A Spectrum of Saints

The third Thursday of every month a group of roughly three dozen senior citizens gets together to share a meal. We clear a space on the right side of the sanctuary and set up tables to accommodate the crowd. The white-haired women decorate the tables with sparkling garland, seasonal candies, and cellophane centerpieces. The buffet table is laden with fried chicken, hot dishes and a wide array of jello salads and desserts, most of which incorporate whipped cream, marshmallow fluff, or both. They call themselves the Silver Saints, and each month they gather to share food and discuss their families, musings, and memories. Their meals usually have a theme and often times they bring in a guest speaker (who usually has nothing to do with the theme of the meal). This past month they celebrated St. Patrick's Day and heard from a local fire fighter, who taught them about fire prevention.

Meanwhile, just down the hall is a group of roughly three dozen 3-4 year-olds who get together to share snacks, learn their numbers and letters, and create a wide array of crafts. We call them the Small Saints. They meet at various times during the week, some in the morning and some in the afternoon. Their monthly activities, snacks, and crafts usually have a theme, and often times they bring in a guest speaker (who usually has nothing to do with the monthly theme). This past month they celebrated Dr. Seuss by making green eggs and ham, pasting candles onto a paper birthday cakes and creating "cat-in-the-hat" snacks (a marshmallow stuck to a vanilla wafer and striped with strips of fruit roll up – it was delicious). They also participated in St. Patrick’s Day with a leprechaun search and the cutting of shamrocks. Their most recent visitor was a mail carrier who taught them about the way that the mail gets to your house.

I am continually amused by the similarities between these two polarized portions of the congregation. They both refer to me as “Miss Amanda.” Both move slowly and require special attention in the hallways. Both like to sport brightly colored clothing that reflects a newfound “sense of self” (and of style). Both enjoy naptime. Both take pleasure in simple things. Both offer uncalculated physical affection. And both offer me a perspective on life that I would otherwise miss completely.

Sometimes the two groups interact, and at such times I am content to sit, to watch and to wonder at what they all must be thinking. The Small Saints sang Christmas carols for the Silver Saints prior to their December luncheon, an event I made sure to mark on my calendar. It was short, simple, and imperfect – 30-odd preschoolers on the carpeted steps of the sanctuary, eyes everywhere but on their teachers – but something about it was also beautiful. The Silver Saints watched with hope and contentment. During lunch they discussed their children and grandchildren, whether or not they would travel over the holidays, and who would be fortunate enough to receive visitors and do the holiday baking.

All of this, I confess, struck me. As a 20-something single person still unsure of what I want to do with my life, I spend most of my time thinking about myself, and if not of myself then of other people my age. I give little thought to preschoolers and even less to senior citizens. I don’t consider that my actions, my decisions, my life might actually have an effect on theirs. When I go home for holidays I still think about me – How much work do I want to miss? When do I want to get back to my friends? Who can I visit while staying with my parents? I am quick to forget that a relational job requires considering both sides of the relationship.

Stuck in the middle of preschool and post-retirement, I find I have a lot to learn.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

I'm currently working as the youth director and programmer of a mid-sized LCMS church in Liberty, Missouri and living in a 95-year-old house in Kansas City, Kansas. On Tuesday nights I teach ESL to a group of Bhutanese refugees, many of whom have only been in the US for a matter of months. Most weeks I pick up a shift as a server at Californos, a restaurant and reception venue in Westport. My social life involves hanging out with a motley crew of friends whose common bond is Jacob's Well, an emerging church in midtown Kansas City. Once in a while I still do some freelance copy editing for a National Science Foundation evaluator. Aside from periodically stalking people on facebook and attempting to start or finish a few books, that is my life.

And it's not a bad life. What little consistency there is between three relatively unstructured jobs, is good for me. Aside from moving to an upstairs bedroom in February, I've been living in the same place for over six months for the first time since high school. I've gotten used to Kansas City. I can navigate the streets and entertain my friends and family when they come to visit. I daresay I've become comfortable.

At least up until a month ago when an e-mail from Vimperk reminded me of what I wanted to do (or at least what I said I was going to do) when I graduated from college. A "writing and rhetoric" graduate who just couldn't pick a grad school program, I decided to earn a TEFL certificate and teach English as a foreign language for a few years before pursuing a Master's or PhD. I did get the certificate. I did spend 4 months working with immigrants and refugees in England. I did send resumes to numerous schools in Spain, Italy, and the Czech Republic. And then I went back to Nebraska to visit my family for Christmas and never left.

My strongest lead was from a gymnasium/grammar school in Vimperk, a Czech town surrounded by Sumava National Park. There was the potential of starting in February of 2010, which was dashed when one of their current instructors decided to stay an additional semester. I didn't hear from Vimperk again until early in May, less than two weeks after I'd committed to my summer internship in Overland Park. The school needed to know by June 1 (five days before my move date) whether or not I'd like to come in August and begin teaching in Czech on September 1, 2010. I was uncertain of what would happen over the summer. What if I became part of a community? What if I began developing close relationships? What if I found another job? I'd already discussed moving in with my best friend in the fall and spending the next year "experiencing life" in KC. I passed on the offer.

Three months later I was not attached. I did not have close friends. I did not love Kansas City. I had not found a job. And my "future roommate" had decided to live with her parents for the next year. I would have happily left the country to teach in Czech September 1. I contacted them to see how many native teachers they had lined up for the fall. Unfortunately, they didn't need me. At least not that year.

February 8, I received an e-mail informing me that my golden opportunity to teach overseas had come. I could begin paperwork as soon as March to start teaching September 1, 2011. After spending a summer as a superfluous intern in Johnson County and a couple of months copy-editing lab documents in Stillwell, I was further convinced that I wanted to teach English, as far away from white-collar America as possible. Yet, I was torn by the offer I would have jumped at in August. The difference being what had transpired in those few months between summer and winter. I moved into a house. I started a job, two jobs actually. I began developing close relationships with my housemates, co-workers, and friends. I started falling in love with Kansas City. Essentially, I became attached. It was something I hadn't planned on - Kansas City as a whole was something I hadn't planned on - when I graduated from college.

Though the "logical" next step in meeting my life goals appeared to be teaching in Vimperk, I chose to remain in Kansas City for another year. A piece of me wonders how long that "year" will end up being. My greatest fear in saying "no" for now, is that I am also saying "no" for later, that I'll never make it overseas, that my plans won't be realized, my goals won't be met. It's the same piece of me that used to fear falling in love with someone who wanted to be a farmer and then spending the rest of my life in small-town Nebraska; the piece of me that wants to follow a plan, even though diverging from that plan is most often how the richest parts of life happen. I don't think I'll actually stay in Kansas City for the rest of my life. My friends will grow and change and get married and take other jobs and move away. The youth program will develop as much as it can under my influence, and the church will be ready for someone with other gifts and qualifications. I'll itch to be back in school or back overseas or both. But for now, I'm content to stay. Perhaps this time next year my answer will change.