I am not at all ready to lead a class, but I listened to what my body needed which was a lot more difficult than anticipated.<br />
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I love the fact that I can do yoga at home for many reasons: 1. It's free. 2. I can do it in my sports bra and underwear should I choose to (sorry if that was too much information). 3. If I want to do some yoga at 2:30 in the morning, I can. I haven't ever done that, but should I find the need, I can. 4. When I make a mistake, or take a risk and fall on my face, no one is there to laugh. Today, though, I put some pants on and went to a yoga class at the local YMCA. I love my Y because I am usually the youngest person in the room so I don't feel intimidated or judged. Nor do I feel the need to compare myself to the 70 year old man wearing khakis on a treadmill.*<br />
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Getting on the yoga mat has always been both a challenge and a blessing for me. It forces me to concentrate on my breathing, an intention, and on balance. I often look at yoga as a connection to my faith. Many of my intentions are just prayers to God. It is where I can be fully present and contemplate what His plans are for me. Today, as I packed my mat and waterbottle for a class, I realized that not only is my personal time with yoga a reflection of my faith, but going to a class with a teacher is comparable to heading to church.<br />
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I love going to church with my parents and family each week. I'll admit there are more days where I choose sleep over church, but each time I return I am reminded why it is worth going. As a good Augustinian alum, I go for the community. I know that my faith is my own journey and the church is a reflection of a man-made religion, but I discovered during my volunteer year that immersing oneself in a community directed towards the same end goal-to be closer to God, can strengthen faith.<br />
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I went into this class today pretty confident. I knew how to do the balance poses, I could touch the ground with straight legs, and I could anticipate the next pose the teacher would ask of us. Toward the end, I didn't really feel like I was pushed very much. I thought I would just go home and work on some other poses. Then a funny thing happened. As I was rolling up my mat, post-namaste, I realized my legs felt well stretched, my body was calm and my arms felt a little noodle-y. The class had an impact on me, even though I thought I was above it.<br />
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All this work I do on my own, be it on the mat or for my faith, can only take me so far. I eventually need to find a class or a church to find inspiration or comfort in the community. Even if I think I'm better than my classmates or stronger in my faith than those around me, I am learning. I am improving as long as I push myself to do so. It takes an effort on my end to go to that class or get out of my pjs on Sunday and go to church, but I am reminded time and time again, that I still have plenty of work to do.<br />
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I am writing this out so that everyone reading can hold me accountable. I am ashamed of how little I blogged last year, especially since it is one of my favorite self-care activities. My goal for this year is to post once a month. I have put a reminder on my calendar for the 25th of every month to write. Feel free to publicly humiliate me if you do not see any posts for more than a month at a time.<br />
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*Sorry if you're a 70 year old man wearing khakis at the gym. I applaud your determination to stay fit, just not your outfit choice.Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-33562037444198643772016-04-17T14:34:00.000-07:002016-04-17T14:34:00.262-07:00How I really feel about April I got a not so subtle hint from my mom that it is time for a new post on here, so here it goes.<br />
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Everyone who has asked me how I'm doing lately has gotten the same response-I hate April. I can't remember the last time I looked back and thought "man, that was a good month." Most Aprils I've been in school and last year was a really long April because my grandmother was sick. This year the month seemed to start a few weeks early. Individual and Group projects are picking up (thank God for good group members this time around) and the weekend nights are getting longer-not because I'm out with friends, but because I'm drinking coffee at 9pm and staring at the page count on my papers.<br />
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Enough of the Debbie Downer talk, though. What's strange is that I'm really happy. I'm increasingly stressed, but loving what I am doing. I know my last post was about the overwhelming effect stress has had on me, so this one will hopefully be a little more encouraging.<br />
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I LOVE my practicum. Working in the legal realm wasn't ever something I considered, but I am seeing through practicum and through my classes, that real change has to come from the policy level. I considered for a brief period of time getting a J.D./MSW but I think I am getting enough with my MSW at this point to navigate the legal world. I did just find out that WashU is offering a new 24 credit Master of Legal Studies degree that has sparked my interest (surprise Mom and Dad!)...more info on that later. I will finish up at The MICA Project (check out their website <a href="http://mica-project.org/" target="_blank">here</a>) after June and I am starting interviews for my second practicum in the Fall. Fingers crossed I get more experience working with immigrants and refugees in a different setting to see what else I enjoy. I am also still on track to do an international practicum next summer so stay tuned for that as well-I wouldn't mind prayers for any of the above!<br />
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I cannot even begin to describe the joy I feel being back in St. Louis. It is so strange to think that I haven't been home for this long since high school, but I couldn't imagine going through grad school in another city. Even though we have been known to drive each other crazy at times, my parents and sisters (and Matt!) have really kept me sane through this first year. They might feel like they don't see me very often, but I am beyond grateful to be home for most Sunday family dinners. This is a tradition I hope continues for a long time!<br />
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As I am sitting outside on one of the most beautiful Spring days (another perk of being back in St. Louis) yet, I can't help but think of my sweet Grandma Janet, who has been my guardian angel this year. We are coming up on the year anniversary of the day she passed away and I find myself thinking of her much more often. There are so many things I wish I could call her and tell her about on Skype, to see her reaction and hear her voice. Instead, I say all these things to her in my prayers. I know she likes being in the known (she was actually the first to hear about my interest in the Master of Legal Studies!) Not surprisingly, I think of her when I notice the beauty of nature. The gorgeous daffodils coming up lately remind me of my last moments with her when I brought some from her own yard to 'beautify' her hospital room. I am so grateful to have so many reminders of her blooming throughout the city.<br />
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As much as I hate April, it's been helpful to sit and think of what makes me happy. I think I have the energy, now, to finish strong. If anyone else is having a rough go around, I encourage you to do the same. Write it down, tell someone, just get it out of your head and into the world. Cheers!Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-22651593226277925412016-03-08T14:19:00.000-08:002016-03-08T14:19:10.177-08:00I should have seen it coming...It's taken me a few days to sit down and write this post. One that is LONG overdue, but hopefully, you will enjoy it.<br />
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Here's how many of my conversations have gone lately.<br />
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"Oh Abby, how are you?? How's school?"<br />
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With a tired smile, I normally answer "Grad school is hard! (awkward laugh), but I'm learning so much! It's great, I love it" Lately, though, that smile is getting more and more tired.<br />
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Last Monday was my tipping point. I skipped one class to read for another (funnily enough the reading was over burnout) and then worked from 3-11pm. I got to my car, turned some calming music on and thought "just make it home, Abby. Just make it home."<br />
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I got to the second to last stop sign on the drive home and lost it. I was sitting there in my car, crying for no apparent reason. Nothing drastic had happened that day, I didn't have any huge assignments due that week, but there I was, crying uncontrollably. The breakdown that had been inching its way to the surface for days, if not weeks, finally got to me. I was mentally, physically and emotionally EXHAUSTED in a way that I haven't felt in grad school thus far.<br />
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Social workers are fantastic at reading about and advocating for self-care, but we are terrible at practicing it. And I mean terrible. Ironically, my class on Friday (which I wasn't sure I would make it to) was devoted to self-care for social workers. We discussed what we like to do for self-care when we have time. Social workers are great at recognizing when reactions to stress go from productive to detrimental but for some reason, we can't take the next step and actually do what we enjoy doing when we need it most. We're always 'too busy' to exercise, or have too many assignments to go grab a drink with friends. We advocate for so many, but can't advocate for ourselves, so we end up crying at a stop sign less than two minutes away from home.<br />
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A classmate of mine brought up the guilt factor. She mentioned that often times we feel guilty for practicing self-care because so often our clients need us, or don't have what we have. We feel bad turning off our phones and reading when clients or classmates might need us to answer questions.<br />
