Email: Christine Allen

Happy Thanksgiving!

There are many things I am grateful for this season. I am blessed with a wonderful family, a support system back home, changing seasons (even in Tucson), the opportunity to hear unbelievable stories every day, and a community of faith to center down and remember all there is to be grateful for. I am thankful to have all of you in my life.

At the beginning of this month, a fantastic Mexican holiday was celebrated: el dia de los muertos, or Day of the Dead, a time of remembering loved ones who have died. Founded in the belief that our ancestors and those we have lost are continuously giving, the day acknowledges the spirits that live on to teach and guide us through our lives. Tucson celebrates the holiday with an array of festivities, including costume parties, art shows, and an enormous parade. Thousands dressed up in skeleton costumes and face paint and marched through the city carrying drums, giant paper-mache sculptures, and candles in memory of the dead. It was a diverse, artistic, cultural expression of remembrance. I thought of my grandfathers and the gifts they continue to bring to this world.

CHRPA (Community Home Repair Projects of Arizona, where I work) provides a support system and continues to teach me about becoming a self-sufficient woman (I am learning that gender equality does not yet exist in the maintenance/construction field). Furthermore, the people living in the (often inadequate) homes we repair offer powerful stories that bring meaning to each day. Their houses are in shambles, their health is poor, and they have been manipulated by the United States governmental and economic system.

But many have stories filled with hope and grace. Like Manuel. Two Mennonite women, Kristie and Margaret, and I built a ramp for Manuel a few weeks ago, on his fortieth birthday. He was recently diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease, a terminal illness that quickly eats your muscles and eventually takes away your ability to speak and swallow. The disease also leaves your brain sharp and aware. Manuel has two teenage daughters and a hospitable wife who kept three glasses of ice-cold lemonade out for us while we sliced wood and dug holes for posts. While sweat dripped from our brows, Manuel sat outside his front door and watched. He was reading a book, but I could tell he was mostly just observing our process. We found out he had been a carpenter until this past July, and that just months earlier, he'd been able to do exactly what we were doing for him. But now, his hands were curling inward and his knees were too wobbly to stand on his own. He could have given us advice or criticized the way I awkwardly used the table saw, but instead he watched patiently, and listened. At one point, I asked the girls where our quarter-inch bit was for our screwdriver and noticed him struggling to get up. He then crawled, on hands and knees, back into his home, and returned, still on the ground, with a quarter-inch bit. "Here, I've got one," he said quietly. From that point on, if we couldn't find the right size nail or got frustrated with our vices, he'd crawl back into the house and come scooting out the door, appropriate tool in hand. If that’s not humility, I’m not sure what is. Manuel broke my heart, but he also opened it. He refused to believe what the doctor had told him and was confident he was going to heal. "I know I'm gunna get better. I may not fit into one religion but I gotta lotta faith." I don't seem to fit into one religion, either, but Manuel will remain a symbol of perseverance, hope, and love in my life.

The sad situations I witness each day require processing, but I am grateful for the chance to hear them.  I am also appreciative of the Quaker community Nate and I have become a part of that allows space for that reflection to happen. The meeting house we attend each week is small and simple, across from a park that’s perfect for throwing a Frisbee around. It feels quite a bit different from Guilford’s Sunday worship and from Dad’s Central Church services, but the profound insights discovered there—in powerful silence and a strong community—continue to surprise me.

There's no doubt I am tired at the end of each day. But the weather is cooling down at last, and this place (despite its dryness) has a richness and a realness that makes the experience worth sharing. I am thinking of all of you during this holiday season, and hope that your Turkey Day is spent with friends and family. Thanks again for your continued support and please feel free to email or write anytime. I always love hearing stories.

Much love and peace,