Loving someone you've never met...

No, I'm not talking about online dating.  I'm talking about a contagious Love that has caught me and so many others completely by surprise.  It is the Love for 32 orphaned girls in Mtwapa, Kenya that exists within a community of volunteers for an organization called One Home Many Hopes.  This is a community to which I happily belong.

I've worked with underprivileged children for as long as I can remember.  In many ways, I was one myself, receiving the support of kindhearted church-goers who funded summer camp for me and my sister, and the like. I have been working with, loving, and going out of my way to take care of children who need me since I became an adult and I don't see an end to that but I've found myself in a state of awe for the Love that exists in the One Home Many Hopes (OHMH) community.

When I attended an event in May of 2010 at the request of my friend and OHMH volunteer, Tracy, I was surprised to find well over 200 other people in attendance.  I wondered to myself if I had somehow missed the boat.  How had I not heard about an organization with this kind of following in my own town?  I brought my mom to the event which was a great experience because she was able to witness what turned out to be my Love at First Sight moment with the organization.  We sat in the front row, directly in front of the projection screen where I first saw the faces and voices of a group of girls I will now do anything I can to help.

By the time the time Anthony Mulongo (the Kenyan who rescued and housed each of these girls) was finished speaking, I was in tears and I had been changed for life.  I had fallen in Love.  I hugged the man I'd never before met and promised to do anything I could.  And I am.

I brought home magnets with the girls faces that night and put them on my refrigerator.  I now look at those beautiful girls each time I open the door.  I smile at them, talk to them and tell them I Love them.

To those who know me, this isn't much of a surprise - or very far out of the ordinary for me.  I care.  A LOT.  But there has been something special about the way I feel connected to OHMH and these girls that I can't quite explain.  And then, today happened.

Today I asked another volunteer, Cristina, to tell me her story about what drew her to OHMH.  Cristina sent me the link to her story on the organization's website, and I was amazed to learn that volunteering for OHMH is the reason she decided NOT to move out of the country.  I mean, people move for all sorts of reasons and they are typically not come upon lightly.  Some of us have even left behind relationships, families and best friends for the promise of something greater.  But to STAY for a nonprofit that can't pay you for your dedication?  That's unheard of!  I had a wonderful chat with Cristina who is equally in Love with the 32 girls who live in an orphanage in Kenya that she, too, has not met.  I thought this was a pretty incredible moment in my day.  After all, I'm giving my birthday this year to the girls, Cristina gave up an international relocation...  Really! What is in the OHMH water?

But Cristina's story was not the end of my amazement today.  My sister, Suzie, fell in Love with OHMH today, too.  Now, you should know that my sister is as about as opposite from me as she could be.  I'm a woman of words and emotion, she is a woman of images and thought.  I'm a teacher, a writer, and a motivator to causes.  My sister is a photographer with a dry wit who rarely shows the kind of gushy, mushiness that has long been part of my trademark.  Case in point:  She finally posted a response to her only sister's blog yesterday for the first time.  The entry she commented on was the deeply personal essay I wrote about Setting Boundaries.  What did she write, you might ask?  And I'm quoting her here:  "hey. that stop sign is in my neck of the woods."  Yup, she commented on the photograph I used to illustrate my deeply poignant message about boundaries. Oy.

Suzie and I have come to appreciate our differences and I love that my sister shows the world through her lens what is in her heart - and she's damn good at it!  She photographs the unique love of families, pregnant women in their most joyful moments, and babies who don't give a damn about the camera - and somehow each image manages to capture a moment in time that I'm pretty sure her subjects weren't even aware of.  You would understand, then, that I would never expected to get an email from my sister today with a two-page heart-felt letter written to every single one of her friends explaining her Love for the girls of Mudzini Kwetu. 

My sister told me that her letter, and her Love for OHMH, came to her this morning while she was at church.  The message of that sermon was simply that "faith always has a plan."  I wish I had heard the rest of that sermon but I'm pretty sure her minister was talking about the kind of plan that built OHMH and has brought so many of us to have the kind of faith that allows us to Fall in Love with the girls, the cause and the community it has created.  I'm pretty sure that faith's plan is to show us all this kind of Love - the kind of Love that allows you to devote yourself to someone you've never met - and the kind of Love is changing the world.  


Have a OHMH Love Story of your own to share?  Send it to OHMHLoveStories (at) g m a i l (dot) c o m!

Setting boundaries...