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So I made it to Friday afternoon and I wasn't quite sure what I could change from last week to this week to make sure my neighbors didn't see another impromptu meltdown in my car. Then Sunday came. I feel as though this blog is slowly turning into an advertising campaign for the Catholic Student Center at WashU and Father Gary because every time I go, I feel like writing a blog post.<br />
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Anyway, he told a story about one of my favorite authors and priest, Gregory Boyle, and his conversation with a woman who felt like she had given everything she had but still didn't know how to accept gifts from others. She didn't feel like she deserved to be on the receiving end of someone's love/actions. I bet she was a social worker...<br />
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It's a hard lesson to learn how to receive love and help when your whole life is dedicated to giving it. This is especially difficult when the one giving love is God, who gives unconditionally! It is hard to build up the courage to ask God for some of that much-needed love and attention.<br />
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Sometimes, though, we don't even know we are asking for it...it just looks like a poor girl crying in her car at a stop sign...<br />
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A week later and I think I have a little stronger of a grip on life. I took a step back from everything going on, spent a lot more time sending prayers to God, and reached out to friends and family for love. I truly believe that God's love rests in those who know you best, and spending time with them is like a visit with Him. They inject you with the strength you need to keep going.<br />
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So thank you to anyone who listened to me last week, who saw that I was exhausted and needed encouragement. You are truly a gift from God.<br />
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Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-22563804137287003902015-11-26T21:07:00.000-08:002015-11-26T21:07:14.978-08:00Taking on a big challengeFor family, friends, God, my home, my dogs, my school, my country...<br />
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All these things and plenty more I have been thankful for over the years. This year? I'm grateful for the challenge.<br />
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The challenge that comes with moving back home, with school, with life. In my daily prayers the first thing I say is 'thank you'. I can't remember who told me about this habit, but I like it. If you can't think of anything else to tell God, just say thank you. So coming up with something to be grateful for this year wasn't hard. I make that list daily because I am beyond blessed with so many great people and gifts in my life. What I try and do now is find the silver lining (sometimes it's really thin and hard to see) in all of my challenges. I am thankful for the challenge because it makes everything I thank God for on a daily basis that much more meaningful.<br />
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It has taken me truly ALL semester to find a time to sit down and write this post. I have barely taken a breath but as tired as I am, I love it. It is a series of challenges that I am learning a lot from. I am learning that not everything should be started the day before its due, but sometimes that happens. I am learning that talking about how stressed I am takes up too much time so it's faster and easier to just push through. I am learning that group projects are less about the paper and more about the people. I am learning that it's hard to miss a family dinner, but the leftovers for lunch are really nice...I am learning that my parents and sisters notice that I'm not around very often, but it makes the time I am home that much better.<br />
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About a week ago, when I wasn't sure the silver lining was there, I reached out to a friend about how much harder grad school is than I anticipated. I knew it was going to be more difficult than undergrad, and I knew WashU was going to be tough, but DANG it is kicking my butt. I knew I reached out to the right person because she can always find the silver lining. Always. She reminded me that the academic stress is temporary, that I am building plenty of new relationships with all my classmates, and I get to learn a new campus (let's be honest, I love college campuses!) So as much as I feel like I'm drowning in papers, projects and reading, I am learning SO much. Both what is in those textbooks and what I am made of.<br />
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I am loving my fellowship with Resident Life. I get to build relationships with people from all different walks of life. I get to have conversations and experiences I never thought I'd have and I get to (hopefully positively) influence the undergrads. I get to be behind the fun they are having on campus.<br />
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Next semester I am starting a practicum at The MICA (Migrant and Immigrant Community Action) Project here in Saint Louis. It provides legal aid and community resources to the needs of the migrant and immigrant populations and I will be helping with the nonlegal needs of the community. More to come on that once I start but I figured I would give those interested an update.<br />
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I'd like to say I will be posting more regularly but I can't make promises.Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-20262638159732597052015-08-15T15:08:00.000-07:002015-08-15T15:08:30.736-07:00Though My Voice May Tremble <span style="font-family: inherit;">As some people know, I have started intensive training for my graduate fellowship with Residential Life at WashU. And I mean intensive. The quality of training by WashU Res Life is apparent in the level of satisfaction in the students. I can already tell how much I am going to love my staff, supervisors and the other grad-fellows. The environment is so inclusive and open-minded, I can understand why people love working in student administration. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That being said, WashU goes to great lengths to make sure the RAs are prepared for the year. Everything from what it means to be a leader, Title IX and emergency procedures, to Mental Health and Diversity Inclusion activities. Today, two Social Justice facilitators were brought in to discuss the reality of microagressions and biases towards marginalized populations. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We were asked to walk around the room and look at images, social media platforms and incidents from past university settings that displayed racist, ignorant and/or biased comments. In other trainings we were made aware that some of this may be triggering and difficult information to digest, however there was no warning before today's activity. And it hit many like a brick wall.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was made very aware of the fact that I am in the majority in most aspects of my life. Aside from being aware that I am a woman, which has a lengthy history of struggle, I am white, middle class and heterosexual. I have never had to fight for my right to marry the person I love. I have never had to defend myself to an authority figure based on the color of my skin. Rarely do I have to defend my religion-one that is relatively standard and accepted in America. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This isn't the first time I have been made aware of my 'standing' or my privilege. In the past this privilege has led to a lot of guilt, which surfaced today. I have worked damn hard to engage in education and conversation that would lead to me being </span>cognizant of my surroundings<span style="font-family: inherit;">. Lead me to be more understanding and to be an advocate for those who may not look or act like me. Deserving of recognition nonetheless.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the time we had to ourselves, I pulled my phone out and began writing. I don't exactly know what I wrote-if it is classified as poetry, creative writing, etc (I wasn't an English major) but as I have blogged about before, this is what I do when I have too many thoughts bouncing around. So, here it goes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> </b><i>I am s<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">itting in a silent room that could not be screaming louder cries. Witnessing those who have hurt for so long be re-traumatized, re-living their greatest fear, facing their biggest enemy. My internal cry asks why is this still an issue? Why are we still struggling for acceptance? </span></i></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I hope those who have been marginalized know if they are not loved by all, they are at least loved by one.</i></span></span><br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">I am not gay, bi or </span><span style="color: #222222;">transsexual</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">. I am not Black or Latino. I am not Muslim or Jewish. I am not an overshadowed minority. Though I am a woman, I am privileged. I am guilty. </span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>My voice is strong but trembles when I hear stories of those who have been beaten. Those who have been ignored. I am infuriated by peers, elders and those younger than myself who exert dominance over any group. Over any person different from themselves. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Though I am angered, I refuse to believe this is a loss. I refuse to give up on the idea that one person can love all. That my thoughts can have an impact. Though my voice may tremble, it is still a voice. One to be taken seriously. One to be heard. </i></span></div>
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While this exercise was draining for all and traumatizing for many, it taught me something. It taught me that I have to do more than simply engage in conversation. It is my hope to build my reputation as one of love, respect and advocacy. Working in ResLife is a great start, but this need for acceptance and recognition reaches far beyond a college campus. It infiltrates our personal and professional lives. </div>
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I can't think of a better way to tie my faith into my training then by quoting 1 Peter 4:8<i> "Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins." </i>We are all human. With recognition of our differences must come love and respect, or no progress can be made. </div>
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<br />Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-69579795690262583882015-05-27T18:52:00.000-07:002015-05-27T18:52:35.696-07:00Living with intention, on and off the matLike I said in the last post my Spring has flown by and the summer-like weather outside has made me feel like I should update this blog a bit. <div>
