If you are a long-time follower of BJH, you may recall an origin story involving a conversation in front of a sink of dirty dishes or maybe one involving a spiritual retreat reflecting on the life of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. It's hard to say exactly where anything begins; one day we find ourselves chest deep in the middle of things, wondering how we got here. So here's another origin story.
 |
| My own photo of a monarch butterfly resting on a Mexican sunflower |
BJH was born at the confluence of personal devastation and the collective trauma of the pandemic. A few years ago, on first meeting me and learning that I had been born visually impaired, a woman, in all seriousness, asked me, "did your parents regret bringing you into the world?" While rarely stated this blatantly, this question distills the attitudes and assumptions that brand some bodies and experiences as less-than or even worthless, erecting formidable barriers between those so branded, and the goods, services, experiences, opportunities, and relationships that make up a rich and meaningful life.
Working to create a rich and meaningful life in a society where you are rarely seen and are routinely devalued can be a heartbreaking, soul-crushing task.
In 2011, I returned to school to earn a master's in social work, hoping to work with older adults and/or with people facing health challenges. But once again, people's notions about who I was trumped my objectively verifiable skills and qualifications. And even when I excelled as a volunteer food ministry coordinator, creating a pantry that was innovative, inclusive, and communal, seen through the lens of white supremacy and misogyny, my very excellence, passion, and dedication became "aggressive", "alienating", and worthy of censure and abuse.
Grief can be clarifying: I'm here to love, to serve, and to create community and belonging. The needs and inequities laid bare by the pandemic brought renewed urgency to my purpose.
The work of BJH--the daily tasks and the overall vision--has profoundly affected me. At age 16, I entered college as a sociology major, planning to earn a living helping people, and writing in my spare time. Going from a school for the blind, where I was a top student and had many friends, to a small private college, where being the blind girl rendered me both invisible and not worth being seen, diverted me to a long retreat into poetry. Years later, while spending time on a hospice wing with my father and becoming a caregiver for my mother after her stroke, I was reminded of who I was and had meant to be before being hemmed in and reshaped by stigma. I pursued my degree in social work, and then found it impossible to find meaningful work.
Starting BJH provides me with meaningful work, connecting me to wonderful people I otherwise would have never met. It enables me to use my skills and talents in service of the vulnerable, a population I've long since wanted to serve. It allows me to use both my intellect and compassion, my head and my heart, to live out my values.
Vulnerability is inherent to the human condition; I can't recall a time when I have not known this. We all have needs and hungers and life-giving dreams and gifts to share. Shovel the ramp instead of the stairs, and everyone can enter; center the needs and experiences of marginalized people and transform our world in ways that benefit us all. BJH has enabled me to find a way to transform my life and my corner of the world.
There are myriad reasons for any sane person to fear, rage, despair. But still, if we will only look for it, work for it, nurture it, actively choose it every day, joy too can be ours.
Joy is a choice we make every day,
A light that shines through the darkest night,
A beacon that guides us along the way.
It's there in the little things we say,
In moments that fill us with delight,
Joy is a choice we make every day.
It's in the kindness that we display,
In the laughter that fills us with delight,
A beacon that guides us along the way.
We find it in the smiles that come our way,
In the warmth of the sun and the stars at night,
Joy is a choice we make every day.
It's in the love that we give away,
In the joy we bring to others' sight,
A beacon that guides us along the way.
And when the darkness comes to stay,
We remember the joy that shines so bright,
Joy is a choice we make every day,
A beacon that guides us along the way.
 |
| A screenshot from the Easter Vigil service from Washington National Cathedral, April 8, 2023 |
Comments
Post a Comment