Just the Right Amount of Time

There were 6 months between the day we accepted Steve's job offer in San Francisco and the day we loaded up the moving truck and drove away from our community.  I think God knew we need that much time to grieve, process, pray, narrow down neighborhoods, and prepare our family to move to Oakland.

Next, there were 8 months between the day that we moved to Oakland and the day Brian started as the new ED of The GreenHouse.  I think God knew that I needed that much time for my very raw heart to be able to hand over such a special gift.  It was such a slow and gentle loosening.   

Then, there were 9 months between Brian's first day at The GreenHouse and my first day at Aspire Public Schools.  I think God knew that I needed that much time and space to heal before I could open my heart up to something new.  I think He also knew that The GreenHouse needed me to be available to answer questions and provide support any day of the week by phone, text, email, or in person.  What a gift it was to have that time and to be able to share it so freely with the people and the organization that I love so dearly!   

So, it was almost 2 years exactly from the time I knew I'd be leaving the GH to the time I started a new job in Oakland. 

It was just the right amount of time.

And, you know what?  God provided just the right job, too.

When I began to think about going back to work, I knew I wanted three things: 1.) I only wanted to work two days a week so that I could maintain some semblance of order around our household.  2.) I wanted to work at a school (in Oakland) so I could have summers off with the boys.  3.) I didn't want to start until January.

Well, the first job I applied for, I got.  And it met all of those criteria.  What's more, it's in my very neighborhood of Oakland, exactly one mile from my house.  If you know me, which you do, you know how much I value neighborhood.   

I am now a Speech and Language Pathologist at ERES Academy, a charter school within the Aspire Public Schools system (a system of charter schools that operates in low-income neighborhoods).  ERES Academy is sweet little K-8th school in which 94% of its students are Hispanic and 94% of its students are on free and reduced lunch.  In so many ways, it feels like home.  I'm really enjoying all of my students and the satisfaction that comes with teaching.  (I also really like working.)     

I know I shouldn't be surprised, but I am.  God is STILL, two years later, giving me a giant hug throughout this whole transition. I can hear Him saying, "I know this is so hard for you.  But, don't worry.  I'm going to take care of you - again and again and again - so that you know that I am real and I love you."   

Fruitvale Station

Steve and I saw Fruitvale Station last night at the Grand Lake Theater.  There's no where else I would have wanted to see that move than at the Grand Lake Theater in Oakland.  It was really, really powerful to watch it in a packed theater, shoulder to shoulder, with people who live in the same city where the horrific event occurred.   

When it was all over and everyone was filing out of the theater, I broke down in tears.  The murder of that young man, at the hand of a police officer, nonetheless, was just way too much for my brain to comprehend.  I wanted to reach out to the people sitting on either side of me (both were African American, young couples) and apologize for the injustices that occur on a daily basis by my race towards their race...or do something, anything.  But all I could do was cry.      

Please go see this movie.  I had to use my greasy, popcorn-stained napkin to wipe my eyes, so be sure to bring some kleenex with you if you go.   And leave some time to talk about it with someone afterwards.  We all need to keep talking - about race, social justice, gun violence, and so much more.

Fruitvale Station is Steve's BART station.  He's there every Monday through Friday, twice a day.  I have a feeling, he'll never see that platform in the same way again. 

Broken

The boys are taking swim lesson this summer at the East Oakland Sports Complex.  As the name would indicate, it's in the heart of East Oakland - the part of Oakland that most families which look like ours don't venture into very often.  It's not exactly the most scenic or the "safest" part of town. 

But the East Oakland Sport Complex is a gem in our city.  It's a brand-new, beautiful sports facility with a terrific indoor pool - and a giant waterslide.  The boys love it there.  And I love the price of the swim lessons (the best deal in town!) as well as the friendly staff.  We are the only white people every time we go and I swear that when the pool maintenance guy (who is white) asked me if we had ever been there before, what he really was asking me was, "Did you know you were coming to this neighborhood when you signed up for swim lessons?"  What he didn't know is yes, I knew.  And yes, we still came.  And by the way, we love it here and we hope that in time, we will have many friends here. 
        
The short, four mile drive from our house to the pool is a sobering one.  We wind down 55th Avenue, to International, down Seminary, to San Leandro, down 85th, and finally to Edes Ave.  If you want to get a quick glimpse of poverty in a major city, this is route you'd want to take.  It's littered with graffiti (ev.er.y.where), vacant lots, busted-up windows, empty buildings, over-grown weeds, and trash.  It's a little overwhelming if you think about it too much.  

But I like having a reason to drive into that neighborhood twice a week.  It's good for me and my boys to see that.  It's harder to ignore the problems of your city when they are regularly right in your face. 

This morning, as we were driving to swim lessons, Riley was looking out the windows of the van when he shouted out,

"Why is this town so broken?"

Really good question, son.  Don't ever stop asking the hard questions.

When I pressed him for why he thought the town was broken and what he thought we should do to make it un-broken, he initially told me that we couldn't fix it because we weren't "workers" so we should just leave this town.

When I told him that we were the workers, he said,

"We need a wrench.  And a hammer.  And some paint."