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I was doing yoga today and it got me thinking. In both online videos and live classes most of the time I am asked to set an intention for the length of the practice. It can be one word or it can be a thought-anything that I want to dedicate my practice to. It gives me the opportunity to focus on what is happening on the mat and nothing else. It also allows me to have a tighter grip on what I want to do, how I want to feel and who I want to be when I leave the mat. </div>
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We were asked at the beginning of our service year what we wanted to accomplish. Why we were here, what we wanted to get out of it-our intention. At the start, I was focused on everyone else. I wanted to serve the poor and build community-like a good Augustinian. I thought it would be the perfect way to put my needs and life on hold and focus on others. </div>
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At mid-year, I came back to 'my mat' and realized my intention had changed. While living as a good Augustinian made me feel accomplished, I wasn't recognizing my own needs. Thinking I could put my life on hold for a year while I served others was a crazy thought. Life has been moving at lightning speed and there are days I wish I were anywhere but serving in Philadelphia but I try to still live with intention. I'm leaning into the vulnerability of being on my own. </div>
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I came back to my mat for grad school applications. That became my main focus for months. It was really hard not to base my worth on the potential outcomes of my applications. My intention for that time period was to believe in myself. To believe that whatever the outcome, I was moving in the right direction. I was good enough. Boy, was it a surprise to read "Congratulations, Abigail..." in an email from all 5 schools. Choosing Washington University in Saint Louis was a very hard decision. One that I spent a lot of time praying about and discussing with friends, family and roommates. Leaving the mat, I am able to rest comfortably knowing it is where I really want to be. </div>
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One of the hardest days of this year was May 1st. It was the day I lost my sweet Grandma Janet. It was also the hardest time I've had trying to set and keep an intention for yoga. As I did the different poses with tears in my eyes I kept repeating, "May she rest peacefully in the arms of the Lord. May she be at peace." And you know what? It worked for me. It has been so comforting to know she is free and at peace. So while it was the hardest day yet for me to return to my mat, and stay focused on my intention, I am a firm believer in the power of yoga. I am confident that the focus it allows for is beneficial to the mind and heart. </div>
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I believe with all that I am that my Grandmother lived with intention. Everything she did, she believed had meaning behind it. Everything mattered to her. She listened to the sounds of nature because wanted the birds to know they were heard. She painted portraits of her children and grandchildren so they knew they were seen. She held my grandfather's hand so he knew he was loved. She left her mat, this world, living out her intention. In the words of one of my friends, I believe now she is 'painting a mural on the walls of heaven'. She accomplished what she was here to do and I can only hope to do the same. </div>
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I came back to the mat today with the intention of "letting it be". One that I often return to. My anxious mind has had a hard time lately with the idea that in one month I am essentially starting over. I am moving back home, starting graduate school, diving into a new job. I am returning to the ever changing world I thought I could put on hold a year ago. While my mind constantly wants to move forward, I cherish those 45 minute to an hour times that I get to sit on the mat, take deep breaths in and out and focus on calming my mind and heart. While I am far from being an expert in yoga, I have fully embraced the mindset. </div>
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Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-4788076127206909262015-03-10T13:40:00.003-07:002015-03-10T13:40:55.679-07:00Sewing seeds for the rest of my life<br />
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Waiting on the wind to take us</div>
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But we will sew with seeds instead</div>
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Starting with words we've said</div>
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And we will all be changed</div>
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-Seryn, "We Will All Be Changed"</div>
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My Spring is about to FLY by so I wanted to slow down for a second and get back to this blog. </div>
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When my parents come to Philadelphia next week it will mark the 7th month that I have been in Philadelphia. SEVENTH. Some days I'll admit it feels like I've been here forever and other days I feel like everything is still so new. A lot has happened in the last 7 months, both for me and those at home and I never could have predicted such an experience. One that has been a HUGE lesson on vulnerability. A word and an action I'm not so comfortable with. </div>
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Coming into a new job in a new city with new roommates can be a little nerve-wrecking. It's an experience that screams vulnerability and at the beginning I was forcing myself to be okay with it. I opened myself up to my roommates from the get-go- I think we all did. We were going to be sharing a similar experience for the next 10 months, there was no use in sugar coating anything. In this, I found myself really happy. I didn't know why I was ever so cautious to be open about myself with others in the past. Then stuff got hard. I was missing out on exciting family events, I wasn't able to be there for a friend going through the loss of a parent and I had no one 'familiar' to talk to, to hug, to be near. This was the true test of vulnerability-not moving to a new city or going through awkward "get to know you" activities. It was realizing that this was my life for the next 10 months and whether the girls I lived with liked it or not, they became my familiarity. They became the ones I talked to and hugged and cried with. </div>
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As for my job, I hate to brag but I think I'm pretty good at what I do-at least that's what it seemed like at my mid-year evaluation. Though vulnerability takes a new shape with this job. I have learned that this job is not always go-go-go like I may wish it were sometimes. I have to find a way to be grateful for the time this job has given me to take a break and breathe sometimes. I don't always see immediate change like all social workers wish they could. I have realized I am not meant to teach three year-olds and that third grade math is hard for third graders...no matter how easy it comes to my mind. It has made me vulnerable in the sense that I can't always do exactly what I want to do when I want to do it. God is giving me this time to figure out my next step and I'm not exactly comfortable with how much time He has given me. I feel like I'm SO ready to move forward and do more and He keeps pumping the breaks. As my good friend Margaret reminds me, I'm still experiencing a big life choice, I don't need to worry about the next one yet"</div>
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Speaking of-graduate school. Holy cow I didn't realize that the application process would be so much different than undergraduate. After MANY Skype sessions with my mom and having my roommates read and reread my essays, I have submitted applications to five schools for a Master in Social Work program. Saint Louis University, Washington University in Saint Louis, Temple University, Boston College and University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. While I still wait (very anxiously) to hear back from the first four schools, I am happy to announce I got in to University of Illinois! I obviously have made no decisions but it has been a long, hard, process and I am happy to know I at least got into one school!</div>
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So what's with the song lyrics above? I'm sure you're wondering. This has been one of the songs that has gotten me through some tough parts of the year as a volunteer. Not necessarily tough as in feeling like I can't make it through but tough as in remember not to simply go through the motions. In remembering that I chose to do this year for a reason, not just to be a resume builder. The line "we can write with ink and pen but we will sew with seeds instead" has been a huge mantra for me. It continues to say 'start with words we've said and we will all be changed' which mirrors what I am doing. I spent four years of college writing with ink and pen, studying, researching, writing papers, all on what I want to do in the future. What will that get me if I never actually do it? I can be the best student in the world, but if I haven't experienced vulnerability, hard work, and joy, what is there to relay to others? </div>
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As a volunteer, I am using what I have studied-I am starting with the words I've said, and using it to push myself forward into a real world experience. I am sewing seeds to grow something, my future self, into what I want it to look like. So while there are some days I feel I am just going through the motions, and not actually letting myself feel vulnerable, or even powerful, I remember that this year was meant to sew seeds. I meant for it to be a year of action to spring me forward for the rest of my life. For that I am grateful. </div>
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I hope this catches everyone up on what I've been experiencing the last 7 months-it has been a huge lesson on vulnerability-what it is, what it feels like and how to deal with it. Luckily I have 3 more months of it. Wish me luck! </div>
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</span>Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-58800300724680380452015-01-27T17:00:00.001-08:002015-01-27T17:01:39.653-08:00Sing With Me<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px; text-align: justify;">"</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.5px; text-align: justify;">O sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the earth! Sing to the Lord, bless his name; tell of his salvation from day to day. </span><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; line-height: 21px; text-align: justify;">Declare his glory among the nations, </span><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; line-height: 21px; text-align: justify;">his marvelous deeds among all peoples." Psalm 96:1-3</span></span><br />
