CLICK ON PICTURE TO MAKE LARGER
CLICK ON PICTURE TO MAKE LARGER
CLICK ON PICTURE TO MAKE LARGER
CLICK ON PICTURE TO MAKE LARGER
CLICK ON PICTURE TO MAKE LARGER
CLICK ON PICTURE TO MAKE LARGER
CLICK ON PICTURE TO MAKE LARGER
CLICK ON PICTURE TO MAKE LARGER
I see the faces of young men and women in Red Bluff at the Tehama County Juvenile facility and I wonder how did we fail them? How did we as parents, and family, and a society, and simply fellow human beings not notice that they were desperate for love and compassion and respect. That they crave what we crave, a simple structure to their lives that gives them a sense of safety and trust so that they can grow up innocent and free, and happy to discover all that they can be in this life? Young people who told us that this locked down facility and the people who ran it were the best home they knew, the most loving place they knew, and they did not want to leave it.
And I see the faces of the women in the transitional home in Ogden Utah, struggling with their own journey to rise above abuse and drugs, who were raising children of their own and demanding a better life for them than the ones they had experienced growing up.
And I hear the passion and commitment of young adults at the Safe House project in Laramie Wyoming who have dedicated themselves to help others. Who were providing support, sometimes the only support available, to children and adults who were experiencing more violence in a day than I have experienced in a lifetime. Who answered, 4, 6, 8 calls a day from victims of domestic violence who had been turned down or ignored by the “system” and were desperate beyond measure for help from anyone. And these college students were stepping up to the plate that we as a society had abandoned, and without even a facility to take people to, were finding hotel rooms and safe houses and any answer they could for these hopeless people.
It is am amazing experience to witness Lani tell her story over and over again to each of these diverse groups. To witness the emotion and vulnerability that she is willing to share with all of these lost, and now hopefully found, souls who were so desperate to have anyone witness and share in their own stories. To give them some hope or a solution, a different world, for even on day. To give them the hope that one day can turn to two, and then three, and that perhaps a new world could begin to emerge for them. That there were other choices and opportunities possible for them.
As many times as I have heard Lani share her story it never fails to awaken within me feelings of horror for what she experienced and inspire me in terms of who she is today, and how she has chosen to give back to others in such a huge and impactful way. She has inspired me to talk to people and witness them, to listen to them in ways that I never would have imagined. And I have seen and heard and felt at such a deep level the power of a shared story, the power of people who feel that they are cut off and alone, hearing someone else who has experienced what they are experiencing.
I have felt very shy about offering suggestions to people, knowing that I haven’t experienced, thankfully I admit every day, what they have in their lives. And I don’t want to show up as yet another “do-gooder” who believes that she can fix them, or convert them, or ask them to be someone or something they are not. So I have been listening and observing and opening my heart, sharing a simple smile here and a gentle touch there. Waiting until I am approached and then responding from my heart to just let them know that there is someone else out there who cares about them, about their struggle. Someone who also wants to offer them hope.
And the questions for me just keep coming. How do we treat each other so roughly, so rudely, so inappropriately? How do we as a society abandon those in the greatest need with our budget cuts, with our insensitivity? How do we turn our faces away from those who are suffering and pretend that they don’t exist. I don’t know. I know that I too have been guilty of these same things. I know that I have not chosen to have conversations with people who felt different from me, whose life experiences made me uncomfortable and feeling that same old “there but for the grace of god” gratitude even as I turned away or looked away or pretended I had not heard.
How can we just accept things the way they are and not keep questioning?
I have asked Beth to blog her feelings and insights as we travel through this journey, and she graciously wrote the following for me to post:
It is hard to imagine that it was only 6 days ago that we set out from Mt. Shasta heading to our first stop in Red Bluff. I have witnessed so much in such a short amount of time and have not even begun to process it yet. Images of all the people that Lani has spoken to swirl around inside of me, and their voices and stories move inside of me, raising question after question after question.
It is hard to imagine that it was only 6 days ago that we set out from Mt. Shasta heading to our first stop in Red Bluff. I have witnessed so much in such a short amount of time and have not even begun to process it yet. Images of all the people that Lani has spoken to swirl around inside of me, and their voices and stories move inside of me, raising question after question after question.
