A Day in the Life - Freedom Foundation

Jonathan Daniels Pilgrimage

2010-05-22T05:05:00.000-07:00

We're coming up on the year anniversary of the Jonathan Daniels Pilgrimage, held in Hayneville, AL which I try to make every year. I wanted to share my reflections from last year and encourage people to attend this year, too:

Today I got a glimpse into the life of Jonathan Daniels, a white Episcopalian seminarian who was murdered in 1965 in Hayneville, AL. We gathered at the Lowndes County Courthouse lawn, marched to the jail where he was held, and visited the storefront steps where Jonathan was killed.

I dripped sweat in the heat of the day, and a young man actually fainted from dehydration as we stood in front of the former Varner's Grocery Store where Jonathan was murdered. I can only imagine what it was like for the 29 prisoners in that tiny jail, in the August heat. They were arrested and jailed for picketing white-only stores. My skin crawled at the small, rusted, metal cells. I learned that Jonathan was offered release, but refused to leave behind the African American marchers. He was later released with the other protesters, and when he, a white priest, and two other black protesters went to the grocery store down the block, a man shot at 17-year-old Ruby Sales. Jonathan stepped in front of the bullet to protect Ruby and was instantly killed.

Jonathan Daniels's life touches and inspires me. Like me, Jonathan left his home and school for what he saw as a worthwhile cause. He didn’t just come for a couple of days to march with the masses – he left everything behind and melded his life with the people. He lived with an African American family in Selma in the 60's, when he could have been killed by a bigot at any moment. He brought groups of young African Americans to the Episcopal Church services. He marched and protested in even the smallest towns in the area, and gave his life for one African American teenager.
Jonathan's life could be so easily missed. He was just one man in the midst of hundreds of race-related murders in the South. But I feel a connection to him. When God pricked his heart to act, he acted; he sacrificed his plans and changed the course of his life. To me, today is the beginning of my part in making sure his death is not in vain, and seeing that his story lives on to inspire others.

Their Time has Come

2010-01-17T05:03:00.000-08:00

Last night I attended the 4^th annual Martin Luther King, Jr. celebration in Selma. I was there last year, too, when they honored Annie Cooper, Jean Martin, a young man in high school, and others. I left the event last year, thinking “we need to do this more often.” It was so great to see time set aside to encourage people who are living their lives with integrity. So often it seems like people nitpick and tear each other down, and it was refreshing to see people being built up.

This year actually topped last year’s experience for me. The story that touched me the most this time was the Concordia Men’s Soccer Team. These guys won the USCAA Men's National Championship, and I don’t think very many people in Selma even knew about it! Their perseverance and heart tugged at me – they fought hard during the season to make it to the championship. They practiced wherever they could find field space, and played their games on a baseball field. Some had to choose the team and school over family to keep playing. And then when the championship came, they didn’t even have enough money to take the trip. They could have given up at many points along the way, but instead they rallied friends, family, and the school to support them, they did fund-raisers, and pulled together enough money to travel.

On the way to nationals, their bus got a flat tire, which set them back several hours. Then when they finally ended the 30+ hour bus trip to Vermont, they had to play the championship game in sub-freezing temperatures. Coming from Selma, I know that’s not an easy thing to do! They fought through snow and injuries to win the game in double-overtime, and put an awesome end to their season.

I love seeing people of courage and perseverance, who will do the right thing. This team came together and played with their hearts, no matter what kind of support they had. They didn’t base any of their efforts on recognition or glory. They just wanted to win. I admire and respect them, and am glad they had a night to honor them!

Random Acts of Theatre--Joseph's Coat

2009-05-05T08:20:00.000-07:00

The production of "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" was like no other!!!! From the tests and trials to the blessings and miracles, I have never felt or seen anything like it! We have grown as a team and the family of Random Acts of Theatre has grown even larger and more diverse. Remembering back to the chaotic first rehearsal and seeing the cohesive opening and closing nights, I am amazed!

Once we finally received the rights for a play, I was so excited to hear it was Joseph!!!! Not only is it one of my favorite Bible stories, but it is an amazing musical. A story about a boy who goes to the bottom of the bottom and because of his faith and trust in who God is, the Lord raises him to the top. A story of a dreamer that we can all relate to and a story of reconciliation that we all hope for.

As the wardrobe chief, I knew the infamous coat would be quite a project. How could I share my passion for Joseph through this coat? In my studying, I kept coming back to Genesis 37: 3 that says, " Now Israel loved Joseph more than all his children, because he was the son of his old age: and he made him a coat of many colours." I was particularly struck by the word colours. As I studied it more, I found the translation to mean pieces. So, this coat of many colours was actually a coat of many pieces. It struck something deep in me, something I didn't really understand until recently!

As rehearsals and production meetings started and a vision for the costumes began to come together, the coat was always at the back of my mind and I was still looking for a way and some direction. I had NO idea where to even start. I had started picking up different scrap material when I was shopping for other costumes, because I at least knew it had to be colorful and made of different pieces. The director and I both had a picture in our heads of what the coat would look like, but I didn't see how it would all come together, much like the production itself!

Several of us worked on the coat the first work day, cutting out different colors and sizes of fabric. We also started making our own patchwork fabric, by sewing together the pieces. Different ones giving of their time to work towards a result we couldn't see. That day, as one of the producers and I were talking, we started thinking on how this coat, the REAL and first ever made coat, actually worn by Joseph, would have come together. Here, in this day and time, we have scissors, sewing machines and a store to buy the fabric from. Joseph's father would have had to have someone make the fabric, dye it, then hand stitch it all together. It really touched me and showed me the love and labor that went into the coat. How much care and time would have been spent to get this splendid, golden lined result. I wonder if they knew what it was going to look like before they started working on it?!