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Music, whether you are singing to it, listening to it or creating it, is pretty incredible-isn't it? I was home last weekend for a wedding (congrats to the happy couple!) and when I got back to Philly I realized how profound an impact music and song had on me last weekend and every weekend.<br />
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On Saturday I sat down on a pew next to friends as we were getting ready to watch two more friends get married. I looked down on the program and saw the song to be sung and my heart was happy. As I read the words and sang along, I instantly felt better-not that I didn't feel good before, but the song improved my already happy mood.<br />
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The following day I went to church for mass and I was most excited for the music. The CSC at Washington University has a top-notch band and choir, one that makes everyone want to sing along. My grandmother was next to me and we sang along in our not so top notch, yet beautiful in their own way voices. I looked to the choir and saw the raw joy in one of the choir members faces. I saw the confidence in another's sway as they sang along. No doubt about it, everyone in the choir was there because they liked it. Because music means something to them. That joy, that confidence, seeps into those listening. Enough to make us sing along no matter how good or bad our voices are.<br />
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I have a roommate who goes to church many times for the joy of listening to music. Another for the joy of singing. Church hymns and song lyrics provide a certain comfort that simply spoken words may not. I have been known to turn on my favorite song when I need a reminder that everything will be okay. There's a song for every type of mood, isn't there? Music to calm us down or pump us up. Memories, good or bad, are attached to certain songs. There is music for certain occasions that would be wildly inappropriate if played in another setting.<br />
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So what is it about music, or song that is so great? Surely there are songs in the world I could go without hearing (the majority of country songs), but what is it that makes music in general, so appealing? Have you ever heard someone say "no...I don't like music of any kind."? You would call them crazy, because we all have our own reasons for liking the music we like.<br />
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Sitting in the different pews this weekend it dawned on me. I like music because it brings people together to make something beautiful. Alone, my voice isn't so beautiful. Many people aren't blessed with my a good singing voice. But if you go into my church or any other that has people that excited about singing, you can hear it. You can hear the beauty of what joy sounds like. If you come into our apartment when our roommate is playing her guitar and singing, you can hear the comfort in her voice and the song she wrote.<br />
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Waking up Monday morning I read the devotional I get by email each day. Included was Psalm 96:1-3, quoted above. It asks us to sing, literally or figuratively. To show our comfort and our devotion to God. To show what His love has done for us.<br />
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How perfect? Alone our voices, whether sung or spoken, written or in action, may not seem like a lot. But if you sit back, close your eyes and listen to the praises and the joy in all of our voices together, something beautiful is heard.<br />
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<br />Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-26904790330306463122015-01-14T14:42:00.001-08:002015-01-14T14:42:49.092-08:00I am happy here. My apologies for neglecting to post on here for too long! I tried to think of a good reason(okay, excuse) as to why I haven't been posting and I cannot think of one other than living in Philly has been totally different than I expected and I'm not quite sure how to put into words the experience I'm having. So let me back up to the last time I blogged and see if I can fill you guys in.<br />
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Last you heard I was on a bus with one of the women in the assisted living program that shares a building with the Parish. Not much has changed there, I still say hello to Ms. Elizabeth and I still take the bus each morning and night. If anything I am branching out more and more into the city and all its neighborhoods. If you didn't hear, Philadelphia is the NY Times' #3 city to visit in 2015 (thanks, Dad, for sharing the article with me!) and after living here for 5 months, I can see why! It has taken me a while but I really feel comfortable navigating around the city now. My parents came to visit in November and I think they were impressed by my navigation skills.<br />
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Since I've written last I have celebrated my first Thanksgiving away from home (something I was reluctant to agree to) and I have to admit-it wasn't so bad. I successfully cooked a turkey and stuffing and I celebrated with my three roommates by going to the parade in center city. We shared stories and traditions over a turkey dinner and I ended up being grateful for the experience-that being said, Kirkwood's Thanksgiving tradition still has my heart.<br />
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Also since you've last read, I have been home! I was blessed with two weeks home for Christmas and New Years-a time which went by WAY too fast but was just what I needed to be energized for this next half of my service year. I didn't quite realize how homesick I was was waiting to de-board the plane. As physically tired as I was after the two weeks of seeing just about everyone as I could, my heart was so happy and full. I actually felt ready to come back to Philly-which I was nervous being home would only make it harder being away longer.<br />
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Before going back to work all the volunteers from all the different sites came together for a midyear retreat in Ocean City, NJ-about an hour away from Philadelphia. A bunch of the previous volunteers raved about how great midyear retreat was for them but the entire time I thought 'who wants to go to the beach in January with 20+ people in one house?'-now I know why. It was SO great to see all the other volunteers and to just be present, in that moment, with the people who were serving different communities. I learned a lot about the different sites, how everyone was getting along and that I wasn't alone in some of the hesitations I had both about my current position and what is coming after this year is over.<br />
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Speaking of, I just turned in my first of many graduate school applications today! I have decided to apply to different schools for a Master's degree in Social Work. If this year has taught me anything it is that my heart is in social service (that may not come as a surprise to anyone). There's an odd sense of satisfaction when you realize where you're being called but aren't quite able to describe it to anyone. Or even yourself for that matter. I am happy to know I am moving in the right direction. I am happy I have options and I am happy that I have support from my friends and family even if they don't know how to describe what I want to do. Short answer-I want to help people.<br />
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My roommates and I are big quote people. Much of our dedicated prayer time is centered around different quotes because that is where we find comfort. One of my favorites lately is <b><i>"Let yourself be drawn by the pull of what you really love. You'll be happy there. Promise."</i></b> It was a pinterest find so I'm not sure who said it, but whoever you are, thank you. Thank you for the confirmation. Thank you for the confidence.<br />
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I really LOVE helping others, and truth be told, I think I'm damn good at it! So in the year ahead I have decided to have confidence in knowing that doing what I love is enough. While I could go CRAZY with trying to figure out the best option for a career is, I am trying to be calm and go with what I know. What I love.<br />
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(I also made a new year's resolution to blog at least once a month-hopefully I can keep to it!)Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-16530584799883944612014-10-17T08:29:00.002-07:002014-10-17T08:29:45.275-07:00What good conversation can do for the soulTrying to explain where I live here in Philadelphia to people seems to be more difficult than expected so most of the time I just tell people I live at St. Augustine's church, because for all intents and purposes, I do. The building my apartment is in is owned by the church which is literally right next door(a huge motivator to go to church every week by the way!) I also live on the second floor because the first floor is home to Women of Hope, which is an assisted living facility for adult women struggling with homelessness and mental illness. <div>
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There are a handful of women I see each day as I leave for work or come home for the day. Often they are talking with each other and/or smoking a cigarette. Many of the women smile and wave to me, and I of course return the wave. They come to church and the meals the church provides on Sundays where we again exchange a smile and a wave. Today was a little different. I was walking to my bus stop for work and saw one of the women who is always quick to share a smile waiting for the same bus. She came up to me, so incredibly excited to share with me that she got a job. After a congratulatory hug, our bus came and we continued to chat on the bus. I learned so much about Ms. Elizabeth in the 25 minute ride we shared together-we have moved passed just a friendly wave. </div>
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Ms. Elizabeth shared with me that after her husband died, she went through a nervous breakdown which led to her homelessness. She shared what park she lived in and that she never begged for money. She shared with me that when she became homeless she bought a Bible, continued to pray and ask others for prayer. She insisted on getting a hand up in this world, not a hand out. Ms. Elizabeth shared how many people she has been blessed to have in her life. She shared that so many people struggling with homelessness and mental illness don't take the difficult steps to get better and rely on the hand outs she tried so hard to avoid. </div>