I see the faces of young men and women in Red Bluff at the Tehama County Juvenile facility and I wonder how did we fail them? How did we as parents, and family, and a society, and simply fellow human beings not notice that they were desperate for love and compassion and respect. That they crave what we crave, a simple structure to their lives that gives them a sense of safety and trust so that they can grow up innocent and free, and happy to discover all that they can be in this life? Young people who told us that this locked down facility and the people who ran it were the best home they knew, the most loving place they knew, and they did not want to leave it.
And I see the faces of the women in the transitional home in Ogden Utah, struggling with their own journey to rise above abuse and drugs, who were raising children of their own and demanding a better life for them than the ones they had experienced growing up.
And I hear the passion and commitment of young adults at the Safe House project in Laramie Wyoming who have dedicated themselves to help others. Who were providing support, sometimes the only support available, to children and adults who were experiencing more violence in a day than I have experienced in a lifetime. Who answered, 4, 6, 8 calls a day from victims of domestic violence who had been turned down or ignored by the “system” and were desperate beyond measure for help from anyone. And these college students were stepping up to the plate that we as a society had abandoned, and without even a facility to take people to, were finding hotel rooms and safe houses and any answer they could for these hopeless people.
I am the first to admit, and express incredible gratitude for, the fact that I did not grow up in a home filled with violence and drug abuse. That I had a place to test my young wings that felt safe and secure, and that whatever I needed was provided to me by parents who felt responsible to me and for me. Yes, every family has its issues, its dysfunctions, its emotional storms, its tragedies, its pain. We are all doing the very best we can in a world that does very little to respect the individual, to show compassion, to choose love even when most difficult. And I know that I certainly have had my share of angst and therapy and processing time to leave behind my own ghosts. But I never felt unsafe for my life. I never wondered where my next meal would come from. I never wondered when or if I would ever see my parents again, or visited them in prison. Or took care of them in a drunken stupor or drugged out psychotic episode. My parents never threatened me or sexually abused me.
It is am amazing experience to witness Lani tell her story over and over again to each of these diverse groups. To witness the emotion and vulnerability that she is willing to share with all of these lost, and now hopefully found, souls who were so desperate to have anyone witness and share in their own stories. To give them some hope or a solution, a different world, for even on day. To give them the hope that one day can turn to two, and then three, and that perhaps a new world could begin to emerge for them. That there were other choices and opportunities possible for them.
As many times as I have heard Lani share her story it never fails to awaken within me feelings of horror for what she experienced and inspire me in terms of who she is today, and how she has chosen to give back to others in such a huge and impactful way. She has inspired me to talk to people and witness them, to listen to them in ways that I never would have imagined. And I have seen and heard and felt at such a deep level the power of a shared story, the power of people who feel that they are cut off and alone, hearing someone else who has experienced what they are experiencing.
I have felt very shy about offering suggestions to people, knowing that I haven’t experienced, thankfully I admit every day, what they have in their lives. And I don’t want to show up as yet another “do-gooder” who believes that she can fix them, or convert them, or ask them to be someone or something they are not. So I have been listening and observing and opening my heart, sharing a simple smile here and a gentle touch there. Waiting until I am approached and then responding from my heart to just let them know that there is someone else out there who cares about them, about their struggle. Someone who also wants to offer them hope.
And the questions for me just keep coming. How do we treat each other so roughly, so rudely, so inappropriately? How do we as a society abandon those in the greatest need with our budget cuts, with our insensitivity? How do we turn our faces away from those who are suffering and pretend that they don’t exist. I don’t know. I know that I too have been guilty of these same things. I know that I have not chosen to have conversations with people who felt different from me, whose life experiences made me uncomfortable and feeling that same old “there but for the grace of god” gratitude even as I turned away or looked away or pretended I had not heard.
How do we spend so much time on the Internet and hidden behind a tabloid reading about the lives of celebrities, and not notice the lives of those intimately around us. And I know that this is not everyone. I know and have experienced the work of so many incredible people who are out there every day fighting for those who cannot fight for themselves. But where are the rest of us? Why are we not all having these conversations? Not from a place of “well, its tragic and that’s life, move on” but from a place of its tragic and what can we do to fix it? We pulled together as a nation when there was a world war. We pulled together as a nation when the two towers fell. We pull together as a nation every year for something as inconsequential as a Super Bowl. How can we not pull together, each and every one of us doing his or her small part, in the midst of our day to day lives and struggles, to save the children? To save the adults who are so disconnected who will have and raise more disconnected children?
How can we just accept things the way they are and not keep questioning?
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