Superfreaky

Dear Superfreaks,

Yeah, I'm talking to you. The kids who were musical prodigies at the age of four. The ones who lived in foreign countries and received top-notch education starting before elementary school. The kids who were becoming baby scholars while the rest of us regular people were eating glue and making jewelry out of breakfast foods.

You geniuses who were a shoe-in for all of the young and gifted programs and actually took the entrance exams in beautiful institutions instead of taking them from your dad's friend in the attic so then when you didn't get a high enough score nobody had to know.

You perfect students and model citizens who took above and beyond the necessary courses. Who never skipped a day of school and never tried tobacco, drugs, or alcohol, but told us it was perfectly fine if we did and then we felt like dirt bags.

You young, successful professionals in your early twenties. I have a message for you...

Why do you have to make me feel so inadequate? You're so awesome that I can't even look into your faces without my eyeballs threatening to burn from their sockets. You have so much access to opportunity. When I think about the candidates that will definitely be picked over me for the programs that I want to be a part of and I get scared and sweaty because those candidates are just  better than me....you are those candidates. I want to be those things. I want to be a shoe-in. I want the scholarships and the lack of doubt in my mind that I'll be able to go with adequate funding to the graduate school of my choice. I want to be so smart and talented and unbelievably awesome that I can go anywhere and do anything and it will change the world, no problem. You make it look so easy! You are SO COOL….

But, then I think about how I wouldn't have had tea parties with the Lochness Monster in my back yard if I had had to practice my five musical instruments. When would I have had time to play house with my sister or go to a normal school with nap time? And let me tell you that I now know that play-dough and glue don't taste too great, but cereal jewelry tastes like triumph. And I'm glad I experimented in high school because I got a hard earned lesson about how I want, and don't want to live my life. I got to experience living…maybe for worse at the time, but in the long run it was for the better.

So, as I research grad schools, opportunities to work abroad, as well as grant and fellowship opportunities, I know I won't have an automatic in. I've made mistakes. I haven't been perfect. I haven't always run the straight and narrow, but I have learned and those lessons have made me, me. I have passion and strength that is my own that hasn't been pushed at me my whole life. I found it all by myself. All I have to do now is follow that path and I am certain I'll get where I need to be...it will just be a bit harder.

         Yours Truly, 

          Me

*Artwork by my beautifully talented sister, Carsen Miller.

Toast and Juice

Last summer I spent a lot of time with the homeless individuals in Springfield. My favorite was Toast. The first time I met Toast I was sitting on a park bench on the square downtown with my roommate, Paige. As we sat a young man came over to us. He smiled as he smashed is hands flat against one another, began forming his palms and fingers around an invisible sphere, rolled it around a bit over his head and behind his back, then handed it to me to eat. It was an energy orb. It was meant to give me joy and happiness, and for some reason it did.

Over the following months I spent several nights downtown each week with Toast and other individuals without a place to live. I learned of the life they lived; never knowing where their next meal would come from, hearing about the newest abandoned house for them to seek shelter on rainy nights, listening to stories of their few possessions being stolen, and how rare it was for members of the community to express care and generosity to their brothers on the street. 

While it wasn't uncommon to encounter these men drunk or on drugs (honestly who could blame them) they seemed to keep their chin up more often than I think I would. This was especially true of Toast. At the age of 16 his mother had thrown him out of her house. She was an addict and was convinced that her son was after her stash. Now, at the age of 17, this young man had experienced more than anyone his age should. He had been beaten, abandoned, cast out, arrested for sleeping in parks, robbed, and "lost his face" to drugs, which he claimed he never got back. This kid was fried, hence his street name, Toast. Despite all of this, I never saw Toast without a grin on his face and the deepest love in his heart. 

One day I asked Toast why he was always so happy. He responded, "I'm like a cup of juice. Sometimes I spill, and that's bad. But then I just drink myself and everything is better. Sometimes when others are sad I give them some juice because it will make them better too."

We all spill over, lose confidence, get angry, become sad or depressed, lose focus…but we grow by spending time on our own and learning just from ourselves and what is around us. If we spill too much there is nothing we can do to contribute to individuals or the community around us. It is only when we have filled ourselves up that we have enough to share.

That's a pretty cool lesson to learn from a 17-year-old homeless kid.








*Artwork by my beautifully talented sister, Carsen Miller.

To My Mothers, Happy Mother's Day

Today is a day that I am reminded of the strong, beautiful, and loving women I have in my life. Each one of them has contributed to who I am today and I am eternally grateful for that.