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In the 25 minutes I spoke with Ms. Elizabeth it became evident that she just wanted someone to share in her happiness. She didn't want pity for her hard life but wanted to share in the joy of answered prayers. She is an incredible reminder that a hard life is no reason to give up on God. Her faith stays constant in any situation and the obstacles make the reward that much sweeter. </div>
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Right before her stop she told me her mother always said everyone just needs someone to talk to. No one lives in this world by themselves. Her mother was so right. It can be so easy to go through life thinking no one understands what you are going through. It can be so easy to isolate ourselves from people who are different from us but SO much can be learned by simply talking. Talking and listening to a relative stranger. Ms. Elizabeth is no longer a stranger, she is a source of inspiration. I cannot wait to see her, smile and wave and ask her how her job is. We should all take after her belief in getting a hand up in life not a hand out.</div>
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Thank you, Ms. Elizabeth, for sharing. </div>
Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-53914680660653627032014-09-19T14:53:00.001-07:002014-09-19T14:53:50.408-07:00A Lukewarm Christian Is As Bad As Lukewarm CoffeeThings learned in Philly:<br />
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<li>"yous" is not nearly as catchy as "y'all"</li>
<li>scarf weather comes much earlier here than Arkansas</li>
<li> A good book can take you far</li>
<li>It's hard not being close to your best friends</li>
<li>If you're nice enough to a friar he may buy you a beer</li>
<li>Three year olds don't quite grasp the concept of a structured environment</li>
<li>What was once "daily wear" now constitutes as "dress-down" wear</li>
<li>The quest for the best cheesesteak may in fact never end</li>
<li>A mother's advice whether in person or over the phone is still unbelievably helpful</li>
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It's weird, I was talking with my friend and old roommate, Margaret, who is living in Boston for the year and going through something similar to me. We were seen in Arkansas as these big city slickers coming from St. Louis but here we are seen as country-folk. In the last 4 years she and I have gotten really good at being the outsiders. Sometimes it's fun, sometimes it sucks. I am normally one to thrive on difference. I like talking to new people from new places doing new things. I think Margaret would agree. For the past couple of days though I have been getting an itch for familiarity. I'm sure this is normal, but it's also bothersome. </div>
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I was talking to my incredible advice-giving mother today about the new stress of where to go from here. I know, I know, you must be surprised to hear me planning already. (<i>ohhh the sarcasm</i>) Anyway, after expressing the frustration to my mom about the backwardness of the American education system and how expensive life is, she helped me to realize how incredibly blessed I am. Blessed with the time to do my research. Blessed with the time to build my resume. Blessed with the time to also pause the grad school application process and explore a new city. A city that I'm not sure I'll be ready to leave in a year (hence the open tabs on my computer to different MSW programs in Philadelphia). I am blessed beyond words in so many areas of my life, and while I wanted to scream earlier today with the curse of grad school, she helped me turn it around. </div>
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Along with all these blessings, I am also blessed with the time to read good books. I am currently rereading <u>Crazy Love</u>, by Francis Chan. In one of the chapters he discusses what a "lukewarm Christian" is and how easy it is to become one. Let me share a section that really hit close to home. It's kind of long, but bare with me-I will make a connection at the end!</div>
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"<i>Lukewarm people do not live by faith: their lives are structured so they never have to. They don't trust God if something unexpected happens-they have their savings account. They don't need God to help them-they have retirement plans in place. They don't genuinely seek out what life God would have them live-they have life figured and mapped out. They don't depend on God on a daily basis-their refrigerators are full and, for the most part, they are in good health. </i><b style="font-style: italic;">The truth is, their lives wouldn't look much different if they suddenly stopped believing in God." </b></div>
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Here's my connection: I have seen and experienced the people Chan takes a whole chapter to describe. I don't believe I am currently one of those people by any means-but I do have a fear of becoming one. My mom reminded me today that I can't function without a plan. Sometimes I am content if I know I'm living out God's plan but sometimes I try to take the reins and it doesn't always end in contentment. My mom suggested that maybe my plan for the year is to do what I'm doing: using the time I have been blessed with to explore my options. The option from God's plans will shine through eventually, I can't forget that. </div>
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I need a plan. But I also need God. That is how I know that I am more than lukewarm. </div>
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I have been reminded by countless people that grad school is expensive and social workers don't make a lot of money so I better plan for that. What if God's plan isn't for me to make a bunch of money and live comfortably just yet? Maybe these student loans that everyone is telling me I should be scared of is just another way to depend more on God. After all, anyone going into social work or really any helping profession isn't normally doing it for the money. My career and my life won't be based on monetary success. It will be based on how well I can follow God's plan. </div>
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More to come from Philly later!</div>
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Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-67338619969543099152014-09-03T15:53:00.001-07:002014-09-03T15:53:19.369-07:00Sometimes a girl just needs a water-iceThings I've learned since moving to Philly-<br />
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<li>You can fit a surprising amount of stuff into two 50 pound bags at the airport</li>
<li>But if you have nice parents they will ship you what you couldn't fit!</li>
<li>Philly is nothing like I expected, but everything I needed</li>
<li>They say things differently here</li>
<li>The Augustinian Catholics like to make jokes about the Jesuits</li>
<li>There is no better snack than chocolate covered almonds</li>
<li>Living on a budget is going to be hard</li>
<li>Journaling is good for the soul</li>
<li>Having roommates is different than living in community (Augustinians are big on community if you didn't know)</li>
<li>Being a plane ride away from family is much different than being a car ride away</li>
<li>People from ALL walks of life take public transit</li>
<li>When you ask "where's the best cheesesteak?" no two answers will be the same</li>
<li>Rittenhouse square is where it's at</li>
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It felt like a movie. I had gotten my two bags from baggage claim and I just stood there for a second. Anxious. <i>This is it. I'm here.</i> And then proceeded trying to (and failing) gracefully roll two huge bags, a backpack, a carry-on, and the purse I had shoved into said carry-on in order to follow TSA requirements, out to the curb to have someone I had only talked to on the phone and in email come and pick me up. Nerves kicked in, what if I was the one with the most stuff? Should I be more excited? Less excited? Who am I going to be living with? Are they anything like me? Where am I living? What am I doing?<br />
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Long story short-I love it here. I love the people I work for, my fellow volunteers working at all the different sites, the neighborhood I live in, the girls I live with, I love it all. </div>
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It felt like a movie. A picture perfect day, my boss told me to get off early and go enjoy the weather. I took the not so picture perfect public transit and got off near a quant little coffee shop, took an iced coffee to go and walked to one of the squares here- Rittenhouse to be exact. I got there, picked out my bench and just sat for a little bit. <i>This is it,</i> I thought, <i>I am here. </i>At that moment I was so happy could have cried. Instead, I said a prayer, thanking God-the guy that made this all possible. I was so supremely happy. Looking back 6 months ago I was having panic attacks, wondering what I would be doing post-college. Never could I have dreamed of this, but man is it incredible. </div>
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Being here has been a little hard of course. It's an adjustment living in a new city with new people and new jobs. I live with 3 other girls, all very fun, who are adjusting just the same. It's hard being away from home when exciting and/or tough things happen and I can't be around familiar people to experience them. It's tough not being in a school setting-what I am so familiar with and not focusing on what's next (I'm already worrying about the future) </div>
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That being said, I had a little bit of a tough day today. I have been thinking of a friend who I wish more than anything I could give a hug to at this moment, I miss being able to talk to my mom and dad in person. I miss being near my sisters who are starting new areas of their life like me. I miss the proximity of my friends from high school and college. Nothing detrimental or agonizing happened today, it was just one of those "ick" days. One where you can't really describe to people around you why you may not be your chipper self because you don't know exactly why yourself. </div>
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So you know what I did? I splurged. I got myself a water-ice (or what the rest of the world calls a snow cone...kind of...its not really one of those either-whatever, just look up "philadelphia+water ice" and you'll see) Oh and its not really a splurge to buy one from a street vendor but when you make $25 a week it can be. </div>