Ah, the Achilles Heel for me and so many other women. But I'm making changes. Who's with me?

With my birthday coming up, I'm taking stock, cleaning house and putting up new speed limits and STOP signs on the highways and merry lanes of my soul.  I'll be honest, a lot of people have driven a lot of over-weight, loud-muffler bearing, exhaust-spewing jalopies through my soul that should have never been licensed for operation in the first place.  But I've been open - too open - and so I've unwittingly allowed them have their joy rides and illegal street races, hence the lesson of this little soliloquy.  I'm done with the oil dripping, pot holes and smog.  Are you?

I've found it very easy to see and diagnose the People Pleasing Disease (PPD) in so many women and girls I know.  I have fought ardently against the spreading of this disease, and, like any good girlfriend, I've dedicated HOURS upon HOURS amounting to surely weeks of my life to helping other women re-pave their own damaged roads.  The question is, have I done the same for myself?  I think I'm calling myself on the carpet here.  Not necessarily practicing what I preach...  The question is, though, why have I not?

I think perhaps the boundary setting lesson is one that sets in later in life for many women (and for too many, far too late in life).  As I sit here at the intersection of last year and next year, I'm actually quite grateful for the gift of another year under my belt.  The wisdom that comes with it far outweighs the perceived laundry-list of down-sides that we women are told to fear/despise/mourn/surgically alter as we grow older (don't even get me started on this little gem of backwards thinking that exists in this and so many other societies...).  Really, I can't see where the downsides are.  I think I'm more attractive than I was ten years ago, more confident (which makes a woman more attractive), smarter, sassier, wiser, and happier.  I've also got a whole lot of street smarts I didn't have ten years ago.  I dare you to tell me what I've lost.  Please.

This year's Ah-Ha moment will be wrapped in a big red bow (or perhaps yellow "caution" tape for those tempted line-crossers) and I will happily present it to myself in celebration of another year of life.  I'm giving myself the gift of saying NO.  I'm giving myself the gift of doing what I want to do and not what someone else wants or expects me to do.  My heart is about as big as the ocean so there's no danger of Shadenfreude here, so why haven't I been trusting myself and enforcing speed limits or erecting stop signs where they are needed?  Is this just part of the female condition?

I've become quite comfortable with my wisdom, confidence, life experience and the belief that I am an awfully valuable member of the human race.  Oh, and I'm an eternally optimistic survivor so there's no danger of blind Pollyanna-ness here.  I have indeed seen the ugliness of life, quite a bit of it actually. I just choose to still be incredibly positive about what we are all capable of overcoming and achieving.  My own process of reflection (a welcome side-effect of wisdom) has taught me to start protecting myself from all of the toxic pollutants of life, be they smog, PPD, negative people, toxic relationships or staying too long where I no longer want to be.  I am letting it all go and drawing some lines.

So here I am, world: Amy With Boundaries.  I've learned that by saying no, I don't feed into others' unhealthy habits, helping them to heal in their own ways as well.  It's a matter of stopping a cycle of dependency.  After all, in order for someone to take advantage of another person (that's some pretty bad Karma that needs to be healed), there must be a willing recipient (you've got to heal that kind of Karma too), conscious or not.  I choose to be conscious. I hope you will choose to consciously set your own boundaries too.

I'm positive that if it's done for your soul and with the right intentions, no one will be hurt.  In fact, you may find that other women and girls begin to model your behavior and will do the same for even more women.  If we do this right, ladies, we can heal a very old wound in the human condition and rid 51% of the population of a terribly painful habit that no longer serves anyone.

Letting go is opening up...

Let go of your toxic relationships with friends, lovers, beliefs and fears. 

Open yourself to those who embody the same traits you love in yourself. 

Are you a good listener? Seek others who are good listeners. Allow such traits to be barometers of who and what is right for you.  If you are trying too hard to make it work, that is a clear sign to you to let go and open yourself to what is right for you.

My friend Asha is teaching me to see life as a process of deconstructing and constructing.  This is a powerful way to view the journey.  After all, we are here to build something and we cannot bring in something NEW if we do not clear out what is old, no longer needed and taking up precious space.  This is true whether in our home, our closet, our mind, our heart or our soul.

