Sunday, April 19, 2015

twenty one. My social worker Joe.

I met Joe at church a few years back. He would bike there and his shaggy hair and big beard were things that made him not particularly stand out. What made him stand out was his smile. He seemed to be smirking always at this or that, finding joy in the interactions between the people that filled the pews.

I remember zoning out in church and closely watching his face from time to time. Waiting for his cheeks to be pushed up so high by his smile that his eyes would narrow.  His laugh would soon follow and never failed to be  faint; the sounds barely slipping out of his lips before he would push it back down again to his belly, waiting for a meal.

Joe and I have been through a lot. For the last three years we have seen each other through challenges and excitements.

It never really seemed to matter that Joe was homeless. He is one of those people you meet that gives you a feeling of joy after you take the time to spend time with him. He has never been a burden or a chore. He never asks for things unless he really needs it, he always says thank you, and when I am with Joe, I feel safe in mind, body and spirit.
We look after each other.

The first two years I went about our relationship as if I was his "social worker".  I insisted he call me when he needed help, and maybe subconsciously implied, "only then."
Traveling abroad taught me many things, but of the most important to this story is the fact that as soon as I take myself off the caretaker pedestal (I so quickly put myself on), the world seems to open more and relationships too in so many ways. It gives power to a relationship instead of power over one. Relationships with no score cards seem to offer me the deepest satisfaction these days.

Last week when I picked Joe up to grab some lunch, "Mexican food!!" was the craving of the day.
Afterwards, he needed a ride to go to the shelter I used to work at. Then mission: to retrieve his W2 to get some money for a new motorcycle and countless summer opportunities.

At the shelter we were running into old staff friends left and right. The executive director asked Joe how we knew each other and without even a one second delay Joe said, "Katy's my best friend."





I was taken aback. I smiled at him and later in the car I hit his arm with a sense of embarrassment. I could tell that his words had meaning.
When I asked him if he really thought that...he said of course. His face implied that this may be stupidest thing he has ever heard me say, but in the most gentle way- as Joe does.

After I dropped Joe off, I found myself pulled over on a side street.
I had always thought of taking care of Joe as one of my little projects, something that always made me feel good about myself. I thought of Joe as a part of my family, but one that I was including for the doing for "right" reasons. After all kindness was an action, wasn't it? What I didn't understand yet was that kindness does not need to be earned.

Now, suddenly what came rushing back to me were the million things Joe had done for me, for the reason that he simply is kind.

Joe always gives me the biggest hugs when he sees me.
He asks me hard questions about life, and love and reminds me as often as he can that I matter.
His emails to me (which is the way we communicate since he got his phone stolen while sleeping on the streets) are always signed, Love you.
When I was abroad it was Joe who checked in with me the most making sure I wasn't working too hard and encouraging me to find time to relax and sit in the sun with the "monkeys and lizards".
It was Joe who has spent several holidays with me when otherwise it would have been a lonesome day.
It is Joe who asks me if I am mad at him when he hasn't heard from me; he is not afraid of conflict between us, because working through it means more to him.
He reminds me that no matter how busy I am, work is no excuse to not make time for others.
I have shared more about my struggle with Joe than anyone else in Little Rock. More than anyone else in the last few years.
Joe knows me the best.

And in that moment in the car I realized that Joe was indeed my best friend too. Family for the right reasons.
I have had tears fill me up when talking to friends the last few months about leaving him to move abroad. A maybe forever thing. My other friends have family and people who notice when they are gone.
Joe does not.

What is very clear now is that my fear is not that Joe will have no one to look after him. The truth is I am worried that I will have no one to look after me.
It's a good thing I took myself off the caretaker role because I would have fallen a lot harder and hit an unforgiving ground had I not.

My professor said, this story reminded him of who is actually without "homes", who is actually homeless. Who actually lives and prisons and which ones of us are liberated?

