steve urkel

On Skid Row in Los Angeles, live the largest number of homeless people in all of the city. After about 7or 8pm, outside the anonymous green doors of a community outreach center and the only after school program on skid row, tents will start to be pitched, as those with some kind of plan for sleeping arrangements prepare for the long night ahead. Men and women, young and old line the streets. Displaced, crowded in, shoved aside, thousands of people struggle to make it to the next day. Many are stuck in a cycle of addiction or illness that is perpetuated by their poverty.
The housing that does exist in this ever shrinking area is called residential hotels - tall dirty buildings were entire families live in a small room and are stuck paying slum lords way too much for rent because they can't save enough to move out of the harsh living conditions. The picture to the right is the Huntington Hotel, one such residential hotel, where several of my young friends live.
These friends are the children who come to the after school program with the anonymous, green double doors on 6th and San Pedro. After tutoring, dinner, and other activities, we are in charge of making sure they arrive back at their homes, safe. Whatever safe means.
Today was a particularly difficult day in the 3rd -5th grade group. Desmond and his sister Tatiana hadn't gone to school that day, so there was tension with Tecola and Kiilou, who were all in the same class and none of whom wanted to have anything to do with homework. Especially because there was no school the next day.
As the 15 passenger rickety van pulled up to the Huntington, all the kids jumped out and we began walking with them up to their rooms. Soon we found that Desmond and Tatiana's dad wasn't answering the pounding of the door. One of the staff members began trying to make calls, while the kids argued about where they could go. While passing the time on the 5th floor, the kids started playing with whatever accessories I had on that interested them, my neckless, bandanna, and most importantly, my glasses.
Kiilou, who is a tall, lanky boy, was playing with my glasses, and decided to pull his pants up as high as he could get them to go, tuck his shirt in, slouch, hold onto his belt, and squint in his best Steve Urkel impression. I didn't even think these kids were old enough to know who Steve Urkel was. But did they ever.
After bursting into laughter at Kiilou's impression, Desmond took the glasses and began the next round. Soon Killou left, but Desmond was getting more and more convincingly Urkel. As we walked down the dingy halls, it was a comical sight - a miniature Steve Urkel leading me, nearly blind without my glasses, around the corners. The kids, who had been sulky and confused moments before were laughing and smiling with me at the hilarious impersonation. Everyone we passed as we walked back down the flights of stairs, though the lobby, and across the street recognized Desmond as Steve Urkel, and they all laughed or smiled in approval.
It really was funny. Not just like a dumb joke that a little kid tells that you pretend is funny. It was simply entertaining and, although I was a little nervous about tripping and falling, it brought everyone together a little bit.
We had to take Desmond and Tatiana back to the after school program location until someone could come for them, or at least be contacted. Who knows how many nights they had spent alone or will spend alone in the future. But this night, they were together, and with the other staff, genuinely laughing.

magnificence!

I was sitting in my class one morning last week, just minding my own business, trying to pay attention and not fall asleep. It's not that it's not an interesting class, I'm fairly interested in the subject and it has the potential to have practical implications in my life. The problem is that I hadn't got a lot of sleep the night before, or the night before that, or the night before that. Someone once told me that college is about three things: sleep, homework and fun, but you can only pick two. It's quite true, and my m.o. is to drop the first thing on the list.

But anyways, I'm sitting in class and we're about to break into small groups when one of the other students starts complaining about all the noise outside. "What in the world is all that?" My professor laughs her deep, throaty laugh that is somehow mildly annoying. "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough." I think her laugh is only annoying because it follows 80% of her statements. Listening to the sounds that is distracting everyone, I realize it's music. Loud music. Live music, right outside the classroom in the middle of the day. And definitely not the kind of cheesy guitar playing or almost on beat rapping I would expect at my school in the late a.m. Bright, upbeat, rich music. What in the world is going on?
If I was having a hard time focusing on class because I was tired before, I was certainly no longer tired, but I was twice as antsy to get out of class before whoever or whatever was creating this crazy beautiful music was gone. After what seemed like an eternity, I left class and scurried into the warm sunshine and deep rhythms.
There, on the lawn across from the cafeteria was a band comprised of about 10 beautiful men making the most beautiful music that could accompany sunshine. This was not an event that happened every day here. There were not the kind of people I was used to seeing here. Several types of drums, a keyboard, at least a guitar, and multiple fantastic vocals, the men danced and even called out some of the students to dance along. My sister had been frantically texting me and I met up with her and ecstatically gazed at the wondrous miracle before us.
Apparently from the Dominican Republic, the band's music was sort of a combination of Caribbean, reggae, gospel, and big band music. I'm not really an expert on what different genres of music are called or how to identify them, so pardon my ignorance. All I know is this music made me want to dance and my heart want to smile.
Students walked past the musicians, some lingering for a moment, some smiling as they walked by, some bewildered, some complacent. Others stopped and stood or sat in happy fascination along with my sister and I. After a while she had to get to class, but I just sat there as long as I could.
it isn't often that I am greeted with such a magnificent surprise, undeserved, unsuspected, unannounced. This particular surprise touched every part of my soul, engaged all my senses, made my mind forget everything that made it ache and, for a few beautiful moments, let my heart soar. I know this all sounds little bit dramatic. Calm down, I'm not loosing it. I embrace my dramatic reception of this event. If you don't embrace the little things in life, all you see is the nasty things. So blow the "little things" out of proportion. I like to ramble about the hour and a half of my day that honestly made me happy. It's magnificent.

contingencies

A girl I know from home took this picture. She's really artsy and takes great photos. I think that it is such a beautiful picture and I bet many people would agree with me. Perhaps even people at my school. The tattoo on the woman's back is, of course, a commandment of Jesus. Hip, college age Christians love Bible verse ink.

