Email: Leslie Acton

Happy holidays!

As we begin to settle in for another cozy evening here in the Toolshed, I cheerfully share my above greeting to you all with Allison, who is sitting across the table. As usual, I am met with a pause and a friendly “Maybe you should write your newsletter in Spanish!”  “But then no one would understand it!” I innocently reply.  “Exactly,” she says with a smile. And such begins an evening of unwinding together from a long day.

To some, the above conversation may sound rather unfriendly, or even biting. But I have come to learn that a little sarcasm and some healthy laughter with someone I trust can go a long way toward letting my mind relax. Coming to Nashville, I was honestly looking forward to a nice break. Sure, I would be working full time, moving to a new place, and meeting new people. But compared with a year of stuttering through every word I said, being treated like a white super-star, and watching myself 24/7 so as not to do or say something culturally strange or rude, Nashville seemed like a piece of cake.

In some ways, it is. I am usually able to use English when I can’t find the correct Spanish word at Conexión Americas. When the office explodes into the apparent pandemonium that is a part of everyday life for the Hispanic culture, I can run to Tara to laugh and digest some of the craziness happening around us. I am finding outlets for emotions that I have kept to myself because the ears that could hear them from a similar standpoint have not been readily available in a long time. I am exhausted, and in some ways, I find rest here.

In many ways, however, I don’t. After a year of living with pain and poverty, I come to a place with poverty of its own. Immigrants who have come here hoping for “the land of dreams” are met with a land where they are evicted from their apartments and swindled out of their rights. Leaving behind loving families and caring friends, they come to a place where they are treated as second-class citizens, working long hours with little compensation. Each day there are new stories to hear, and I wonder how our country can continue in this cycle. Though I work with an organization that is able to help some of these people gain a footing, it is overwhelming to think of how much pain is living around us. My co-worker summed up my feelings well by saying with tear-filled eyes “How much is the cost of coming here!”

However, I am finding that seeming hopelessness is also met with hope here. The wonder of being in America, or maybe Nashville specifically, is seeing how many people do see and do care. The opportunity to go to conferences on immigration education and have intelligent conversations with people about these issues are things not to be taken for granted. This community is rare, and it is a blessing.

As I learned last year, my greatest solace continues to be found in small joys. One of my hardest laughs in a couple of days just came from Allison’s joyful exclamation of “I’m Jim Kitchens’ first Facebook friend!” and her subsequent inability to close her baffled mouth. Ah, and my mind again finds rest. I suppose that is a bit of why God gave us each other.

Leslie Acton