What are you holding on to that must be released?  Don't know how to answer that question?  It's the thing that makes you feel overwhelmed or sad or weighed down when you come across it.  Quite simply, if that thing (friend, lover, belief, fear, pair of jeans or ugly chair) is not nourishing you, it's got to go.  In fact, it's draining you in a precious space that wants desperately to be filled with a job that makes you happy, a caring new lover, or a pair of jeans that make you feel like a million bucks.  So let it go.  And open up to what is around the bend... it's yours anyway, it's just waiting for you to let it in.

...So let go, and open yourself!

Give Your Birthday for Your Birthday

I'm sure there's a movement or a website for this kind of thinking because I love it so much.  If not, then I hereby declare this the beginning of the Give Your Birthday for Your Birthday Movement.

It started as an off-handed idea.  I have a friend who said she was planning to do a service project for her birthday and it got me thinking about throwing a bash for my birthday that raised money for my favorite cause, One Home Many Hopes.  I put the idea out to the universe on the universe's favorite communication tool, Facebook, and everything fell into place.

Some of the girls laughing and playing at their new home in Kenya.

I'll be throwing a fabulous party with the help of some very generous friends and I ask only that folks come to learn about the organization's mission and what is happening half a world away in Kenya.  Oh yeah, and that they make a donation. One Home Many Hopes (OHMH) is an organization founded by two amazing human beings, Anthony Mulongo (a Kenyan) and Thomas Keown (an Irishman) who work tirelessly to house, love and educate abandoned, abused and orphaned girls in Mtwapa, Kenya.  It's a small movement with immeasurable impact on the lives of girls who are just like you and me:  full of hopes, dreams, talents and important contributions to give this world.  Girls who WILL change the world.

I've found that my birthday party fundraiser has attracted more people than I expected and it's brought people together in a way I hadn't imagined.  OHMH is run by volunteers and this has brought several new friends into my life which is a gift in and of itself, but the richness of this entire experience is even deeper because it has opened a part of my soul that I hadn't yet tapped into.  I HOPE you take a moment to learn about OHMH as well.  Watch this two minute video and you will see first hand that the girls HOPE you do, too.

I dare you to Give Your Birthday for Your Birthday and see just how giving this special day away to those in need can bring you far more in return than what you would otherwise bring to yourself.  It's all about giving, loving and opening your hearts, people.  This is a perfect way to begin giving and commit to giving for a lifetime.  After all, you're going to have a birthday each year, every year.

Need more reasons to do this?  I'm great with lists, so here you go.

1. There are countless children on our great Earth who do not know their birth dates, let alone celebrate them.
2. The money spent on celebrating YOU can feed, house or educate SOMEONE ELSE for far longer than you think else where in the world.
3. We are here on Earth to love, to give to and take care of one another.  There are nearly 7 billion of us - that's far more people than you know and who can come celebrate with you.  
4. There are countless children in the world living without parents, without shelter, without food and without anyone to love them tonight.
5. You'll never forget your birthday so you'll never forget to give.
6. You're living in a part of the world that allows you to read what I'm writing right now and while you are doing so, someone is providing light, electricity, and internet connection - and probably even a little heat or air conditioning to make this a comfortable experience for you.  Do you know how many people CANNOT do what you're doing right now and never will?
7. You could have just as easily been born somewhere in the world where you would never celebrate your birthday because survival would be the only priority you'd ever have.
8. There are so many organizations doing wonderful things to help the people I've made you think about here and they COUNT ON donations from people like me and YOU.
9. Your friends will inspired by you to give back as well.  They will love you a little more and will probably make your birthday an even more rewarding experience for you.
10. To give is to receive.  Love is all there is and I promise you that the more you give, the more you get in return.

Want to give to OHMH for my birthday?  I HOPE you will.  Click here.  And I thank you very, very much.

How do we choose our mentors in life?

I received an email late last night from a former student asking if I could be her mentor.  She calls me Ms. Lady and she always greeted me with the biggest loving smile and a sincere interest in my life (not the most frequent occurrence in a teacher's life).  The email was short, to the point and as sweet as she is.  I've been a mentor to hundreds of kids but her request made me wonder how people find their mentors in life.  I have had a few.  Right now, I have one in particular.  I told him years ago that I look up to him and I reach out to him when I'm feeling lost and in need of encouragement.  Would he know that I refer to him as my mentor as often as I do?  I don't think so.

