I assume that one of the key goals of every missionary is to be accepted by the culture in which they are working. I imagine this process can be dramatic for some--like my fellow US-2 Bre being accepted by the elders of her native community in Alaska, or Mary, another US-2, being accepted by her deaf community though she is a hearing person.
For me, it's a little more subtle. Culturally, I seem very similar to many of my residents. Though they are homeless, most are female, most speak English, and many had childhood experiences similar to mine. Yet, I'm not a single parent. I've never lived on the street or in a shelter. I've never been abused. I've never abused drugs. These experiences played a significant role in these parents' lives, and without them, it took me a long time to gain their trust.
This past year has been a kind of initiation. The current residents accepted me more quickly than I thought they would. It was the former residents, those active in what we call our Alumni Association that were the most suspicious. A key part of my job description is working with the Alumni Association--attending their monthly meetings, producing their bi-monthly newsletter, helping with their fundraisers, and organizing their events.
Last year, when a facilitator for one of their retreats fell through, my supervisor volunteered me for the job. I had just gotten here. I had never met any of them. And they vehemently did not want me leading, which I can understand. I was 22, right out of college, and some later told me that they thought I was just another privileged college girl come to help the poor people. They were quite adamant, ungrateful and mean-spirited about the whole thing, which I can tell you, makes you not really want to work for them for the money I make. They were sure that I was not strong enough or assertive enough to facilitate.
I went ahead with the retreat anyway, and decided to be just as strong-willed as they were. We went over a list of rules beforehand, about how to respect eachother and listen. Somehow, everyone got through the day without fighting, which I had been told had happened in the past. They got to know me, and I got over my fear of them.
Last night, at our regular monthly meeting, my supervisor told them that she had been unable to find a facilitator again this year. The leaders among the group, the ones who were most vocal about not accepting me last year, voted to have me lead. The group unanimously agreed. A few even joked about how they were so surprised last year when I proved myself. They expected the group to eat me alive, so to speak.
So last night, I got my acceptance. I feel like I've gone through some sort of Warren Village rite of passage. I understand more fully why the US-2 program is two years long. I've been here a year, and the real work has just begun.
P.S. It's snowing outside...our first real snowfall in Denver this year. I guess that's another sign that I'm acclimating. I'm not as freaked out about the white stuff as I was last year.