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Okay now your wondering where the God is in this post-let me explain. It seems like God and I have this little agreement. When I start to have one of those "ick" days I try and find something to do to just get out of my head for a little while. Stop worrying for a bit to be reminded of His power (The whole 'cast your cares on Him for He cares' spiel-1 Peter 5:7-great verse to live by if you're an anxious person like me). Anyway, this weird thing Philly people love, water-ice, was what I did to give myself a break. I indulged in a sugary treat-half of which I spilled on the ground, childish I know. It was as if I had changed the channel and I was in another movie, happy music playing in the background, girl walking home in the sunshine, eating her water-ice, chit-chatting with people around, a man walking his two beautiful dogs, another person giving high-fives just because, happy news from home, and a little time to myself on a comfy couch to just enjoy the gift of life God has given me. Life in a new and exciting town. Life in a place that I feel fits. </div>
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So, while I know I am not promised all good days this year while I am in Philly, I think I'm going to keep up my deal with God. He did a fantastic job reminding me of His gift to me today and the least I can do is indulge!</div>
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More to come from Philly in a bit!</div>
Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-12617319229777019312014-08-10T16:09:00.002-07:002014-08-10T16:09:55.172-07:00A Christian Psychologist Walks Into a Movie Theatre...Last night was girls night, and what did we do? What any group of girls would do-spend money to watch a movie (The Fault in Our Stars) that made each and everyone of us cry(I should note that I'm not one for gender stereotypes, but this one stands to be true) Anyway, it got me thinking-why does anyone pay money to watch a movie about loss that knowingly makes them cry? Maybe it's because we can relate or maybe it's to learn how to empathize. Perhaps it is just for a good cry. Whatever the reason, we confront ourselves with pain- but it is one that we can stand up from our seats and walk away from. What about the pain or loss we can't leave at the theatre?<br />
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I'm not a stranger to loss. When I was involved with Young Life we all had our own 'testimony'-essentially our life stories that told of our upbringing and the development of our relationship with God. The more I shared with my peers, the more I realized that so much of my relationship with God has been trying to figure out the pain I have experienced from either loss of a loved one or watching someone close to me struggle. Later, finding comfort in His arms when faced with those situations.<br />
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As a psychologist (I have a Bachelors degree now, I can call myself that) I have had the phrase "correlation NOT causation" drilled into my brain. We can't say what causes something to happen with 100% certainty so we just look at the two variables and compare. The two that I will be looking at for today's lesson-God and pain. After all 22 years of my life I have noticed the relationship works in both directions. Let me explain:<br />
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In the past I have talked about how tragedy has the power to lead people away from their faith or renew their beliefs. The more a person focuses on the loss in their life, and the pain caused by such, the less room in their head and heart there is for God. Their faith can't shine through the pain because it has consumed the person(essentially-<i>more pain, less God)</i> . However, the more we focus on God and our faith in both neutral and tragic times, the easier it is to realize that the pain during tragedy is only temporary (essentially, <i>more God, less pain</i>). God has planned for comfort in the future and if THAT is the point we can focus on, then we can heal. Granted, believing in God doesn't make the pain disappear by any means (remember-no causation), but it opens up the ability to heal in a positive way, to live focusing on God rather than the loss. It provides yet another chance to get an insight into God's plan and to strengthen the relationship between your spirit and the Holy spirit.<br />
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Even though I was able to get up and leave the movie theatre after seeing Augustus Waters and Hazel Grace Lancaster fall madly in love and then lose each other tragically, I wasn't really able to leave their pain behind. It's funny-one of the main quotes of the movie is "all pain demands to be felt"-indeed it does, but it is our choice to turn to God to help recover from the pain.<br />
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Every time I pray for a person, group or community going through something tragic I alway pray that the experience draws them closer to God rather than pushing them away. I pray they find comfort in God, not frustration, and I would encourage you to do the same.Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-14996087002109865242014-06-19T07:55:00.000-07:002014-06-19T07:55:54.103-07:00The comfort of my Father- capital F<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; line-height: 22px;">I gotta tell you, I'm not really a beach person. Sure, I can appreciate the beauty of a beach, the serenity of the waves and the warmth of the sun-for about a day or two. Then my body remembers the fairness of my skin and I search for any shade I can get. I am lucky enough to be babysitting here in Gulf Shores for a great family with two beautiful girls. I am also lucky enough to be watching an almost two year old who takes naps daily in the condo-out of the sun, so I get a break too!</span><br />
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Anyway, onto the point of this blog post. Yesterday I was taking care of Emma who had just woken up from a nap. As she was getting comfy on my lap, still a little tired, I was thinking how I was at that point, not her mother or father, completely in charge of her comfort and well being. Now after a while she stared yelling out for her mom and dad and as soon as she caught sight of them she ran towards them wanting the comfort and security they provided.</div>
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Have you ever heard (and not laughed after) someone call you a 'child of God'? In high school my group used to throw this phrase around jokingly because it just seems so-vacation bible school. But as I was acting as a pillow for Emma yesterday I finally understood what it meant. As humans we are given all these temporary forms of comfort and temporary solutions for our well being. I have parents, friends, an education, favorite hobbies, music, coffee (and maybe a glass of red wine every once in a while). All these things and more are found on Earth to keep me comforted. But every once in a while I find myself screaming out for my Father-with a capital F. I reach out for the comfort only He can provide. While I'm here on Earth that may mean prayer, a good bible verse, a church service or it may mean the angst of Him reminding me that His timing is perfect, and while different from my own, is something I just have to rely on. </div>
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The beauty of it all, what makes life worth living, is that there comes a time that the angst is relieved. We, as Christians, do eventually get the unending comfort of being in the presence of our Father-with a capital F. Just as Travis and Laura believed I'd be a good enough fit to provide comfort for their children this week, God is providing us with what we need to survive this 'vacation' here on Earth, all the while knowing it is temporary. </div>
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As I'm drinking my coffee this morning (with the kiddos watching Mickey Mouse, Travis out fishing somewhere and Laura hopefully having a relaxed morning) I am reminded that the serenity found in the sound of the waves and the beauty of the beach is yet another temporary comfort my God has provided for me. If all these comforts are a temporary fix, I cannot wait to see what the permanent solution feels like. </div>
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(As this post is coming out right after Father's Day, I'd like to point out that my father- the most important lowercase f around, has provided me with the most loving, temporary comfort a girl could ask for!)</div>
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Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-46078055144922544562014-06-10T18:21:00.000-07:002014-06-10T18:21:42.381-07:00Serenity in Silence is harder that it seemsSome people DREAM of the last week that I have had. All the time in the world, the house practically to myself, with time to sleep, read, drink coffee, do yoga, (binge watch Netflix), all with a good dog by my side and no guilt for not doing something more productive.<br />
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Like I said, <i>some </i>people would dream of this week. I thought I did...but it's turning out to be somewhat of a nightmare. I am grateful to be finished with school, but ready to move on to my next challenge!<br />
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One of the books I have read since graduation is <u>Tattoos on the Heart</u> by Gregory Boyle. Boyle is a Jesuit priest in the 'gang capital of the world' who shares stories of the Homeboys and Homegirls who he helped get away from the gang life and into the 'real world'. He has some great insight into what serving the community in need is like-something I am trying to prepare myself for-hence the reading of the book.<br />
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Among the stories of those Boyle helps, he writes bits about himself. In one bit he discusses how at the beginning of his work he fully immersed himself into the issues of the neighborhoods. His work was constant. Boyle writes, he was getting too close to the sun-"the immolation that comes from burning out completely in the delusion of actually 'saving people'." Now this section made me stop and laugh because it's relatability. In Social Work we are warned of 'burning out' as Boyle speaks of. We are warned to not take on more than we can handle, to reach out for similar help we will often suggest to our clients. The irony here is the reason most of us get into Social Work is <i>because</i> we care too much. Yes, we learn we can't change the world but that often won't stop us from trying.<br />