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I have two of the coolest aunts in the world. They are both creative, unique, free-spirited individuals who have supported me and been inspirations. They have always been there to make me laugh. To teach me how to create. To be an ear for my worries, fears and joys. They have been this for me while raising their own families. I don't know many people who have aunts like mine.

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My grandmothers are awe-inspiring. They have been some of the strongest pillars in my life. They taught me manners, morals and values, and how to love. They were there to support my parents who had two stubborn and extremely independent little girls. They took my sister and I on trips, took me to school, fed me, played with me, scolded me, laughed with me, laughed at me, hid easter eggs, played library, let me wear their jewelry, and told me fascinating stories. They loved me and supported me through my best and my worst with no judgement or question. They are the reason I have two of the greatest parents in the world. I  would not be the strong, independent, successful woman I am, and continue to grow into, with out my grandmas.

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My mother is a quiet heroine, a strong superhero, and one of the greatest things that has ever happened to me. She is one of the most humble, silly, brilliant, beautiful, compassionate, fun, spirited, creative, nurturing, patient, and giving people I have ever encountered. She is the driving force behind our beautifully wonderful family. 

I am constantly struck speechless by her strength. She does so much with no expectation of anything in return. She spends her life as a servant; teaching children, taking care of her family, and caring relentlessly for her mother. She never gives up. I can only hope and pray that if I have children someday that I can live up to the bar she has set. 

She is my rock. She is my playmate. She is my life-giver. She is my teacher. She is my best friend. She is my idol and role model. She is everything I need her to be. She is my mom.

Granddaddy

Today is the one year anniversary of the passing of one of the greatest people I have been fortunate to have in my life. This is what I wrote a year ago, just an hour after he left us:

May 8^th has never held any significance for me. It’s not a birthday of anyone I hold dear. It’s not a holiday. It’s not quite the end of school. It’s not the mark of a new season. I don’t remember any significant events from May 8^ths in the past. Today changed that. Starting at 6:03 pm today, May 8^th became a day that I will remember forever. It is the day that I will always celebrate the life of my granddaddy, Joe Wammack. The first time I have experienced the loss of a grandparent. My first experience of watching someone suffer until the end of an amazing, fulfilling, and awe inspiring life. No regrets. No sadness. Ready, set, he went. He went to be with his sons. To be with his parents. Went to be with his Savior. He went home. He left a family that made him more proud and joyous than anything else on this earth. He said "see you later" to twelve of his blood that are changed because of him. Hundreds, maybe thousands of others that were inspired to greatness by this one man. I could not be more grateful that I had this man for twenty glorious years. To learn from him. To love him and be loved by him. This world will not be the same without him, but is better for having him in it.

Help! I'm stuck and I can't get out!

I'm having problems. Not a kind to be fixed by a doctor, handyman, or a cold drink. The kind of problem I have is one that has no name. Its a feeling. A locked-in-a-box-two-sizes-too-small kind of feeling….and, taking after my father, I am an extremely claustrophobic person, so I don't like it too well.

Its not a secret that I spent last semester abroad exploring the world and my inner self with amazing opportunities, people, and freedoms. I felt like I could fly as free as a bird. Now, however, I have forcibly regressed into a state of claustrophobia brought on by certain institutions and accepted thought.

Lets begin the dissection of my current mindset with said institutions. I have been afforded the fantastic opportunity to attend a fine educational institution for the past few years. My college is one of the top in the nation for it's Nonprofit Leadership undergraduate degree. I have access to over 6,000 nonprofits and foundations in the area from which to glean top of the line experience. Sounds perfect, right? Well, here's the claustrophobic part. After my experiences last semester I find it hard to live in the "Jewell Bubble" as it has been named. I went from running my life part way across the world to spending each and every day on the hill with the same small group of individuals from the Bible Belt strapped midwest. I don't want to be "that girl" who thinks she's better than everyone else because of her vast knowledge of the world, but some things I see and hear around my campus and among my peers cause me to bite my tongue so hard it threatens to fall off. I might feel less spiteful if I had a little bit of time away from all of this each day to recollect myself and look at the bright side…but I am required to live on campus in this tired, tiny radius for the entirety of my college career. I think it might be difficult for Ghandi to stay calm, collected, and completely accepting if he never got a break from it.

