Rocky

Came across an article that was written yesterday about Rocky, the puppet guy from church I wrote about in my last blog.

A hostage and a monkey

His name is Alan and he used to drive taxis in Britain. That is, until he went to Syria to use his driving skills to transport medical supplies and food to civilians who need it.

Then last December, when we were all in our separate churches singing advent hymns of peace and hope,  he was separated from his group of aid workers and taken hostage by the most lost, hurt, insecure and unloved-feeling souls in the world. We have been hearing them on the news by the name ISIS. Really, they’re just a tiny army built up by preying on people who are angry for their suffering, desperate to repay the world for their misery. Those are the people that are hiding Alan.  

They have beheaded many before him, and now they say he is next. 

His wife sends out a plea. He was just giving aid to innocent civilians, she says. Can’t you show mercy? Where is mercy? 

Alan. 

Where is he right now, and what must be thinking? Does he feel alone? Belligerent? Terrified? 

Where is mercy? 

***

Mercy showed up in church, of all places. I have come to rarely expect him there. It’s as if saying the word makes him run further from the pews and the robes and the 2 minute passings of peace in which we are supposed to find time and space to reconcile ourselves to one another before entering into worship. 

But he showed up last Sunday morning in Bingo, a monkey hand puppet that travels around with Rocky, a wild-eyed white man from Camden. Bingo stopped and talked in his excited little high pitched voice to elderly women, men in suits, babies, and Father Michael. 

“He wears that puppet all the time,” my housemate, Matt, leaned over and whispered to me. “He’s from Camden. Talked to some pretty rough guys with that thing. Last year he got jumped and his first monkey got torn up. But now he’s back at it with Bingo.”

I watched, curiously, as mercy’s head whirled around, looking for the ones that needed him most.

Oh Hey There, Camden

Well, I’ve been in Camden for two weeks. I’ve been planning for my return ever since I left five years ago and have been busy studying classism and racism and urban cultures of violence, going to conferences on community development, traveling abroad to beef up my Spanish skills – all with Camden in mind. There have been countless conversations with a whole slew of diverse people about the dreams and fears and questions that go along with the idea of coming back. Then there’s the nine months I spent roaming the planet, getting the adventure itch out of my system so that I could readily plant myself here and grow some roots.

I’ve been preparing to transplant myself into Camden for so long, and now I’m here and there is nothing spectacular or dazzling about it by any means. But it is good. 

I live in South Camden across the street from a liquor store (ours opens at 9am - earlier than any other liquor store in the city) and the closest house with people that actually live in it is a block away, so the neighbors I have had the most interactions with this far are the regulars at the liquor store and the crews that like to sit on our front stoop and deal drugs. They might be into some shady means of supporting themselves, but they help me back out of my driveway, offer to finish sweeping up the sidewalk when I come out with a broom, and let strangers know I’m “a Christian girl, not no prostitute!” so I can’t complain.

My housemates and community members have already established their rhythms of life, so I am kind of the odd fish, floundering around and wrestling with what being here should look like, and I’m sure all of my optimism and ideals seem cute to them.

And while the certified nursing assistant class I found downtown is probably the easiest class I’ve ever taken in my life, I’m learning a lot about how education can be done well for people who haven’t had the ability to finish high school or make it to college. I’m also learning a lot culturally. The class has adopted me as their pet white girl. Most of them are confused about why I want to be living in Camden and think it’s hilarious that I know more Spanish than some of the hispanic people in the class, but they’ve embraced me with open arms, love laughing at the inevitably ultra-white and middle class things I say and do, and have taken it upon themselves to teach me important things about living in the hood. I love them all already. And my street vocabulary is growing just as much as my medical vocabulary. To top it all off, I could really get used to wearing scrubs every day. 

The past few weeks have also brought with them a crash course on the great perks of adulthood, like car insurance and the processes and expenses that come with moving and attempting to be financially independent. My savings account keeps reminding me that it doesn’t like hanging out so dangerously close to empty, but I landed a job at a diner (that’s got a super diverse staff and is into healthy, local food!), so barring surprise expenses for the next few months, all should be well. And if not, my roommates and I have bets that a pair of friendly elderly twins that hang out in front of our house all day are loan sharks, so I could just support the local economy. ;)

At any rate, even though there is a part of my soul that longs to be in a place where I can see the beauty of the changing seasons, breathe in clean air and hike through mountains, my soul is overwhelmingly glad to be in this place. There’s so much growing to be done here. I’ve been challenged and humbled and tripped up already in just a few short weeks. I’ve had loads of opportunities to love God well, love people well, and love myself well, and am pumped for those opportunities to keep showing up so that I can get better at recognizing them and taking them. One of the best realizations I’ve had in the past few days is that unlike the past several years of my life where I’ve been jumping from one thing to the next, I have time here. Time to ease in, to build a balanced life, to grow relationships. I’m not leaving anytime soon. Which means that I can invite DaShawn (the grinning 13 year old that stops by multiple times a day) in to cook sometimes, and sometimes I can turn him away without feeling like I’ve thrown away a precious opportunity. I can have days where I’m really invested in others and days where I am tired and need to spend time alone to recharge. I think it’s going to be a challenge for me to stop letting the fear of not-enough-time have so much power over me, but I am comforted by the time that I have in Camden and look forward to learning how to thrive in this place.