I continued to work on making the fabric as I could for the next few weeks, still not sure how the end result would look, but still moving forward. A friend came over one night to work on it and we made some more progress, but we still had a VERY long way to go. Different ones had already put in soooo many hours of labor and our time was coming up quickly! We only had almost half of the fabric we would need. So, we sent out a call for help, to get some other costume projects completed and get some more help with the coat!

On a Saturday, two weeks before opening night, things started to come together. A team of people moved costumes, sorted costumes, and cut and sewed fabric. People that have never even thought about sewing or working with fabric, were able and willing to do what was asked of them. We also had a crew helping with costume parade (where we look at all the costumes together scene to scene to make sure they all flow) that day. It was a very productive day! I could finally see things coming together, there was a team working together for a common cause! It wasn't just about the production or the coat. All the PIECES were doing their part. The fabric was almost finished after that day of labor. It took two more days of work and trials for the coat to come together and be complete.

After 84 or so (those are just the ones I know of) hours, numerous prayers, two pair of scissors dying, 3 bobbins breaking, 5 needles breaking, 10 bundles of thread and 9 yards of fabric, Joseph's Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat was complete and on stage two days before opening night. Never in the. history of RAT Co have the costumes been done before opening night.

The thing I keep thinking on is how each piece is so important. Whether it is a piece in a process, a piece of a team, a piece of a puzzle, whatever the piece, nothing is complete without all of them playing their part and being in place. It is truly something AMAZING to see each piece come together to create a beautiful result!

Dreams

2009-03-25T08:00:00.000-07:00

My wife and I had our first child about 15 months ago, shortly after moving to Selma. Fatherhood has been one of the great learning experiences of my life, and I've consistently been awed by the growth of our little one and humbled by the many occasions where my interactions with her highlight the need for further growth in myself.

One of the memories I expect I'll have with me for the rest of my life was the day my daughter was born. I imagine I could write fifty blog posts about the unique experiences of that day. I'll limit myself to one for now.

After she went through the bathing and vaccinating regimen that follows birth and came back to Mom and me, the little one was pretty tired. I watched her as she first dozed, then went into deep sleep. She lay there peacefully, her eyes dancing back and forth under her eyelids. It had been quite some time since I had watched someone sleep, but I remembered learning somewhere that what I was observing is called REM (rapid eye movement) sleep and is the sleep phase commonly associated with dreaming.

I remember being struck by this. What, I wondered, could a child who had lived all of three hours in this world possibly have to dream about?

In the intervening months, I've been witness to many wonder-filled firsts, from her first smile to her first tentative steps, and even her first successful try at using the potty. She's mastered her balance and her first hundred or so words and is growing quickly into quite a little lady. I no longer wonder what the stuff of her dreams is, as she has an active imagination and a year's worth of experiences to draw on.

In addition to the joys of raising up our little one, I've had the great privilege of getting to meet and spend time with a group of Selma's young people in the past year. About a week ago, I found myself in a room full of boys ranging in age from 12 to 19. They're in one of the key formative stages of their young lives, and we got to talking about their dreams.

A couple of the older boys started sharing about the interactions they've had with a few Freedom Foundation volunteers who have invested a lot in them. Both boys reported a renewed sense of hope from the experiences of the past year. One said that for the first time in his life, he could see a future for himself as something other than a professional athlete, a rapper, or a drug dealer. The odds of anyone making it big in pro sports or the music industry are pretty slim, so the last of this trio of options, while the least appealing, is also the most likely for a young person with such a limited pool of dreams.

I left our time that night thinking about the power of dreams. Not pie-in-the-sky, never-gonna-happen fantasies or sickly, this-is-the-best-you-can-hope-for nightmares, but grand dreams bolstered by the substance of positive experience. Once dream-deprived young people begin to learn that they're capable of more than what they've seen and done in the past, the trajectory of their future tends to change radically. Suddenly, they find themselves asking questions like “Who says I have to settle for the mold society tries to force me into when it doesn't represent who I am?” and “Why couldn't I go to college—even if no one in my family has before?” and “What's to say I can't turn out to be a great dad and a supportive husband?”

As for those two boys who shared about their new set of dreams? One is a first-year student at a local college. He's a natural leader, a nonconformist, and an increasingly positive influence on those around him. The other, a junior in high school, has learned to drop the hard façade he used to hide behind to protect himself and fit in among his peers. He's rediscovering the freedom to be the sensitive young man who got lost in the transition from junior high to high school. Both have sweet hearts, as evidenced by the ways they interact with little Sophia—I'm finding that as her dad, I'm developing a sense for when someone really loves her. I'd say they make a fine pair of older brothers, and I sure hope as she grows up they'll help teach her to dream big.

Jubilee 2009

2009-03-08T14:33:00.000-07:00

Today, I marched through Selma for my second Jubilee weekend. One year ago, I sang in a diverse choir at Brown Chapel, and absorbed the remarks of John Lewis, Al Sharpton, and Jesse Jackson. That bright Sunday morning, the sun peered through the stained glass windows, and shined right onto a young African American teenager who stood up in her pew to interrupt John Lewis' talk. She asked if she could say something to Congressman Lewis, and even though someone tried to stop her breach of protocol, she insisted on continuing her sentiments. As someone whispered to Mr. Lewis that the spirit was moving her, he let her continue.

She thanked Mr. Lewis for his courage, and for everything he did during the movement as a young man, and told him that if not for his actions, she would never have the opportunities that she has today.

She then walked up to the front and gave him a hug. The service continued. This small gesture was reminiscent of the days of the civil rights movement mass rallies--they sang when the spirit said sing and they spoke when the spirit said speak.