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After composing myself I pick the book back up and continue to read. Boyle talks about his own difficulty with taking breaks (something I relate too way too easily) and specifically about one he took in 1992. The serenity he found in the break came from an apocryphal story of Pope John Paul XXIII. Now if you're anything like me you had to look up what apocryphal meant( so maybe my vocabulary needs some work). After figuring out that it meant a doubtful but widely shared story I read on. Apparently the Pope would go to bed and pray "I've done everything I can today for Your church. But it's Your church. And I'm going to bed."<br />
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At some point we, Social Worker or not, have to figure out when to call it. When to give it up to God. Let His will take over. My Social Work classes were correct, we can't save the world if it means trying to impart on God's plans. What we <i>can</i> do is put our good hands to work and follow His will. At the end of each day though, we have to wipe those hands clean of others' burdens before they become our own-before we get too close to the sun.<br />
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The best part of helping someone is seeing the results you hope for come to fruition, maybe this is similar to the joy God feels when we trust in His plan. However, just as God doesn't <i>make </i>anyone believe in Him, I can't <i>make </i>anyone ask for my help. Believing that I can is what causes so much angst at the end of the day. I can though, be there when they do realize they need help-just as God does. This prevents me from burning out but still let's me feel like I've helped someone.<br />
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So while I still constantly remind myself to enjoy the serenity of having a break, which after the last year of school that I had is surely much needed, I also need to remember that when I do find myself immersed in situations of a needy community, I cannot carry anyone else's cross. At the end of the day, I want to be able to tell God in my prayers, "I did what I could today in Your world, but it is Your world and I am going to bed."<br />
<br />Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-56543046937301080492014-04-26T10:35:00.002-07:002014-04-26T10:35:42.077-07:00A peak into the next chapter of life<div style="text-align: center;">
His timing is incredible. Absolutely incredible. </div>
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My last post talked about waiting for my shell to crack. It was about how I was losing steam, wanting someone to tell me what to do for the next year, rather than seeing how far I've come. Less than 3 hours after I posted that, I had a potential job offer. One that has progressed into an official job offer that I have just officially accepted!<br />
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Let me explain...<br />
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My Lenten observance was to go to church every Sunday to get back into a Catholic community that I had been missing. The first Sunday I went to church I heard of a website that connected me to different Catholic organizations offering volunteer opportunities of differing service lengths. On a whim I applied for a year long position with the Augustinian Volunteers. That Sunday I was praying for direction (like always). The day of my last blog post was the day they would be going over my application. After reviewing my references (a huge thank you to those who helped me out!) and application they sent me an email saying they believed I would be a good fit for a non-profit organization in Philadelphia. I interviewed with the director in Philadelphia this week and a couple hours later they sent me an official job offer! Like I said-God's timing is incredible.<br />
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Now let me explain what I'll be doing during my year of service!<br />
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The organization is in South Philly and is called "Augustinian Defenders of the Rights of the Poor". You can check out their website <a href="http://www.rightsofthepoor.org/" target="_blank">here</a>. I start in August and finish up on site in June. As the Administrative Coordinator I get to be involved in a lot different areas of the community. They are involved with different school activities like after school tutoring and ESL programs. They have a health clinic within the building and promote different social justice programs. All of these areas interest me so very much and I cannot wait to see what else I get to do!<br />
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I feel so great about saying yes to a year of service. I feel great about God's timing. After all the feelings of uncertainty and anxiety stemming from what I'd be doing come May 11th, I feel confident that this is all part of His plan. He provided me with what I needed-at what He knew was perfect timing.<br />
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The more people I tell, the more it hits me-I'm going to a completely foreign city next year doing something completely new. Many people have told me how brave I am for taking this "leap of faith", but truthfully, it doesn't feel like too big of a jump. Maybe because I am comforted knowing it was God's work and maybe because I love discovering a new city. He has more great things planned for me and I am so excited to keep discovering His will.<br />
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As I asked before going to Ghana, I am not asking for prayers of safety next year, but prayers that I can continue relying on God's plan.<br />
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I can't believe it! My shell is cracking!<br />
<br />Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-51363118223917289052014-04-14T14:22:00.000-07:002014-04-14T14:22:14.970-07:00The struggle to survive So for Lent I vowed to go to church every Sunday. I know I know, as a good Catholic this shouldn't be something that I need Lent to make me do but I found myself needing some sort of external motivation and Lent was it. I admit, there was a weekend or two in there that I missed, which I tried to make up for by listening to a few online homilies by Father Gary in St. Louis. Yesterday though, Palm Sunday, I found myself in the second row pew at the Catholic church here. It was great.<br />
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The homily started with a metaphor of a young girl watching baby chicks hatch from an egg. She noticed all but one had fully hatched and the one that hadn't was struggling with cracking out of its shell. So like any good little girl would do she helped it out and finished opening the egg for the little chick, not knowing that it wouldn't survive. She went back to her mom wondering why the chick didn't live. Her mother explained that it is the struggle a little chick has to crack the egg that makes it strong enough to survive later on.<br />
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The priest related this struggle and desire for help to come from Christ. We want Him to do all the hard work. If He is the son of God, shouldn't He be able to?<br />
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But this hard work, this struggle, is what gives our spirit the strength to survive in the material world. I cannot tell you how many times I have spoken with friends in the last few months about how I just wish I could <i>know </i>where I will end up after graduation. I don't want to do the hard work anymore. I have even asked my mom to find me a job(she wishes she could sometimes).<br />
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It's hard to see more and more friends find out their plans for the next year or so. It's hard being told by organizations I've applied to that there isn't room for me. It's hard counting down the days until May 10 when I am no longer a student. It is hard to <i>not</i> regret my decision to go or even apply to grad school-then maybe I would have a plan.<br />
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With each rejection though, I know my shell is cracking a little more. I just wish God would have given me an easier shell to crack.<br />
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It is easy for me to cover up my fears by telling people "I can't wait to see where God takes me" but it is freaking hard to actually believe that. I admit, I am getting a little frustrated with God and His timing. I am beyond excited for my friends who are finding out where they'll be for the next part of their life, but it sometimes just makes me more unsure of my actions. I could've applied to more places. I could have made more contacts in college. I could have done more to secure a job or placement as soon as I graduate.<br />
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I have been so focused lately on what I could have done more of that I kind of forgot all of what I have achieved. God sees that and has been trying to send me little reminders-of which I am trying to dwell on rather than on what more I could have done.<br />
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Yesterday at church I sat next to a man and his wife. He had no idea who I was, he still doesn't. When the priest was giving his homily he mentioned how as college seniors we must be wishing God could break us out of our shell (he sure hit the nail on the head). As soon as he said this, the man next to me saw that I had a smirk on my face, confirming I knew what the priest was talking about. At the end of church the man asked me what I was studying. I told him my long list and he said "wow, you must be smart." At this I laughed and said "well, I try" and it felt like before I even finished what I was saying he was shaking his head say "no, no, no, don't you cut yourself short, you have to be smart." At that moment, he pulled to something to the forefront I couldn't see because I had been focusing on everything I was lacking. I smiled and said thank you, little did he know he made me remember something I had forgotten. He made my day.<br />
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I am smart. And I have worked HARD for my degree. To that end, I will be honored before graduation at a Phi Beta Kappa sorority ceremony for those in a humanities degree who are in the top 10% of their class taking a diverse coarse load. I also just found out that I will get to wear a special tassel as a Fulbright Senior Scholar-meaning I have kept a 3.8 cumulative GPA. Who doesn't love a special tassel??<br />