Although I have taught a lesson to my students in the past called "what is a mentor?", my former student's email has made me wonder.  How do we determine who our mentors are?  What do we look for in the people we look up to?  Is this even a conscious decision or are these mentor/mentee relationships established somewhere in the spirit realm and we just get to enjoy their development here in our busy little human lives?  Sure, there can be a generic answer here - or several actually.  You could tell me that a mentor is "someone in my field who has gone as far as I'd like to go in my career."  Or, "someone whose morals I respect and admire."  "Someone who is well connected."  "Someone who has taken me under her wing."  "Someone I just admire and want to emulate."  But, really, how are these people determined in our lives?  And do they need to willingly accept the position?  Is there a job description?

My short answer, dearest D., is yes, of course I will be your mentor.  And I already am.  I am here for you for whatever you need and I will always encourage you and remind you of what an amazing human being you are.

Hmmm.  Perhaps the answer to my question was in her short email to me, in the last line where she wrote, simply  "I need someone as positive as you in my life."

Ends and Beginnings

I'm reposting an essay I wrote just over a year ago when my childhood minister passed away.  I experienced pure magic and a connection with spirit on this day.  I share this again in honor and memoriam of a man who significantly impacted my life.  His life has ended and in many ways mine began anew at about the time he went home.  Ron, here's to your end, my beginning, and the constant that is and always will be:  Our souls.

A Rose & A Recliner....
February 21, 2010

The minister of my childhood church, Reverend Ronald Place, died last week at the age of 83. His wife, Margaret, died five years ago, also at the age of 83. Ron touched my life and helped to bring joyful memories and happiness to my childhood and formative years. We even lived in the same home, the parsonage next door to the Church; my family moving in after he had moved out and built a home of his own. I last saw Ron six years ago at Mass General Hospital. He and his wife traveled to Boston for her medical care and even there, in her hospital room, Ron took to counseling me on the personal and delicate topic of the interfaith relationship I was in at the time. I was completely open, my partner was not. I couldn’t understand my partner’s point of view and it was not until I spoke to my own childhood minister – the same one who opened my mind and my heart to all people, all faiths, all creeds – that I was able to understand why my partner struggled so much with our differences. Only Ron would have cared to focus on me and my struggles at a time when his own wife was ill.

When I was a child, Ron made me laugh, made me think and made me feel like I had an ally. While I have countless stories I could share about my memories of Ron, this story is about the memorial service I had for Ron today, on my own. His funeral was held at my childhood church yesterday and it was attended by so many who knew and loved Ron – by those whose lives he touched. Many of us could not attend – and more, I’m sure, don’t even know of his passing. Ron was a mahatma and he brought peace and joy and laughter to all whose lives he blessed. 

As I woke this morning, I felt the need to take a day trip to mark the last day of my February break from school. I thought about some of my tried and true destinations on the North and South shore. None appealed to me very much. Suddenly, out of nowhere while brushing my teeth, I declared to myself that I had to go to Salem, on the North Shore, not too far from where I live. I wasn’t sure why – I’ve only been to Salem a couple of times and I don’t know it all that well. Nonetheless, I gathered my coat and camera and got ready to go.




Before heading out the door, I went to my desk where a beautiful bouquet of roses has sat since it was mistakenly delivered to me one week ago on Valentine’s Day. When I called the florist that day to inform him of his mistake, he said I should keep them because another arrangement had already been sent to the correct address. I graciously placed the red roses on my desk, admiring them day after day. I called them my “Valentine’s Day flowers from the universe”. Not a bad substitute for one who does not officially have any other Valentine from whom to receive flowers. On the fifth day of admiring the roses in their pink glass vase, I took a photo of them, reveling in how they looked as fresh and alive as they did on Valentine’s Day – amazingly so, in fact. I love flowers so normally I freshen the water, trim the stems and feed them floral food – but instead, I just let them be. This morning, thinking of traveling to Salem, I decided I would have a private memorial service for Ron with a rose from the bouquet. I plucked out the flower that hadn’t opened completely and out the door I went.

On the drive to Salem, I started to remember snippets of my time with Ron. My memories came through at first as images and then, the further I drove, more as emotion and I began to cry. I looked to the rose, laying on the dashboard, and carried along on my journey. I didn’t think to bring my map book which typically lives in a pocket on the back of the passenger’s seat in my car (I’m driving a rental while mine is in the shop so it is devoid of all of the paraphernalia I typically tote around with me). I wasn’t concerned, however, I figured I could follow the signs to Salem and I’d make my way to my final destination somehow. Oddly, I still wasn’t sure where that was.