I wonder what they would think if they knew the context of the picture. I wonder what they would do if they met the woman in the picture. It's certainly an unfair musing, the generalization that they would all have the same response. I know this is untrue. I know there would be varying levels of indignation and judgment and disapproval. I know some would be sad, some would be mad, some would want to love the sinner and hate the sin. But I wonder how many of them would, all the same, think the woman's intention is misplaced, her understanding of Biblical interpretation flawed.

The girl I know from home took this picture at the Pride 2008 parade in San Fransisco. It's in an album among picture of people of all shapes and sizes wearing big rainbow buttons that say "Just Married," skanky Halloween costumes, or funky hair. Maybe these are the people whom Christians think of when they condemn homosexuals. The album also has pictures of people in mom jeans and baseball hats. All the pictures were of people unashamed to embrace an unconventional lifestyle, to support those who live such a lifestyle, loving whom they love. It's a situation quickly and easily denounced by the Christian community. The Bible clearly decries such a lifestyle, any good Christian will tell you. Why, where, or how are, of course, superfluous follow up questions.

But what about looking at it from a different perspective, one that emphasizes the commandment to love? Why is it so important to always have everything figured out so that everyone fits into a category? Category 1: People who are Christians and do what the Bible says. Category 2: People who claim to be Christians but don't actually understand what the Bible says. Category 3: People who don't claim to be Christians and reject and defy what the Bible says. People in Category 1 are the only ones with the secret, infallible knowledge of what category everyone else is in. Gays mostly fall into category 3, but maybe the girl in the pictures and some others fall into category 2.

Screw the categories.

I think we should be okay with not having all the answers. Those who wave a banner of love ought to be allowed to have their voice and their place among a community that claims to follow a Rabbi whose radical mantra was love. I think "love the sinner, hate the sin" is a self righteous and pretentious contingency that thinly veils the Pharisee who loudly thanked God that he wasn't like the sinful tax collector.

In the midst of a country and a campus and a community that I don't understand, a woman on BART believes in love. And she branded it on her body. I think it's beautiful, no contingencies.

Chapel

The lights. Fuchsia lights scanning over the crowds of lethargic college students intermingled with what, under normal circumstances, I could only assume to be highly caffinated students. The screen behind the musicians dances and flashes with the movements of a multi-tone neon screen saver. As the music rises and falls, (maybe that's too much credit; there are slow songs and fast ones anyway) the performers raise their hands artistically, which is apparently contagious because soon all kinds of people are waving their hands in the air, eyes closed in pious devotion. Maybe I shouldn't question their sincerity. Perhaps they have hard lives and seek comfort in feeling close to Jesus. The girl in the H&M cute but casual summer dress only talked to her parents five times this week, and they aren't buying her the newest Macbook, so maybe she feels lonely and in need of a father's arms. As the high sound volume causes the floor to vibrate and the sounds waves echo in her ears, she can almost feel His comforting touch. I capitalized "His" because I'm referring to God. And I wouldn't want to run the risk of irreverence at the expense of breaking common grammar rules. But out the classroom and back to chapel. The music majors on stage want to serve God better than anyone else can serve God, with their musical skill which is better than anyone elses musical skill, and better than all other gifts because we can all see them using it to serve God, and serve him more sacrificially than anyone so gifted could be expected. Which is of course why the worship leader's eyes are closed and he's speaking nonsense. Apparently the more ways you can figure out to say or sing the exact same thing, the more in tune you are with the spirit. As far as worship goes. Also, since all of us can't read the words that are conveniently displayed on the screen above his head, it's necessary for the worship leader to take matters into his own hands and quickly say the line we are about to sing before we sing it. You know, so we know what's coming. Wouldn't want to be thrown off by his raw musical talent that is so daringly unpredictable.
So Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at my private Christian university are a little rough sometimes. But honestly, I don't blame anyone other than myself. However, this morning, I was in the more low key of our chapel options, and was met with a ray of sanity in the form of a golden, curly haired young man. On stage, conspicuously off mic, the electric guitarist smiled, bobbed his head, and every once in a while did a little dance to himself as he played. It's like what you see when watching a a new dad play with his beautiful little daughter, or a kid skipping through the park with a popsicle, or an artist happily splashing colors - uninhibited joy. You can tell he believes in music. Whether or not anyone is watching. I've heard him talk about music and spirituality when no one but a few mismatched kids in an old backroom were listening. He talked about why it's good and maybe that's why I believe the smile on his face and the delight in his step. But what really made my heart happy was when one of the girls on vocals started her solo. His face burst into a genuine smile. As he jammed along, he was happy to just be in the presence of and participate in her soaring melodies. It's enough to make me believe in music and in people. It's a little bit of sunshine.

hello

"It is better to have a heart without words than words without a heart." –Gandhi

My name is Abigail. But mostly I go by Abbie. Often times things make a lot more sense in my head than when I say them out loud. I am clumsy. There - three authentic truths for the day. I think it's important to pursue truth and honesty, just for the sake of it. Authenticity is beautiful, even in the smallest ways. In the everyday ways. So part of this blog is about looking for honesty and authenticity within myself and the world around me.
Also, there are people in the world who see the world or at least parts of it for what it is. Sometimes these people are genuinely trying to make it a better place, and largely going unnoticed. And while cynicism is energizing and satiating, it is important to notice the good in the world and the difference that it is making. And perhaps if the difference is so little that it goes beyond notice, it should be given voice. Those people with heart listen and learn and try to share pieces of themselves the best they can. This blog is mostly about giving them words, and perhaps discovering new honesty along the way.
I took the photograph shown above at a cafe in Durban, South Africa called Bean Bag Bohemia. The colors of the wall were brilliant.