This time around, I marched once again down Selma's Martin Luther King Boulevard, up Selma Avenue, and onto Broad Street, which leads to the Edmund Pettus Bridge. The sun beat down on our heads, and I listened to a young journalism major from California share about her interest in social justice. She talked about her recent experience with interviewing Los Angeles Skid Row transients, and marching next to her reminded me of old photos that I've lost myself in, of the everyday people who came to Selma in 1965 to make a difference.

Mostly young people, these marchers saw injustice and pursued this opportunity to fight for a cause. This year, as I sat among 400 SCLC members in church, I was reminded that Bloody Sunday wasn't a march with thousands of marchers like the March on Washington, but one of just 200 dedicated freedom fighters. These individuals stepped outside the doors of Brown Chapel, and trodded beyond the warnings of danger to that Edmund Pettus Bridge, because sometimes it only takes a few to provoke an enormous impact. Sheyann Webb shared that participating in this march as a young child left the greatest imprint of any event in her life. I understand now, more than ever, that no matter how young or old a person is, no matter how light or dark their skin color, and no matter what their level of education, a person with both conviction and courage to stand for the right thing can help spark a change that would be worth interruping church for.

Winning the Jonathan Daniels Award

2009-03-04T10:03:00.000-08:00

The Jonathan Daniels Youth Award has got to be my most prized possession as of now. I am honored to call it mine. I’ll give you a short synopsis of my story.

I am the son of a recovering alcoholic and a no-show dad. Pretty sad, huh? Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be here today. But I don’t love the method of parenting they used to raise my siblings and me.

Due to my mother’s alcoholism and her poor choice in husbands, my family grew up in poverty. But that’s not completely bad in itself. Being poor has a way of humbling one (the glass half full).

Over the years that passed I found myself struggling severely. It was partly because of the poverty and the lack of guidance I received from parents, but also because of the lack of spiritual guidance I received. This all changed in the fall of 2007. I transferred to a new school and met a really cool teacher I’ll call “Sylvia McIntyre.”

Sylvia was an angel. She connected me with her church (now OUR church) and got me that spiritual guidance I desperately needed. Soon I found new confidence and freedom I never knew existed inside of me. The Lord really touched me over time and moved in ways that astounded me such as getting into the college of my choice (miracle!).

And then I found myself at Martin Luther King program sponsored by the volunteer organization I am a part of (the Freedom Foundation). I thought I was simply giving a speech to encourage the youth, but I learned that there was an award to be presented with my name on it!

Once again, I’m honored to own the Jonathan Daniels Youth Award. It represents the change that God has done in me. The character that he’s growing in me. And it looks cool! Come on, people, I’m eighteen, I had to throw in the word “cool” to let you know just how hip I am!

Reflecting on Seussical

2009-02-25T10:45:00.000-08:00

As auditions are closing for the next production, I'm remembering a night when things really started to gel for Seussical…..

At a rehearsal for the lead characters of Seussical the Musical, my eyes were really opened more to the heart of our new theatre company here in Selma. Each part of the team had a specific task for the evening and all came together and worked collectively to have a productive rehearsal. We had the choreographer working with the Wickersham brothers, the monkeys. The assistant director was working with the bird girls and herself, Mayzie, on their vocals and dance. The two leads were working on their solos with the director. And one of the production team was off to the side talking with one of the parents.

I was watching the Wickershams practice, on a very tiny stage, starting and stopping the CD player while they learned their dance. It started with the choreographer showing two of the cast members, the monkeys, some of the ideas she had for their solo dance piece. It’s the part of the play where the monkeys are making fun of Horton, the elephant. It was incredible to see the two boys take the choreographers ideas and embrace them and make them their own. Part of what I love about Random Acts of Theatre Company is the freedom that it gives everyone involved to be themselves. In this case, what could have easily become a competition between the two boys, actually gave them an outlet to work together and make the dance their own, together. With some guidance and direction from the choreographer, they combined their talents and created a gift to share with the community and the other cast members.
What really touched me last night was the end of the rehearsal. It was time to wrap up and “close up shop,” but the kids really were excited to show each other what they had worked on and didn’t want to leave. So, the director asked each group to take the stage for a little show and tell. First up were the Wickershams showing off their solo dance with everyone else cheering them on, laughing and clapping, some rolling on the floor. And Horton, the elephant, saying, “Oh, those monkeys are mean, why can’t they just be nice? I haven’t done anything to them!”

Then Mayzie and the bird girls took the stage and did a little Latin groove number, teasing and trying to persuade Gertrude, kind of an awkward bird, to conform to the world so Horton will notice her. It was really fun to start to see the characters taking shape with these five girls. After the first two groups, everyone was laughing and having fun, really enjoying things coming together after only a few rehearsals.

Next, Horton and Gertrude took the stage. They shared a song where Gertrude is trying to be noticed by Horton and Horton is occupied by trying to find his clover. There is nothing more beautiful than people, sharing their voices and their hearts for their causes in such a vulnerable way, up on stage. It was really sweet and all of us in the audience were in tears by the time they were done performing. Still no one wanted to leave; it was such a special night.

I was able to look back at the first production, Footloose, and see how much each of the production team has grown and is able to play their part, whether it’s as an actor, director, or choreographer, or someone taking time to listen to a parent's heart for their child. What I was able to see was how each piece is so vital to a complete and successful show.

I was able to see an actor, being a part of the cast; they can be an example, by being on time, knowing their lines and blocking, so that they can concentrate on encouraging their other cast members. As a director one can teach and hold up a standard that most of the cast has not seen before. As a friend one can listen to the cast and parents, we can understand them and love them. It is so much bigger than a show. We are here to demonstrate the Lord's love, to show this city that they are special and not forgotten about. I can see how powerful the message will be because of each person's testimony; it connects them into their character and will allow the viewers to really be a part of their heart, if only for one night, it will be something that they will always remember.

