Here We Go, Together.

The T-station seemed remarkably still while trains were out of ear-shot. Besides a few quiet conversations, the sound that filled the tunnel was the old-timey voice of a scruffy blind man singing- his cane keeping the beat. He sang clearly, and in my opinion, much better than the majority of wanna-be-pop-stars featured on American Idol. Maybe millions of people pass by But they all disappear from view Cuz I only have eyes for you. I looked around at all the others waiting quietly for the next orange line train. And I knew we were all remembering our own love stores. While not everyone might admit to it, a romantic Ella tune magically takes you to another place. I wondered later what thoughts came to my fellow travelers during those moments… A woman’s broken heart of a recently lost love; A husband’s reminder to get those flowers for his wife on the way home; A teenager’s dream of someone to call her own. Whether this man’s A Cappella love songs brought smile, tear, or wish, we all wer

A family- no matter the distance or the true relationship- is bound so intricately. This week I’ve watched daughter-in-law meet every need for her hospitalized mother-in-law. I’ve sat nearby as older brother cried with his little sister.   I’ve cried alone in what felt like a million miles away from daughter releasing mother to the care of her Creator. I’ve laughed with tears pushed back at non-sensical mumblings with family I know little about. But it is in times such as these when one incredible being brings together people of all walks of life. The love my Grandmother shared with all of these people is what has brought us into such shared moments. You begin to realize that the petty differences we’ve developed over the years only hold so much weight.   Because at the end of the day we’ll touch the same forehead, say the same prayers, and love the same woman that loved us all before we knew how. Just as our Creator first loved us. We forget we are all intricately bound to one another

Now, after tearful goodbyes, grueling cleaning sessions, last minute arguments, and memory-sharing sessions, I can officially say: “YAV year complete.” But for whatever reason, it’s difficult for me to actually say that. During our closing retreat, my housemates and I hovered between the necessity for closure, and the reality that this year was merely a piece of the pie – a sentence in the paragraph. While our terms as Young Adult Volunteers have come to a close, I think so much of what’s happened will continue as we each strive for a more peaceful world. Thanks to each of you for carrying me along this journey. As you can see from reading the few blogs I’ve written, I’ve learned and experienced a lot over the past 12 months. Throughout the past few weeks as things have been winding down I’ve contemplated what my purpose has been here. I’ve spent too much time wondering if I failed completely. And probably also too much time patting myself on the back for a job well done. But I’m not t

As many of you know, I recently completed the migrant trail – a week long journey from Sasabe, Mexico to Tucson, AZ- around 75 miles. I walked with 47 others, ranging in age from 18 to 72. We walked the distance that many, many migrants travel to reach the US. But many do not make it- the fearful policies we have implemented have caused thousands to die in the desert of Southern Arizona. So, we walked- not to “put ourselves in their shoes” or simulate their experiences at all. We walked though to remember, to honor, and to bring attention to this atrocious situation. Along the way we all carried crosses with names of individuals who have died along their way. I carried Rosa Maria Arriga – Castillo. She died in 2002 at the age of 22.   These are some reflections from my journey: She was the same age as I am now- a life cut too short. I wondered what her life was like. She probably already had children of her own.   She had to leave her children behind, because things weren’t good enough

Out of infinite longings rise finite deeds like weak fountains, falling back just in time and trembling. And yet, what otherwise remains silent, our happy energies—show themselves in these dancing tears. - Rainer Maria Rilke You know those moments when all you can do is cry? It comes almost instantaneously- you don’t even have a chance to think about it. It feels like everything inside of you swells up- and all that’s swollen decides to seep out through your eyeballs. And these are the tears that usually stream- they don’t gather, drip, or slip back inside. And sometimes, if it’s just perfect, you can feel each individual strand as it falls from your lid, traces along the side of your cheek and free falls from chin to chest. It is when the tears come like this, with no forceful desire for emotion, that I feel most human.   Daniel’s * eyes are often wet as he tells me of his latest health concern, loneliness of the death of a family member, or anxieties of living in a room with

I made quick friends with David* at the Primavera Men’s Shelter. I talked with him for a long time during his first case management appointment in January. He had been in and out of our shelter before, but had spent most of his adult life on the streets of Tucson. He had been an alcoholic for so many years but was determined that this time would be different. Although shorter than I am, David preferred to refer to me as “little one” over Meredith. I would often see him on my way in to the shelter and we would waver furiously from the street saying “hey little one, I’ll see you at home!”             … It was 4 53 pm on a Wednesday- I was a bit late getting to the shelter. As I was biking down 6 th Ave, I heard, from the other side of the street “Heeyy, Little One!” I immediately knew who it was and pulled over my bike. I hadn’t seen him since he didn’t show up to the shelter a few weeks earlier. He (sort of) looked to make sure no cars were coming and ran across the street to me. He so

While in Ethiopia, my travel buddy Marybeth and I would try to list at least five things we were thankful for before going to sleep under our mosquito nets (and then we'd pray they wouldn't cave in on us). I've been trying to pick up this practice again, and it has really brought an attitude of gratitude back into my life here. I thought I would share some of these thanksgivings with you... - for a new friend who keeps me sane, and yet keeps me insane enough to keep asking questions so things may one day change - for beautiful Tucson sunsets - for farmers markets - for the old couple swing dancing at the bar last night - for 3 am cookies - for gchat - for so much laughter at dinner and joy being brought back into our wonderful community at 1229 - for piano music in the mail! - for my new nickname at the shelter: "salad girl" - for the new hole in our ceiling that "really opens up our living room" (thanks Ali) - for the physiology lessons duri

"For this is Holy Ground..." She took off her shoes, for this is holy ground. Tonight we went to the memorial at UMC. There were some path type things among all the candles, flowers, posters, etc so that you could walk along and reflect/pray/think. I walked along the pavement part to see what was along the edge and as I approached the grassy section's pathway, I noticed my housemate's shoes on the outside portion. She left her shoes- she took them off. This roommate of mine- never ceases to amaze me. The way she uses her words and her actions so thoughtfully. The unique connection she can find with a moment or a place that is so obviously connected to her spirit. She moved through the labrynth of memorial with such intentionality. in her bare feet- her feet so connected with that holy ground that connects us all. This beautiful soul who reaches out to hug me and tell me "it's ok." Because she knows- she knows it will be. Because she remembers that no ma

Last Saturday at a nearby grocery store a man came to a neighborhood meeting where Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords was meeting with her constituents. He came with a gun. He fired, it killed, it wounded. And the world watched as the results unfolded. A friend and I waited in line for six hours to be able to get into the arena where President Obama was to speak at the memorial service. It was a powerful experience and I was honored to be a part of it. Even so, it was a hot day in Tucson, and we were not allowed to have food or drinks with us. Towards the end of the president’s speech, my stomach began to growl, and my eyes began to droop. I was looking at President Obama, right in front of me, and I couldn’t help but think, even for just a split second- I need this to finish up because I need food, and a bed … And once again, I am reminded of our humanity. Even the president of our country needs to satisfy those same basic needs that my body was reminding me of during his address. We al