November Newsletter - Amanda in the UK

October/November Newsletter

Let me just say that autumn in London is lovely. It's my first fall; and I don't just mean "my first fall in England" but my first fall ever. Since North Dakota contains the geographical centre of North America, we are as far from the sea as possible. This makes weather extreme and unpredictable; and between the hot and dry summers and artic winters are a few wet, gloomy weeks that constitute our fall. It may snow one day and be hot the next, plunging us into a sort of seasonal limbo where one never knows what to wear. And as soon as the leaves begin to turn and it sort of resembles fall, a strong wind comes and blows the trees naked.
So, like I said, this is my first authentic fall; and I am in awe at the spectrum of colors in the trees that have yet to drop their leaves. London weather is remarkably consistent (compared to North Dakota; Londoners would likely disagree with this); yet I realize that my experience thus far has been anything but predictable.
This is often true when we follow our dreams. I'm an avid dreamer, one who is not content being "comfortable" but instead seeks adventure and new experiences. One longstanding dream of mine is to sacrifice a year of my life for global mission. Now, I'm not quite sure where this dreams stems from; perhaps I'd like to use my talents and gifts to heal a very needy world, or maybe I'd like to relieve some of the guilt of being a westerner and living in the top 98% of the world's wealthiest. Either way, these desires were in my mind as I searched for a way to "escape" the real world and postpone getting a real job.
The ELCA's Young Adults in Global Mission program seemed perfectly suited to my desires. I would get to travel abroad and serve for a while, returning safely in a year with a clearer conscious and the readiness to face my next stages in life. They often use the phrase "gap year" here in the UK, and that's precisely how I saw it: a small break from the normalities of life, in which I can be a full time servant of God. As a missionary I could devote all of my time to God for a year before returning to the responsibilities of everyday life.
During the application process, I had many visions for this coming year. And even when my expectations of living in a hut in Africa were changed to living in Primrose Hill London, I still had ideas of what this year would be like. For example, I expected to be an essential member of the congregation, one who makes real changes and differences. I hoped to find my church to be welcoming and thankful for the sacrifices that I've made. I was excited for "youth work," imaging myself in a position similar to the youth pastors who have been a part of my life. And I assumed that my past legacy in youth work would make me a valuable member, fully prepared to whip out any song or game for any occasion. In other words, I saw what I wanted to see in my placement.
Now expectations aren't always bad or wrong. But I soon realized that youth work is not the same in inner city London as it is in Bismarck, North Dakota. Big surprise, huh? But I was so pumped up by my own vision that I did not give this much thought. More than anything, I underestimated the amount of cultural differences between the United States and England; and most significantly, between a rural environment and that of inner city London. The young people we work with have a completely different background. Their environment is not the rolling prairie but the bustling streets of London. Just down the street from Haverstock Secondary School is the highest concentration of illegal drug trade in Europe. The borough of Camden is also known for its youth gangs, both male and female. Some of our young people have had friends who got mixed up with the gangs and have been attacked, even stabbed.
Talk about culture shock. Nothing in my past youth work prepared me for this. The disparity between my dreams and the reality of my work is my toughest challenge. I soon realized that I would not be the beloved youth leader who organizes pizza parties and lock-ins. I was clearly outside of the "Midwestern bubble." But would I be of any use? How can I even begin to relate to these young people?
I remember a particular moment that illustrated my outsider position. Twice a week, we go into Haverstock Secondary School during the lunchtime hour with the aim of building relationships with the students. I've always found it rather awkward and intimidating to approach a group of teenagers and convince them that you are cool enough to talk to. Anyway, about a month into my program, my coworker Anna and I managed to convince a group of year sevens (sixth graders) to talk to us. Initially, we found much to chat about; the girls discussed their classes, complained about homework, and proudly told of the upcoming school play.
It felt wonderful to be in discussion with these kids, and to find common ground in their familiar school experiences. One of the girls said very little, but listened intently to her friends and smiled quite often. I saw I bit of myself in her, remembering being shy and timid in middle school. I gave her an encouraging smile and felt that I "understood" her.
Then, out of nowhere, a friend of hers approached and discretely pulled her out of the group. I asked the others what was going on and they informed me, rather nonchalantly, that she had to follow through with a fight. Apparently a student had been shooting her dirty looks, and therefore she was compelled to fight her. I reacted to the situation with the proscribed response: "But fighting doesn't solve anything." The most vocal of the girls looked me square in the face and responded: "But you're paid to say that!"
I didn't know what to say. She revealed the truth, though; even though I was not told to say that, I certainly chose the cliché response. And in doing so I revealed my ignorance. To her, I wasn't a sympathizing friend, but another adult on the outside of the situation, incapable and unwilling to understand.
After the bell rang, I turned to Anna and expressed my surprise and frustration that these young girls were so willing to fight over such petty circumstances. When I was in school, fights between boys were rare, and unheard of between girls. How, then, do we begin to solve these problems? Anna responded, "For them, it's a way of life." I felt chastised. Rather than being a sympathetic ear, I, as an outsider, tried to come in and immediately "fix" the situation. I was frustrated at the reality of fighting but more so at my own ignorance. It was at this moment that I felt most out of place at St. Mary's.
My next meeting with my supervisor was a tear-filled one that centered on these frustrations. I confessed to Paul that I felt utterly incapable of doing youth work in an inner-city environment. Nothing in my childhood enabled me to relate to these young people. Why am I here, and what difference can I possibly make?
Paul agreed that this will be one of my challenges; but he helped me to see how my outsider position can also be my greatest strength. It will probably be hardest for me to form relationships with the youth; but unlike the youth workers who are natives of Camden, I bring a different perspective on life. My unique cultural background is testimony to a different way of living. This is not to say that I must "evangelize" my own personal experiences, but that together we can share experiences and challenge each other to think more broadly.
I've carried Paul's encouragement ever since. My work continues to be challenging, but I've increasingly felt more confident in my ability to reach our young people. Truly these young people deal with so much—drugs, gangs, fights—but still they remain kids. I've slowed down and reminded myself not to categorize them or assume that they are restricted by these challenges. Instead I've begun the long process of knowing each young personal individually, expecting to be surprised and challenged by their unique perspectives on life.
My work here has been anything but a cakewalk. I've been continuously challenged, stretched in every direction, and knocked down by my own preconceived notions and stereotypes. I'm not the local youth leader that I've always admired and wanted to be. I'm still uncomfortable with much of my work and unsure of the impact I am making. But I also see unexpected growth inside of me that has come out of the journey. Rather than regretting that I don't have the idyllic youth leader role of some of my friends, I thank God for the challenge and for giving me just enough courage to continue the journey.

I'd like to thank all of your for your prayers and supports. And thanks so much to those who have sent greetings and cards to my home. I can't express how encouraging it has been. The cards always seem to find me on my bad days, when I am lonely and feeling despondent. The thought of all of my friends and family back home has truly been what has kept me going when times are rough.
Please take care, and I hope you all had a lovely Thanksgiving! Until next time,

Peace and God bless,
Amanda