Sometimes my failure to see reality over my ego takes away so much depth from the relationships around me.
I am glad I have spent more time with Joe since I have been home. Time spent for no other reason than to eat good food and talk about memories and future goals.
Joe always wants to move somewhere else- his plan now is Iowa.
My plan is to be in Thailand, and continue to define and do what I love. The world is insisting of nothing less.
I am leaving this place a better person, not because of my professors during the last few years at graduate school, or my work that is supposedly contributing to the world, but because of a homeless man.
You can call that man chronically homeless.
Or you can call him my social worker, brother, and heartfelt friend.

No matter what you call him, he matters to me more than I ever knew. I am lucky for that.


Friday, April 17, 2015

twenty. Jacina Beana.

Jacina is so different from me.

Besides the fact that she is now a whopping five years old, she is also the first little kid that I ever had the gift of watching grow from such a young age. She moved to Little Rock with her mamma to come stay with me; she was tiny. Now my memories of that time are so precious, they fill me up with thank you's. Those memories make me wish I had the power to go back there and live them again.
 High chairs and crawling, she has always been a mamma's girl. Always liked girls things like princesses and dresses and ballerinas and pink and purple objects that never really caught my eye.
She is smart and observant, telling me directions to places from when she was just over three.
She is sassy about what she wants, picky about what she eats, and stubborn when there are decisions to be made.
We love each other a whole lot.
She adds to my life in ways I can't explain. Hugs and laughter and exploration happen with her all the time since she is always willing to take walks with me for no good reason and get dirty for all the right reasons (her Mom would not agree).


She expects little of our time together. She asks great questions. There is no doubt that when we are together she wants to be no where else. She makes me feel valued without trying.
Jacina is such a good teacher. She gently reminds me when my phone is out too much: when I am not practicing presence.
She loves little things, like water balloons breaking on the ground, the hilariousness of Barbies stuck on the tops of trees in her back yard and unplanned time to play outside where there is something to explore at every minute.
When she leaned over to kiss me the other day during our Mary Poppins play- she reminded me that there is no time to wait for kisses.
....and when she was dancing to the music of the actors and ignoring the seat behind her for the whole play, she reminded me that we make our rules, and that the rules that make us comfortable and happy are usually not the ones written on the wall that most of us restrict ourselves too.
I want to be like Jacina's spirit more often than I am choosing to be like now in my adult world full of unattainable deadlines and self induced stress and "I am too busy for you."

Since been back to the USA,  I have been really intentional about slowing down when I am with her. I guess I have been spending time with her with the intention of treating her the way that she treats me in my actions and attentions. In doing that, I have learned.

The last few times we have hung out, she has been doing this beautiful thing.
Jacina Lee Foster (as she would call herself) has been asking strangers how they are doing. Coming from my shy little princess- it has been a brilliant example of courage I wouldn't have ever guessed from her. Then, if they respond to her (and sometimes they don't) she will say, "have a nice day."

This may seem silly. Insignificant.
But, it has been so powerful for me.
First of all, I can see the courage it takes her to ask. I watch as she looks at me after she spots someone. Next, she just blurts it out. "HOW ARE YOU?" Sometimes quiet, sometimes loud.

Second, I see the great reactions and how most often these strangers needed to be asked that specific day that specific question regardless of whether or not it came from a five year old.
They melt. Some kneel down, others tell me how cute she is....some walk away cause they were so wrapped up in their own thoughts they didn't hear her.
Every time is a lesson and every time, no matter what the reaction- she says " have a good day."

I ask her questions after those not so positive encounters like, "do you think they heard you?" Or "What do you think they are thinking about." Her answers are always intuitive, honest, and positive.
The last answer she gave me about a older woman who walked right past her was this: " I think she has to go pick up her baby from daycare and is late."

I talk to my classmates and friends for hours about how much we struggle just saying hi to someone, inviting someone to dinner, asking if you can come to a party. We blame others for not making us feel important, and it's hard to do the same for them. We grow up and let ego get in the way which is interesting isn't it?

I would argue Jacina is starting to struggle a little with ego too. It's the hesitation I see before she asks someone.
It's her courage we can learn from, and I do think it is courage on the deepest level. It's the lessons of intentional action and kindness.
It's the one I am learning from that sweet girl every time I get the gift of time with her.