Am I right in these thoughts and feelings that run through my mind every day? Absolutely not, and do not claim to be. I'm struggling with how to love the people around me and live happily in my current situation. How can I be an effective nonprofit leader and live up to what I want to become if I can't love and accept the people living next door? I don't have the answer…do you? (because if you do and could solve all of my problems that would save me a lot of time and also if that is the case then you should maybe look into how you can channel those absolute superpowers into fixing something greater than me…like world hunger or peace or something…)

The second area that is a large cause of claustrophobia is accepted thought in my generation, and especially in this area of the country. The apathetic and somewhat self-centered nature plaguing our world, and especially my generation, is an obstacle that is hard to overcome. No one will do anything unless they are receiving something tangible in return. This is personally hard for me to deal with productively when my life, internships, campus job, and position as the newly elected Nonprofit Leadership Association President requires me to constantly do the work that others refuse to care about…not to mention it is the one thing that gets me so pumped that I feel like I might explode so when people make excuses or just outwardly do not give a damn I feel an unreasonable sense of betrayal and anger.

Oh and also, I don't find the word "retarded" funny or racist jokes humorous.

I know that I'm no better than anyone else. I know that I could care less about things that other people love. I also know that there is no magical place where I will completely leave my tiny box of claustrophobia and find myself in nonprofit and complete awareness heaven….I'm just having problems that have no diagnosis or simple solution….I just feel stuck.


*Artwork by my beautifully talented sister, Carsen Miller.

My Attempt at Shameless Self-Promotion

I have recently learned in my Business Seminar class that an entrepreneurial characteristic I need to strengthen is my shameless self-promotion...so here it goes...

On Friday I was an honoree at the William Jewell College Celebration of Honors ceremony. I was recognized among numerous other remarkable individuals of the Jewell Community.

The first award I share with my roommate and great friend, Paige Vansickle:

Read the WJC Hilltop Monitor Article 

The second I received to fund my internship with the Rainbow Network in Springfield and Nicaragua this summer:

Read the WJC Hilltop Monitor Article

Disclaimer: The Hilltop Monitor is kind of notorious for its inaccuracies. Not all information in these articles is necessarily correct, so if you feel inspired to know more about either project I am always eager and willing to talk about them.

Calvin

This weekend I accompanied a small group of individuals in painting the interior of a house off of Troost Street in Kansas City. The house belonged to a man named Calvin who is deaf, blind and unable to speak. We had the opportunity to meet Calvin before he was taken out of the house and I could not get Calvin out of my head as I worked or since then.

Calvin was born blind and deaf. He is also an African-American who grew up during the civil rights era. Calvin's parents died while he was still very young, so here was this young, deaf and blind black kid with no family and no one who was willing to take care of him. Calvin was sent to various institutions until he had the great fortune of attending the Helen Keller Learning Center in New York. When Calvin returned from NY, he had no home or place to go, so he ended up living on the streets. Finally, he was found by individuals who helped him find a home which he now owns, and has for thirteen years. Calvin is forty-six years old.

As I painted this man's home I almost came to tears. I can only imagine how difficult it would be to be bind or to be deaf…but blind AND deaf….I don't know how I would survive. Granted, that is all Calvin has known. It would be a different story for me to lose my sight and hearing after being blessed with it for twenty-one years. Calvin will never know the beauty of a sunset, will never know how gorgeous his home has become, and will never be able to communicate what he does know about or what he thinks about.

Here is another devastating part of the story. Calvin is just now, at 46 years old, learning how to somewhat communicate. He never had the money, nor the opportunity to learn to communicate. The only way he knows that it is time to do something is by the objects placed in his hands. When its time to eat, he is given a plate. When it is time to sleep, he is handed pajamas. He knows these objects by their shape and texture. So, other people can communicate something to Calvin, but the other way around is more complicated and nearly impossible.

Calvin doesn't know how to tell someone that he doesn't feel good, that he is hungry, that he needs…well, anything. He doesn't know about life and death. He doesn't know where the people that have been in his life have gone. He doesn't know what the world is like. He lives in a life of darkness. 

I may be making this way more negative than it needs to be…that particular way of life is all he knows and he may be absolutely content with it…I was just hit hard today with the knowledge of how incredibly fortunate I am. I have no birth defects, I was born in a free country, I come from a middle-class white family who loves me more than anything, I have had the opportunity to attend exceptional educational institutions….I really can't complain about anything.

Rachel, a twenty-four year old from the Troost/Paseo area of Kansas City, worked with us this weekend. Rachel has been working with Calvin for four years. She has appointed herself as Calvin's family since he has none. Rachel is currently working on her MBA in Nonprofit Administration. Inspired by her friend, Rachel wants to start a home for mentally handicapped individuals in her neighborhood. The individuals who cannot afford to be taken care of.

People like Calvin and Rachel inspire me. They have so much less and do so much more with it. I don't know how many times I will have to be amazed by and reminded of this, but it really is awe-inspiring and makes you think.