The cool thing about this project is that it gave me the opportunity to scan a ton of my family's pictures, which means that I now have copies of some of my favorite photos. It also means that I may be including the occasional baby shot or other favorite in my posts...just for fun. Like this one:
This is my sister and me. I'm the little one : )This month has also brought new developments in our spring plans. With our tickets purchased and our visas approved, we are ready to start making concrete decisions about our time in New Zealand. Our WWOOF member book arrived in the mail and we've been spending a good deal of time pouring over the descriptions of the different host situations. There are full blown, 100+ acre farms, B&Bs, lifestyle blocks (I need to research this, but I believe they are referring to intentional communities/communes), private homes with big gardens and orchards, etc., etc. I'm excited to start contacting some of these places and searching for the right place to begin our adventure.
One of the most thrilling features of the upcoming departure is my imminent resignation from my job. It has been the opportunity of a lifetime to work with such a diverse staff in a very interesting and dynamic field. That being said, I have discovered that life as a social worker in and underfunded non-profit does not exactly provide the spiritually uplifting environment that I naturally crave. Instead, I find that my efforts to help people are routinely thwarted by the endless bureaucratic red-tape in the state welfare system, health insurance companies, and the social security administration. I now fully understand that our country, and our state in particular, is not designed to provide any meaningful support to families or individuals struggling with poverty, mental illness, physical disabilities, and the like.
I desperately want to help the clients I work with, but encounter frustration at every turn. I feel terrible leaving the families that I currently serve, but at the same time I know that I cannot save them. I cannot lift them out of poverty or take away their pain; I can only give them the tools to be their own advocates and hopefully improve their chances of success. Now, I am not referring to success according to the modest middle class vision of owning a house and a couple of cars and someday retiring with enough money to send your kids to college and travel a little. No, I am referring to something much more basic: finding a job, keeping a roof over your head and food on the table. It may not sound like much, but when you come to America with no English, suffering from PTSD, and trying to weather an economic depression, it sounds like a miracle.
One of the most thrilling features of the upcoming departure is my imminent resignation from my job. It has been the opportunity of a lifetime to work with such a diverse staff in a very interesting and dynamic field. That being said, I have discovered that life as a social worker in and underfunded non-profit does not exactly provide the spiritually uplifting environment that I naturally crave. Instead, I find that my efforts to help people are routinely thwarted by the endless bureaucratic red-tape in the state welfare system, health insurance companies, and the social security administration. I now fully understand that our country, and our state in particular, is not designed to provide any meaningful support to families or individuals struggling with poverty, mental illness, physical disabilities, and the like.
I desperately want to help the clients I work with, but encounter frustration at every turn. I feel terrible leaving the families that I currently serve, but at the same time I know that I cannot save them. I cannot lift them out of poverty or take away their pain; I can only give them the tools to be their own advocates and hopefully improve their chances of success. Now, I am not referring to success according to the modest middle class vision of owning a house and a couple of cars and someday retiring with enough money to send your kids to college and travel a little. No, I am referring to something much more basic: finding a job, keeping a roof over your head and food on the table. It may not sound like much, but when you come to America with no English, suffering from PTSD, and trying to weather an economic depression, it sounds like a miracle.
The refugees will always be with me. I'm sure I'll continue to hear Arabic in my dreams and I know I will never lose those memories: late night pick ups at the airport (AA flight 403), watching the television screen at the bottom of the escalator and straining to catch sight of that glossy white IOM bag, hot cardamom-spiced black tea, loading up the big green truck in a freezing downpour, speaking at a crowded Lutheran church service, staying at the office until 11pm to sort holiday gift donations, witnessing the reunion of a Somali family with long lost friends... My mind is flooded as I remember the past year and a half. Certainly my relief at leaving the job will be mixed with sadness.