Random Acts of Theatre

2009-02-18T15:38:00.000-08:00

RATco recently held auditions for its fourth production (Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat) and it got me thinking about the theatre company I've had the pleasure of working with in Selma.

In a town as divided as Selma, it's so encouraging to see kids and grown-ups of all different ages and backgrounds come together to do something bigger than themselves. Disregarding the cultural and traditional barriers between them, I have seen people reach out and work together to create something beautiful, coming to rehearsal after rehearsal, working their hearts out to make it a good show. Although all ages participate (from a 5-year old all the way up to a 65-year old) there are a large number of young teenagers in the cast, many of them repeat performers from several very different schools. Kids from the exclusive private school sing and dance right alongside kids from some of the poorest areas of town, and bond with each other through their hard work towards a common purpose.

In our very first musical (Footloose), very few of the kids had ever even been on a stage before, let alone been a part of a production that size. None of us really knew what the response would be in the community, but we were hopeful and excited. The final night of dress rehearsal, most of the actors forgot their lines, the lights wouldn't work right, and parts of the set actually toppled over--it couldn't have gone worse! But the next night, opening night, the atmosphere was electric--every seat in the theatre was filled, black and white sitting together, everyone eating popcorn and having a good time. And we put on an incredible show (nothing like the dress rehearsal). We sold out every performance of Footloose in the local downtown performing arts center, and signed up a lot of people who wanted to audition for the next production.

The summer show was an easier show to put on, with less rehearsal time and only one performance. But on the one-night-only of our performance, our director (who was also the entire band) got very sick, and couldn't even get out of bed! But the cast, crew, and production team came together and put on the show anyway, proving that it was about the team, not just the person in charge. It turned out even better than we had hoped for, and stirred up so much interest in the community that 85 people came out to audition for the next production including Selma's chief of police and his entire family.

We had decided to do a Dr. Seuss musical for the fall 2008 show, which has several parts for small children in it--so I invited some children I know to come try out for it, including the autistic little boy I do therapy with. He did an amazing job singing his little song for auditions, and has been a great (and truly precious) addition to the cast. Although working him into the cast has not come without its challenges! Every rehearsal, I worked with him on-on-one (in the middle of the group) to teach him the choreography, the words to the songs, where to go when, etc.--not to mention standing still, paying attention, and staying in the game. It was hard for him, but so good for him! He played a Who child from Who-ville and learned all of the dance moves, including swimming like a fish. Best of all, he learned to connect with the other cast members--young and old. This from a kid who couldn't even speak when spoken to less than a year ago. He's come a long way, and having the chance to be a part Seussical is better than anything he's getting at school, according to his mother. He came to rehearsal with a big smile on his face, and ran over to wherever I was. It taught me soo much about how to reach him
and teach him the things he needs to know.

My experiences with him have also inspired me to go back to school and pursue a career in special education (autism, specifically). My little friend made leaps and bounds and joined the rest of the cast on stage for opening night. I think everybody wants to find some kind of work that is worth doing, that makes a difference --and I have found mine.

Lies Our Students Tell Themselves

2009-01-26T14:09:00.000-08:00

by Cynthia Gibson
(Part of the 'Why I Teach' series)

"I'm too poor and too black."

That's what one student told me not long after I started teaching here in Selma, Alabama. He didn't beat around the bush, and I wasn't just reading some subtle message into his behavior. He said it plainly — that he was "too poor and too black" to make it in this world.

I hear statements like that from my students far too often. They have opened my eyes to the battle I face every day. As teachers, each time we step into the classroom we vow to fight the lies that hold our students down.

I've been immersed in the culture of Selma for the past 15 months. The world knows Selma as a focal point of the Civil Rights Movement. Presidents and presidents-to-be have come here to commemorate the city's role in the struggle for equal voting rights.

3rd Annual Dr. King Celebration

2009-01-26T09:02:00.000-08:00

At the Third Annual Martin Luther King Celebration, the Freedom Foundation honored several Selma community members with lifetime achievement, courage and youth awards.

In preparation, I interviewed two of the recipients: Jean Martin and Annie Cooper.

Annie Cooper was a foot soldier of the Civil Rights Movement. A photo of Ms. Cooper's struggle with four officers, including Sheriff Jim Clark, ran in the New York Times on January 26th, 1965 and provoked national sympathy and support for the voting rights struggle.

Jean Martin is a true public servant. She has demonstrated a commitment to doing what she believes is right, no matter what the cost. I had the opportunity to chat, look through family photos and reminisce with these two special women. And though my official reasons have ended, I'll continue visiting my new friends.

I was happier to hold the flowers for these two special women and to sit backstage, unable to hear much of the program, than I would have been to present an Oscar for best actor or to sit at the 50-yard line at the Super Bowl. These aren't heroes of entertainment or of physical strength—they are heroes of courage.

One young man who once said he was "too poor and too black" to go to college, gave a speech that started with, "I know what it's like not to have running water. I know what it's like to be made fun of for old, dirty clothes" and crescendoed with the proclamation that he has been accepted to Samford University. He ended with a challenge to the youth and his final words brought the audience to its feet: "Yes we can."

As one of the 40 plus choir members, I wasn't there to showcase my beautiful voice (it's not) or to be seen (I feel awkward on stage). I was there for one purpose: to sing my heart out for the award recipients and for the crowd that gathered to honor them.

Though the night was long, I left filled with energy and stayed up discussing the highlights of the evening and laughing with friends.

When I finally crawled into bed, I fell asleep with a companion I cherish—contentment.