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I still can't say I am fully comfortable with God's timing. Even after I figure out the next stage of my life I am sure I will find something to worry about. But that's me. I have been given a tough shell to crack for a reason and I need to remember that I am working on my strength. If God were to do all the work, I wouldn't be able to survive. As I have said in this blog before, God didn't promise an easy life, but He did promise a full one.<br />
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Inch by inch my shell is cracking and I need to remember to see my progress before my set backs. It is in my progress that I find my strength. <br />
<br />Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-46139642806724812052014-02-26T16:25:00.003-08:002014-02-26T16:25:55.966-08:00The power of a letter to God. As I was taking a mental health break today from all the reading I've been doing lately(it never ends!), I caught up on some blogs. I found one a friend posted that caught my eye. It was titled <a href="http://www.wrecked.org/a-hot-mess/confession-of-a-christian-who-still-struggles/" target="_blank">"Confessions of a Christian That Still Struggles</a>"It hit really close to home. I couldn't help but think God directed me.<br />
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Last semester I struggled, a lot. I started doing something new. Something I need to do more often. On a night where I was just about as overwhelmed as I thought I could be, I picked up my Bible and journal, stopped to get a cup of coffee(decaf of course) and just drove. I drove to Mount Sequoia. It has a great view of Fayetteville's landscape. It is the place I go to when all my problems seem bigger than me. When my emotions seem to take over. It has become my spot. Seeing the landscape of Fayetteville with all the buildings looking minuscule, their lights making the city so magical, brings me peace.<br />
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It reminds me that in the whole scheme of things, my problems are tiny. I am tiny. And my God is huge.<br />
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So there I was, car in park, coffee and journal in hand. I just started to write. Anything that came to my mind I wrote it down. Some good, some bad. Sentences, phrases, words. If the thought came through my head again I would circle them. Eventually I wrote a letter. To who? God, probably. I'm not really sure.<br />
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As I have been brutally honest on this blog in the past, I will today. The letter started out <i>"Before and currently, I have this desire, this passion, to be known as the girl with struggles but put together. The independent, working-it-out-with-God, ever-promising, always looking for the positives girl. I want to be looked at and envious of how together I am..."</i><br />
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Fast forward to today. The blog that I mentioned above is brutally honest. It is of a girl who has faced struggle, a girl who has cried out to the Lord, asking to be given undeserving love and grace-multiple times. She talks of this idea many people have that as a Christian you really only ever can hit rock bottom once, then God takes over. She talks about how she <i>didn't </i>experience that. She hit rock bottom more than once.<br />
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Living for Christ is a constant struggle with an incredible feeling of satisfaction-if you can actually feel it. I love how she says <i>"once we surrender (our lives to Christ), the enemy hops on us...trying to suffocate any peace and life that was so freely given to us..."</i> The constant struggle I feel as a Christian is from said suffocation. I encounter things daily that tempt me. There are times when I successfully overcome the temptation and admittedly times when I give in. But isn't that what makes me human? And what makes God SO good? He accepts me <i>despite</i> my downfalls.<br />
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It's times when I remember that there is NOTHING, not even denouncing His existence, that could make my God stop loving me. Even if I fail, even if I turn away from Him, He will always have His eye on me. He will <i>always</i> be ready to forgive and give love. As the blogger says, <i>"That love, that grace, is what gives me strength to fight my flesh and choose to live for Him. Not out of fear or obligation, but because His love and grace is so full force regardless."</i><br />
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I still have times when I feel overwhelmed. Last night I picked up my Bible and notebook and just wrote. Some good, some bad. Sentences, phrases, words. Then a letter. To who? God, probably.<br />
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And you know what? He was still listening.<br />
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He directed me today to a blog that confirmed I wasn't the only one feeling overwhelmed with worldly desires. To a blog that reminds me that it's okay to struggle as a Christian. To a blog that told me I'm not the only one that desires to be seen at as put together even when I'm not. To a blog that said I don't have to be put together to be seen as a strong Christian. It is the strength in admitting that struggle that makes me one. It is the strength in <i>remembering </i>to accept His undeserving love that makes me an accomplished follower.<br />
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So I admit to you today that I struggle. Constantly. But as I admit that, I find my strength.Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8967620235899885301.post-31536083042334353342014-02-05T13:08:00.000-08:002014-02-05T13:08:14.690-08:00Far from the straight and narrow. Another (partial) snow day, another blog post. I realize this is the first blog post of my LAST semester of undergrad. Scary to think that I started this blog my sophomore year!! I've been trying to stay focused seeing as my last semester of school has arguably the most difficult courses yet. Whoever said senior year would be a breeze lied to me, or maybe they just didn't expect for me to be graduating on time with a combined major and double minor! In my mother's words, I'm "her favorite overachiever".<br />
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Anyway. I thought I would share some thoughts on how God has been working hard as I look back on my four years here.<br />
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Four years ago:<br />
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<i>"Hi, my name is Abby MacDonald, I'm a freshman Psychology major from Saint Louis. I will be graduating in 2014 and going to get my masters in education so I can teach high school students from an at-risk, low income background." </i><br />
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I had it ALL figured out. God worked on that plan with me of course, why else would He have put Young Life in my life? Why else would I have found my deep interest in Psychology from my high school psych class? That's who I was planning on being and I was happy about it. For goodness sakes I practically looked like a teacher already-cardigans and all. God was there for me and He was leading me down the straight and narrow path. Or so I thought.<br />
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A year ago:<br />
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<i>"Hi, my name is Abby MacDonald I am a Psychology major and Social Work and African and African American Studies double minor. I will be going to grad school (not sure why yet) and will be working in the school system most likely." </i><br />
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Today:<br />
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<i>"Hi, my name is Abby MacDonald, I'm a senior combined major in Psychology and African and African American Studies with a double minor in Social Work and Anthropology. Yes I did pick up three areas of study within the last year and a half, yes I WILL be graduating on time and no I will NOT be going to grad school right away. I'm not sure exactly what I want to do but I want to find a connection to somewhere in Africa."</i><br />
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All this is not said to brag (although I think my parents like to brag a little bit and my sisters bored of me having to explain what I'm studying), it is said to point out that what I thought and planned on to be the straight and narrow path God set out for me was far from it. He is still working. At least I hope He is because I'm graduating in less than 100 days and still have no plan set in place for what happens after I throw my cap into the air. I know I've said it on this blog before, but God sure does have a sense of humor. He is showing me just how many twists and turns I can take. Along with the fact that those twists and turns can be fun if I let them be.<br />
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Want some more humor from God? This summer I was at my sister's wedding shower talking with Father Gary who would be marrying Kelley and Matt in no time and he asked me what I was studying. After taking a deep breath and listing what I was studying his first reaction was different than most. He said he was somewhat surprised because Psychology and Anthropology are the two areas of study with the highest numbers of Atheists. I'm pretty sure he's right. It makes sense after some of the classes I've taken-religion doesn't necessarily sit right with some of the theories and ideas.<br />
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I was talking with my mom about the fact that I am taking a course this semester to study the modernization of Witchcraft in Africa-not really an ideal topic in my mom's opinion. I'll admit, it is a little strange that I have chosen two relatively secular areas of study. But I thrive in studying the unknown. I so much enjoy studying what makes me different, or more similar, to a group of people that I didn't know about in the past. I think a good Christian does their research. In my opinion, <i>not</i> studying different ways of life and the benefits of such would lead me down an ignorant path. I don't say that to make Christians who don't know the ins and outs of witchcraft look bad, but for me, I want to do my research. I want to share what I've learned and make a connection back to my faith. I love finding God in unexpected places, and for me-that means studying as many different cultures and way of life as I can.<br />
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So there you have it folks. I'm still unsure of what will come after May 10th, but God is teaching me slowly but surely that it's okay. He's gotten me through these last four years, okay truthfully the last 21 years of my life, but I can't wait to see where He takes me from here on out.Abby Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05242711409830055256noreply@blogger.com0