After exiting the highway and following the signs to Salem, I decided to keep driving and find a beach. I wanted to put the rose at the water’s edge as I said my prayers and my final goodbyes to Ron. Instinct led me to the water and I passed two small beaches along the driver’s side of the car as I drove. I knew the first one wasn’t it but the second seemed right. I pulled into a parking spot but decided I wanted more privacy so I backed out and kept driving. Something compelled me to drive back and park in the same spot, forsaking the four cars sitting across from the entrance to the beach. So what if people were watching, I decided. I grabbed the camera, my coat and the rose.

Crossing the road, I was faced with a biting cold wind that made me tear up instantly. My tears began to smatter on the inside of my sunglasses. When I crested the beach, I saw the oddest thing. If I weren’t walking right toward it, I would have done a double take. In fact, I am pretty sure I cocked my head like a curious dog when I saw it. There, ten yards ahead of me, sat a beige recliner on the beach. That’s right, A RECLINER WAS SITTING ON THE BEACH. At first I was irritated, thinking that this place might not be the right one for my memorial to Ron. How could a beach with garbage on it be worthy of this moment? I decided to ignore the interruption of the image ahead of me and walked to the water. When I reached the water, I placed the rose at just out of reach of the first wave. I wanted it to stay at my feet until I told the universe and Ron my thoughts and then it was free to float away, out into the ocean. 




I turned my face away from the wind, now with a combination of the tears that formed from the cold and those that came from my heart and saw something else that stopped me in my tracks: two seagulls danced in the sky above me. Normally these birds aren’t what you would consider to be graceful or even beautiful with one another. Sure, they soar in the wind and as long as they’re not trying to eat your lunch on a summer’s day at the beach, they are a welcome presence. I thought it odd in that moment, that there were two birds. Seagulls always struck me as more solo creatures unless there is food to be swooped up. These two birds wove back and forth around each other, away from me and then back. I knew that they were Ron and Margaret. Together, again. The sweetness of the thought made me smile. A moment later, they were joined by two more birds, seemingly out of nowhere. Again, I knew: these two birds were Ron’s son and daughter, who both passed away before their parents did. 




The experience on the beach with the rose and the birds was enough for me to believe that Ron was there with me. He was communicating with me; acknowledging my presence and my thoughts of him. As I turned to walk back to the car, I saw the recliner again. I laughed. I couldn’t believe it! Ron brought me to the only beach in the world that would have a recliner on it. He had a mischievous sense of humor and this was very like him. This wasn’t trash or a disturbance, this was Ron.




Before I left my house for Salem, and before I even had my Salem-bound-Ron-Place-memorial-Aha-moment while brushing my teeth this morning, I had been searching through old boxes and photo albums for a photograph of Ron. I knew I had a picture somewhere – I could see it in my memory. I was ten or so. We were in the basement of my church. My sister and I were there, along with so many other kids my age – some younger, some older – and we were there for a fundraiser to send money to people less fortunate than us somewhere on the other side of the world – Southeast Asia rang a bell. In all the years that have passed, that’s really all I could remember about the reason WHY we gathered that day and night and rocked in our pajamas downstairs from the church. 

Together with 15 or so other kids, I was participating in Ron’s “Rock-a-thon.” We rocked in rocking chairs for hours and hours at that event to raise money for a cause near and dear to Ron’s heart. While I couldn’t remember the name of the village we were supporting all these years later, I did remember the fact that we kids got to stay up all night (or so it seemed) and all we had to do is just keep rocking in our chairs. There was music, we had blankets and snacks and our parents and other adults came and went but Ron stayed with us, rocking in his RECLINER. We all brought hard wooden rocking chairs for the event but Ron was smart enough to know that he and his bum stood a far better chance of rocking as long as possible in the soft cushion surround of a rocking recliner he brought from home. 

So there on the beach, of course, sat a recliner. Ron would have had it no other way. 

When I got home today and sat at my desk, reflecting on my day and preparing to write this story, I sat in awe of the roses from the universe. They had finally started to die. Their silky crimson petals were now blackened and dried around the edges, their heads sagging down around the vase they had miraculously thrived in, nearly unattended, for seven days. They stayed strong and beautiful and alive long enough for just one of them to take me to Salem, to find that beach with the recliner and say goodbye to Ron.





Ron, I’m doing well (not “good,” of course) and I am so very grateful for every joyful, loving moment you brought to my life. In my childhood, you were pure peace to me and I will never, ever forget what you taught me.





With love and laughter, 

Amy