Buzzwords

2008-11-18T08:28:00.000-08:00

The word change is all around us—on bumper stickers, t-shirts and in stirring speeches. But for Freedom Foundation volunteers, it is more than just something we say—it is something we make. We’ve been busy creating change every day for the last two years in Selma, Alabama, the same Selma where Civil Rights workers and foot soldiers created a new future by marching for the right to vote. The legislative changes are clear and powerful, but opportunity, prosperity, and unity still elude this rural city in the Deep South. It is hard to imagine that a town with such a rich history could still have segregated institutions and organizations. But in Selma, it is a reality. Neo-confederate hate groups are deeply rooted in the community. Over half of the families in Selma’s Dallas County made less than $30,000 in 2006 and the county has the second highest teenage pregnancy rate in the state. Change is still needed in Selma, Alabama.

Hope drove marchers to face a sea of men in blue uniforms on Bloody Sunday. And they changed the future forever. Change is happening in Selma through hope, one life at a time. Hope isn’t just a word that we use carelessly. It is what drives volunteers to serve the community. Freedom Foundation volunteers have painted local classrooms, playground equipment and churches. They’ve volunteered countless hours to labor in the Tepper’s building, working in hope at the future community center and youth institute. The hours are long and the labor is hard.

But ask the young people who have been changed by their involvement in the youth activities with the Freedom Foundation if the work has been in vain. Ask the local high school senior who recently received his acceptance letter to Samford University, when just over a year ago he said he was “too poor and too black” to go to college.

Hope is that still small voice that rises above cynicism and tells you that change is possible, that we CAN make a difference. Yes, we can. And at the Freedom Foundation, we do. Hope is what inspires our volunteers to give, serve, love and sacrifice. And, as Obama said, “There is nothing false about hope.”

Facing Fear

2008-11-11T11:56:00.001-08:00

At a recent work day at the Tepper’s Building, I had a chance to face one of my fears head on when the site supervisor for the day asked me if I wanted to learn how to use the table saw. A friend had just told me a horror story about her father nearly cutting his thumb off with exactly such a tool so I felt that funny feeling in my stomach and I’m sure my heart rate doubled—I have always stayed away from power tools. My stomach starts to turn when I hear a saw going as my mind conjures up all sorts of images of accidents just waiting to happen. But that day, something inside of me pushed me to answer, and I surprised myself by saying, “Sure!”

After a thorough introduction and safety briefing, I made the first cut. With the site supervisor standing by my side encouraging me, I went through the steps in my head to place the board accurately, check the safety guard on the saw, line the board up accurately and make sure my fingers were out of the way before turning it on. Zzzzziinnngg. I did it! I was using a power tool!

I gained confidence throughout the day and loved being able to say, “Yeah, I got that” when someone had a special request for a two by four. While I cut boards to build the temporary window plugs, I thought about how I would have missed an opportunity if I did not say “yes” to the power tools. How it would have been easier to follow that fear rather than step into an uncomfortable situation. Yet, it was the un-comfort that led to the growth–-the confidence came by going through a trial.

As I continued to use the saw, I imagined the young people who will one day gather for the Youth Leadership Institute on the 2nd floor of the Tepper’s building. I thought about the fears they may have. I felt excitement about the ways they will overcome their own fears and gain confidence as they grow into leaders. I hope that they too will be able to say “no” to the fear and “yes” to tackling the power tools in their lives.

A Visit to the Southern Poverty Law Center

2008-10-20T11:28:00.000-07:00

Since moving to Selma 15 months ago, I have toured a variety of civil rights museums, both in Alabama and in Georgia. Although they have all impacted and challenged me in some way, it was last week's trip to the Civil Rights Memorial in Montgomery that touched me the greatest. Created by the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC), the Memorial provides a simple yet powerful reminder of the importance of recognizing human rights everywhere--and coming together to stand against all forms of intolerance.

Until this past year, I have worked closely with immigrants. I taught in South America for a year and then taught English as a Second Language in the states. I remember the first time I used teaching supplements published by the SPLC, over seven years ago. Ever since then, I've appreciated the work of the SPLC...more than anything, the organization's commitment to bringing justice and equality to the people, empowering the people who have been robbed of their voice. As an ESL teacher, I worked with families who repeatedly faced the realities of living in a new culture--a culture that judged them as inferior and unworthy.

So although I hesitated to give up the opportunity to work with the ESL population, it was also clear that there was a similar calling to fight against injustice here in Selma. I never expected it to be so hard. Never. It's not the long hours or even the comments of the opposition that have been so hard: it's been the shock of seeing the settling mindset of the kids I work with and love so dearly. Something tragic has happened in the black community where I work. As a white outsider, I continue to need God's understanding if I'm to ever help challenge this mindset. It's not so much the racist few that disturb me, but the mindset I see every day in my kids who--subtlety--believe that they are inferior, that their life options are limited, that they are somehow unworthy of something better.

One of the young men who was with us at the Memorial I met last year in the classroom. Right before he started volunteering with the Freedom Foundation, when asked about going to college, he said he was "too black and too poor" and hadn't even considered this option. Wow. Yet now, a year later, he is a completely changed young man who is making straight As his senior year and applying for scholarships for the fall. He has found pride in himself, in his people, and in the work that we are all doing here in Selma. The people of Selma are some of the most precious I've met. They have beautiful, generous hearts and a desire for something more. This is definitely the community where I belong.

The Memorial has helped build a bridge for me that connects the past with the present. It has provided a vision and a background that will help me go back into that classroom and love and understand my kids on a deeper level.

