Jazztheo asked that I tell my story. I told him I need to think about it.
I am reluctant even as I write this. I have been turning it over and over in my mind, asking myself what my story actually is. I am a White woman, living in the inner-city, in love with children, dedicated to serving them. I don't want to be here. I want to be on a little farm somewhere as close as you can possibly get to nowhere. I want to get up in the morning and hear my sheep bleating and walk down the rows of my garden inspecting my pea vines while sipping my morning coffee. But here I am in the middle of the city. Starving for some real grass, real trees, and stars that fill the night sky. Sometimes I want to walk away. But every morning I go into work and I greet the most beautiful little faces one could ever hope to encounter. They range in color from the palest beige to the deepest mahogany. To win their devotion all one has to do is really listen to what they have to say. I go home at night and their faces and their stories haunt my dreams and my waking hours. My greatest temptation is not money, or addictive substances, or sex. My greatest struggle is my desire to live for self. I know that I could go off and live a peaceful and happy life. I'm very easily satisfied. A good book, a good cup of tea, and I am set. My ambitions for myself are so mundane. But my ambitions for my children...they are boundless. I want my children to have all the choices in life that I have surrendered. I want them to not only see the stars that are now vacant from our skies, but to reach them. I want them to have opportunities and resources that other children take for granted. I want them to be free. Free in the sense that nothing can hold them back from their destinies.
That's what drives me, for the most part. That is what makes me tick... the path I took to get to this point was a treacherous one. Much of the time it still seems that way. I have known hunger,sexism, rape, physical abuse, sexual abuse, and emotional abuse, the death of a loved one, loss of job, neglect, divorce, abandonment. . . I guess that was my path to Prophetic Christianity. Funny how suffering can make you sensitive to the pain of others. And I would also guess that my reluctance to share my story stems from the sentiment that I don't want to be thought of as a victim.
As far as my educational goals...I want to finish my degree and work in education in some capacity, if not teaching. Then I want to pursue a Master's in Theology. Lord willing...