Leaving.

I leave in exactly seven days.  In fact, I'll probably be pulling out of Pine Ridge at this time of day next Saturday.  I know that tomorrow, I'll preach and lead worship at St. John Episcopal Church for the last time.  I know that afterwards, they'll host a wopila (thank you) for me.  I know that I'll preach and lead worship at Cohen Home (independent living for elders) in the evening.  I know that on Monday, I'll host a wopila for the community.  I know that on Tuesday, I'll have dinner with a dear pastor and his family.  I know that on Wednesday and Thursday, I'll have sending services with the kids.  I know that Friday will be spent packing up final things.  I know that I leave Pine Ridge on Saturday.

I know these things.  These are facts or guaranteed in my coming days here.

I know that I am leaving.

But, I don't know what I'm leaving behind and what I'm taking with me.  Yes, yes, I'll probably leave the wheat flour that I didn't manage to use up and the jeans that no longer fit, but I'm not sure what I'm leaving behind in terms of what this year has meant for the community.

You know what is scarier than not knowing what it has meant for the community?

Not knowing what it has meant for me.  Not knowing what I am taking with me.

I spent most of Thursday crying.  I am a crier.  I have always been a crier and I will likely always be a crier.  It's how I express a variety of emotions.  Thursday's crying was a mix between hot, slow tears and side-clenching sobbing.  Most of this was done while driving to and from Rapid City in the privacy of my own, air-conditioner-less car.

See, I don't know what I'm leaving behind as far as peoples' opinions of this quirky white girl who doesn't eat meat and loves to preach.  I do know that I am leaving with a heavy heart, full of stories of the good and bad of this year.  I know that I am exhausted, tired of what working eighty hours a week means and being emotionally present for some of the most difficult moments of my young life.

I know that I am leaving a part of my heart behind and that I am taking the stories of the people who have taken a chance on this crazy wasicu girl.

For this, I am thankful.

Where are you from?

Where are you from?

This question occurs quite frequently in my life.  Yet, each time I'm asked it, I have to check where I am geographically and emotionally, and provide the appropriate answer to this question.

This year, when people ask where I am from, I can answer the question in the following ways:

1. Pennsylvania: It's where I was born and raised.
2. Chicago: It's where I currently go to seminary, when I'm not on internship.
3. Pine Ridge: It's where I'm doing internship.

And, frankly, on my snarkier days, I answer the question by saying: "My mother."

I find home on this quaint side street in Bethlehem, Palestine, where I spent a year volunteering at a school there.  I find home by the Upper Lake campfire circle at Lutherlyn thanks to the four summers I spent working at that camp.  I find home when I smell chlorine and remember my high school swim team days.  I find home when I smell incense and hyacinths, reminding me of the many Easter Vigil services at my home congregation.

Where are you from?

This question sometimes causes me distress as I sputter to give the person asking the question the answer they want, while also trying to trying to understand where my heart is that day.  On good days, I'm from everywhere: PA, Chicago, Pine Ridge, Palestine, North Carolina, Lutherlyn, water, flowers, smoke.  On my bad days, I'm from nowhere.  I have no roots.  I have no home.

Where are you going?

Sometimes, this can be an equally distressing question, because then I also need to ramble where I see my entire future played out.  I am passionate about cross-cultural dialogue, multi-cultural ministry, messy church, people who deserve to be loved (*cough everyone cough*).

A friend of mine posted this TED talk recently and it spoke to my soul, a tired, aching soul that leaves Pine Ridge one week from tomorrow.

http://www.ted.com/talks/pico_iyer_where_is_home.html

The speaker talks about home and his range of "homes" in his lifetime.  His final words are: "Home is not just a place where you sleep, but a place where you stand."

As a good ole' Lutheran, I can't help but to boldly proclaim "Here I stand!"  In an honest way though, here I stand.  Here is my home.  Right here.  And that here?  It may have lots of pine trees and curvy highways where I get to pump my gas at Sheetz, drink pop and visit Punxsutawney Phil.  It may have long, straight highways with prairies that you can "see your dog run away for three days" and I worry about my car getting stuck in gumbo.

Home is here.

Here is home.

Ooops...blog?

Attended the Taize Pilgrimage to
Red Shirt Table on the Reservation.
Over 500 people from 22 different
countries attended for the weekend
of prayer, singing and conversation.
Beautiful flags with the sacred
colors on top of the hill.

Welp.  Since it's been nearly two months since my last blog post, I suppose I better update this.

Thank you for all of you who are reading and investing time into understanding my year of internship in this place.  It's a beautiful thing and I'm thankful for your prayers and support.

Since I'm an amateur photographer...and because I see the world in snapshots sometimes, I'll use photographs to highlight the last few months.

I would love to write more, but with only 17 days left in Pine Ridge, I want to spend my time with the people who I have grown to love...and finishing up the paperwork for seminary, my candidacy committee and the Center, which is not nearly as fun.

Peace and pilamayaye (thank you),
Meredith

Sunset over the tipis set up for camping.

This really beautiful moment happened at the last prayer. We were asked to pick up the boards, benches, concrete blocks and all additional "pieces" to what enabled us to worship together in that space all weekend. As I watched everyone walk up out of the valley, lifting and carrying these items, I couldn't help but to reflect on how this image is what we're called to do as Christians. Sure, let's sit in a nice, quiet, contemplative space, surrounded by people who agree with us, at least on worship, but the hard work comes when we stand up and begin to climb out of that womb, going out into the world with the concrete blocks pulling at our finger tips and the wooden boards injecting splinters into our forearms. Life isn't easy, nor is faith, but we trudge up the hill, knowing only that one foot in front of the other will enable us to see the faces of our sisters and brothers in a new and beautiful way.

Clothed in Christ sometimes means a white robe and sometimes it means putting the weight of the world onto our shoulders and into our hearts.

We experienced our share of flash flooding this spring,
along with tornaodes.  One night, the road was so flooded
that I had to actually wade through 14-16 inches of water
to carry kids to their homes.  Thankful to have messy feet
and safe children.

 

We installed a community garden this spring.  I hope to
post more pictures once I get some photo releases for the kids.

Went horseback riding with one of the elders that I so dearly
respect here.  It was...amazing.

With all the thunderstorms, Steve was not happy.
"Nobody puts baby in the corner."  Though, he
puts himself in the corner out of fear.

Attended Oglala Lakota College's graduation ceremony.  Nearly all of the graduates
work a part-time or full-time job AND care for their family.  Pretty spectacular.