The Teppers Building: A Diamond in the Rough

2008-09-08T15:51:00.000-07:00

Something special is happening on 25 Broad St. For the past year, volunteers of the Freedom Foundation have made tremendous steps forward in stabilizing, restoring and updating the Tepper’s Building, a historic landmark in Selma, Alabama. The first week of September, 2008 was labeled among volunteers as a “Tepper’s Push” because many took time off their jobs and even traveled from out of state at their own expense to join the work effort.

A.J. Page, the architect for the project, described some of the recent architectural efforts which include exposing the original structure on the first two floors and removing the non load-bearing exterior façade. In addition to this visible progress, Page also led a team in exposing load-bearing beams and columns for structural analysis.

A team of local painters worked day and night to brighten up the exterior with a fresh coat of paint. Inside the building, the gutting and cleaning continues, a tedious but necessary part of preparing the building to house the “Fresh Start Café” and the Youth Leadership Institute.

Though the Freedom Foundation has run into many obstacles along the way due to weather and extensive water and Termite damage in the building, the vision for a fresh start for the building and the community has remained strong and encouraged people to continue through difficult news and daunting tasks. Despite the many challenges, volunteers continue to show up on their evenings and weekends to pitch in.

People with little to no construction experience have put their backs and hearts into the demolition work. One notable volunteer, who is wheelchair bound, could be seen at the work site stripping copper wires for recycling. Her inspiration and smile gave other volunteers a morale boost. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why Roger Hendershot, one of the leaders on the project, was much more interested in talking about the people at Tepper’s than about the physical progress: “There is something to be said about what’s happening among the people working at Tepper’s. There is something special as we all offer our time and efforts in a spirit of charity.” That spirit shines through with Ms. Debra as she strips those wires and with many others who encourage each other, smile and laugh as they labor in a filthy and hot environment.

One day during this “Tepper’s Push,” I was busy exposing a termite-damaged beam for architectural review. I was wearily chipping away at it and wiping sweat from my eyes when Matt Skelton approached me. Skelton, who volunteers when he is not wearing blue for the Selma PD, is known for his cheerfulness and energy which shine through even difficult labor and long hours. He had come to give me a “present.” I was immediately suspicious, just as I would have been if one of my big brothers had done the same. When he handed me a lump of coal, I laughed and chucked it back at him. I moved on, but Matt was trying to tell me something.

I finished my shift and returned home for the kind of satisfying shower, meal and nap that can only come after a day of hard physical labor. Hours later, Matt showed up at my door, dirtier than when I had left him and no doubt tired and hungry, but with a bigger smile on his face too. He told me I’d forgotten something and handed me the lump of coal.

Enough pressure, time, and heat can turn something ugly into something beautiful if it stays in the process. Yes, Matt, I get what you’re saying and I believe.

Turning Beauty Inside Out

2008-08-26T08:23:00.000-07:00

As a teacher at a local high school, I have learned as many lessons as I have taught. This weekend marked a particularly poignant lesson for me.

Last week, in the middle of a lesson about propaganda in the media, a verbal argument about something unrelated broke out in my classroom. I was shocked and brokenhearted when I heard things like "black" and "big lips" being used as insults. It was a perfect, but painful example of a logical fallacy we were studying: ad hominem (attacking a person rather than the issue at hand). The incident reminded me of a handsome young man, who constantly jokes about the deep shade of his skin but who privately expresses his insecurities about the same, and of another who has always believed he's "too black and too poor" to accomplish great things in life.

I decided to extend my lesson on propaganda with an adapted lesson from Teaching Tolerance called "Turn Beauty Inside Out." The lesson teaches students to critically analyze the media and the effects its messaging has on self image. I diligently started constructing the lesson, researching media, and compiling thought-provoking images of "beauty."

Meanwhile, I hesitantly agreed to be the subject for a college student's life-sized bust for her sculpting class. I smiled awkwardly and tried to act natural as she took 15 painfully close close-ups of my head, neck and shoulders. I cringed when I saw the pictures: the blemishes… no, they're ZITS, the double chin, and all the features I've hated about myself for as long as I can remember. I considered asking her to find another subject, hastily requested that she smooth out the chin and sculpt me without these "blemishes" and that she destroy the hideous photos immediately when she completed the project.

And then I went back to creating my lesson on turning beauty inside out. You probably already see what I had yet to see: I was getting ready to teach a lesson I could not apply to myself. I considered scrapping the lesson altogether but concluded that rather than chucking it, I would take the chance to apply the lesson and confess to my students (who I wish could see themselves with my eyes) that I too have a few things to learn.

Perhaps when I have a library named after me, this bust will become the centerpiece for its atrium. Perhaps I will proudly display it in my own home along with all my other… life-sized images of…. myself. Or maybe I will take a sledgehammer and bust it to pieces. In any case, as I told the artist, I want the sculpture to show me exactly as I am.

A Fresh Coat

2008-07-25T15:04:00.000-07:00

I spent most of the day on Wednesday painting at Selma High. We've been having crews of people coming in and out all week to try to get 48 classrooms painted with the Saint's blue and gold. Around 10:00 am, a group of Selma High band members came in, ready to put paint on the walls of the classrooms they'd be sitting in come August. There was a pair of boys who looked a little too young to be walking those halls anytime soon, and I found out that they were tagging along with their cousin for the day. I paired up with one, a ten year old with the sweetest smile. As I taught him how to use a paint brush and watch his drips, he told me about the flat tire on his bike, and how he loves math because he's good at it.

At noon, the band kids headed out, and my buddy for the morning followed suit. Before he left he said, "I'm coming back all week!" I told him we'd be there waiting on him.

An hour later I left for a soda run, and as I was leaving the parking lot, I saw him across the street. I waved and he yelled, "Y'all still there? Can I come back?" He sure did come back and stayed the rest of the afternoon. I made up tasks for him to do just so he could stay around. He was a great helper and it was really special to me not only to have him be a part of everything, but to see how much he loved being there.

I was on the first shift this morning, and sure enough, when I got to the school, he came running down the hall to let me in the door, ready to paint!

It's the Little Things

2008-07-12T12:10:00.000-07:00

"Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you may look back and see they
were the big things." Antonio Smith

We met Miss Debra through the radio show we began as an effort to bring
positive energy to Selma's residents through the airwaves. She listened
faithfully because she loved the energy and life the show carried to her.
She quickly became one of our biggest fans and we became one of hers. She
was always quick to call with an encouraging word or just to say she loved
us and was praying for us.

After a life of very actively doing and working hard serving others, a
tragic illness bound Miss Debra to a wheelchair. She found herself just
pushing through her personal pain on many days and looking for ways to be
her same energetic self, even though confined to the chair.

She credited the members and activities of the Freedom Foundation for adding
a spark to her life and has become an active part of the volunteer group and
a bright spot to the community events and activities.

I could list a hundred examples of times she brightened one of the days
we've had here with a thoughtful word or gift. But the greatest moment we've
had with Miss Debra yet came a little while back on the Alabama River.

A friend invited a group of us to spend a day at his river cabin to eat,
swim, hang out and cruise around the river in his speed boat. Miss Debra
accepted the invititation extended to the group before any of us could think
of a way to not invite her, fearing it would be too hard for her to get
around the unstable hilly ground that surrounded the cabin. She was more
excited to go than any of us and it was all over her face. We quickly became
more excited for her to come, regardless of what we had to do to help her
get around once we got to the river.

It was a beautiful day....the water was high, the air was warm and the sun
shining through the most majestic clouds.  Joyful sounds filled the air as
people talked and laughed and  kids and dogs were ran around everywhere. The
owner of the house was always focused on everyone having a great time. He
offered to take a couple of small groups out on the boat and Miss Debra was
the first volunteer. 

Instead of a single question being raised as to how this would occur,
different people immediately began getting Miss Debra out from her chair and
into the boat. She sat there on that boat as if she owned it. Her smile
beamed up the hill to the cabin where you could hear her contagious laugh
and FEEL her joy. She stayed on that boat the entire day and no one could
have been happier than me to see her just as light and free as she could be.
There was nothing binding her....nothing to remind her that she couldn't do
something that she was dying on the inside to do. No pain, no wheelchair, no
one pushing her around. She was the same Debra that grew up running and
playing and being the first one to try something new...only she was able to
enjoy it even more.

The boat ride ended and the clouds closed in to bring a beautiful and
powerful rainstorm to close the most perfect day....but Miss Debra's smile
was unchanging.  We all gathered around her under the stairs that led up to
the river cabin and listened to her tell all about her adventure. She
laughed and squealed like a child as she recounted the feelings and sights
and proclaimed, "nothing could have made this day better....it is worth
it!!"

Miss Debra has been learning every day how to be free in her mind and heart
of the pain and limitations her illness brings. But on this particular day,
she was free from it all....she said so simply and with such personal
gratitude, "this day happened because you came."

Nothing could have assured me more!!  I will never forget that day and I
know many, including our beloved Miss Debra, would say the same. It was a
small thing. And it was SO big....

Smashing a CD – Changing an Outlook

2008-06-17T11:19:00.000-07:00

Although this past year living in Selma has left its mark with many poignant memories, there is one that touched me so deeply that it continually reminds me why I'm here. First a little background: I'm a teacher at a small high school in the country, a school with a 100% black student population and only one other white teacher. These kids didn't know what to do with all my quirkiness at first, but they never judged me because of the color of my skin; instead, they showed a lot of interest in my background, my culture.

This came full circle one December afternoon. I was talking with a student I'll call Sam. Sam is an aspiring rapper and he had often shared his creations with me. This particular afternoon, however, brought an unexpected comment. With a serious look on his face, Sam explained that the day before he'd been listening to one of his favorite CDs. All of a sudden it hit him that the lyrics he'd been quoting for so long were derogatory toward white women. In his words, "When I realized, hey, that's Ms. G they're talking about, I took the CD out and smashed it." He went on to explain that he'd never really known anyone white, but when he met me he started to realize that he'd been making a lot of judgments about a whole group of people. Sam’s life has drastically changed – in more ways than one.

But the deepest change I feel personally is in me. I have grown to love the kids as if we truly were family. The Freedom Foundation is about finding hope. And in bringing hope, I have also greatly received.

Giving What I Received

2008-05-09T11:18:00.000-07:00

When I was in high school, I had a volleyball coach who saw I had a lot of potential, and who took the time after practice to run extra drills with me and push me to become the player he knew I could be. He chose me as a sophomore for the varsity team – not because I was as good as the seniors, but because he saw talent that he knew he could develop. He told me one day that when he recruited players, he didn't look at the 18-year olds who were heading into college, but at the 12 and 13 year olds - the ones with big feet, who he knew would grow tall, and the ones with raw athletic talent who could be turned into volleyball players. Some girls could be shanking volleyballs left and right into the stands, or serving it straight under the net, but he wasn't concerned about where they were at – he looked at where they were going.

It meant a lot to me, especially at a young age, to have someone take the time to invest in me. That experience stuck with me through the years since high school, and it wrote a lesson on my heart that I needed - that I could be somebody worth investing in. So partway through college, when things in my life weren't going the way I had hoped they would go, it meant something to me once again, to run across someone who found greater potential in me, and could help me develop it.

It's that love and dedication that we’ve received from people who've invested in us that has made us want to give that help back to others. A little love and understanding can go a long way, and it is now our commitment to pass along the same help onto others – simply because we're grateful that somebody else did that for us.

Footloose - Opening Night

2008-04-28T09:14:00.000-07:00

One of my most memorable experiences in Selma so far was the opening night of “Footloose: the Musical.” Most of the students in the show had never been in a play, and all the hours of rehearsal, painting, construction, and team building lead up to this night. With a rough dress rehearsal and some major technical difficulties the day of the show, none of us really knew what the outcome would be. The directors were simply praying that everyone would remember their lines and that the set wouldnt fall on anyone, but what happened that night was truly a miracle.

I was waiting to open the curtain when the house manager called places. All the kids rushed onstage hugging, high fiving and wishing each other a good show. I saw the energy and excitement in their eyes - a beautiful blend of fun and terror like the one you see on a childs face as he jumps off the diving board for the first time.

The audience cheered and clapped as the band struck up the rockin musical intro. The light show began and the curtain rose to reveal students from different schools giving their best to the community. The whole night was electrifying as the students performed their hearts out for a diverse and enthusiastic crowd. When the cast sang the final phrase of the show “Everybody cut footloose, yeah!” the crowd jumped to their feet and clapped and cheered for ten minutes.

The lobby was full of hugs, photographs, flowers, and laughter. No one wanted to go home. Now, months later, when someone mentions “Footloose” in Selma people remember that night. A night when people came together, students gave their best, and love showed up in a very special way.

Piano Gathering

2008-03-24T10:24:00.000-07:00

A few notes drift from the piano. It’s a recognizable tune, a love song by KC and JoJo. The usual key master isn’t at the piano but rather an unlikely character plays with heart and soul unusual for the countenance he normally displays.

He’s tough and cool and always connecting with someone on his cell. Today a group of kids are lounging around the piano; his backup singers are a mixed bag from elementary school through college. They are white and black, rich and poor. Until this theatre production of Footloose, many of them had never spoken to a kid of a different race before. They were awkward in the beginning and are now producing a harmonious blend of music; it’s the type of music that cannot be created by trained talented voices.

The music heard today came from voices that had found a common ground to connect on. Walls and judgment that had once been in their hearts and minds have now all but faded and this is the place where they are singing from. It is a place of freedom where they can be themselves. This is a good place to sing from. This is a good place to be.

What Can I Give?

2008-02-11T12:32:00.000-08:00

Rather than asking "What can I gain?" I've chosen to ask "What can I give?"

Until July 2007, I was a salesperson and had won a national award in a large corporation. I was gaining favor with company leadership and had bought my first home in a beautiful Colorado suburb at age 22.

But one weekend in February 2007, when I volunteered for a youth talent show in Selma, Alabama, changed the course of my life.

Driving home from the airport, I saw all the conveniences of a modern suburb. In my rearview mirror, I saw the beautiful mountain range and a lush golf course in the rolling hills. I stopped a moment and thought of the struggling kids in Selma. I knew that many would never have the money to spend on a day of golf and would never see the mountains. If they weren't given another option, they would continue the destructive cycles: they'd continue using and dealing drugs, and the teen pregnancy and violence would continue too. It was time to stop asking what I could gain and start asking what I could give.

With a Bachelor's Degree in English and no experience, I pursued becoming a teacher. I put my beautiful house on the market. I quit my job to try to make a difference. This low-income school was in desperate need of teachers and hired me unequipped, nervous, and full of hope.

I found out what I love: I love people. I love making a difference. I love hope.

Raising a Standard...And Rising to It!

2008-01-08T10:58:00.000-08:00

The semester was filled with frustrating stories...students fighting in the middle of class, walking out and slamming doors, demonstrating attitudes reflective of deep hurt and anger. Each day seemed like a battle - a battle where the goal was just to survive the day! Then the last day of the semester a note was given to me by a student I will call "Kelly".

Kelly was one of my best students - smart, polite, diligent, obedient...the kind of student every teacher would like to have. So when I intercepted a note she had written, I was shocked to discover the highly inappropriate language and content of the note. I decided to show the note to a trusted colleague hoping to get some advice on how to handle the situation. This particular colleague laughed when she read the note and said, "Oh, she's not old enough to even know what she is writing about...just forget about it. Give her a warning or something, but I don't think you need to contact her mother."

I knew enough to know that if my child had written this note, I would have wanted to know about it! I brought Kelly into my room and told her that I was going to have to call her mom. After begging me not to and shedding a few tears, she stormed out of the room, not agreeing with the standard I had set. The next afternoon I had a very direct conversation with her mother. She appreciated our meeting and promised that she would talk to Kelly when she got home. I wondered what Kelly's actions would be like the next day. Would her silent treatment toward me continue? Had my decision given her an attitude of resentment that would continue throughout the year?

It was the last day before winter break. I saw her coming down the hall toward my classroom. She had no smile on her face and it appeared as though she was going to just walk right past me upon entering the room. However, before she came through the door, she handed me a note, smiled from ear to ear, and said, "Thanks so much."

I read the note after school and cried.

"I just wanted to tell you thank you for telling my mother. I know that one of my teachers might not have told her. I was pissed off at you about telling her because I was afraid of what she might say or do to me. I felt so relieved when you told her and it was all over. I appreciate you telling my mom because it shows that you really care about me and my life. I thank you again for just caring about me as much as you do. My mom also said thank you. We had a GREAT TALK last night. Sincerely, Kelly"

What touched me the most about her note was the last sentence. Many of these kids do not have the opportunities to connect with their parents on a deeper level. My heart's desire was for them to connect as mother and daughter.

To me, the note represented a child's heart to be cared for, even if it hurt. Many students would not have risen to the standard, but she did. And if the standard made a difference for her, isn't that enough?