The unflinching memorist Dorothy Allison writes, “Two or three things I know for sure, and one of them is that telling a story all the way through is an act of love.” A thorough and full accounting is indeed an act of love, and even an act of service. 

Following a meaningful spring break service trip in northwest Indiana several weeks ago, I might amend Allison’s formulation a bit further: telling a story all the way through is an act of love and service…and so is attending to that story–listening compassionately, for understanding, and then figuring out what it means to hold and carry that story forward. 

In a week spent criss-crossing northwest Indiana and south-southwest Chicagoland, we (Anna and Kat from the Institute for Leadership and Service) joined eight Valpo students on a journey to hear story after story–some ecology, some art, some history, some activism, some sociology – while participating in hands-on service projects related to our region’s grappling with environmental justice.  

We visited National Parks, local museums, green spaces in Chicago, an urban garden in Gary, land preserved in trust in Valparaiso and Hammond, and a local farm while we interrogated questions of land access and power imbalances, the pros and cons of industrial development, food deserts and the burgeoning urban garden movement, local agriculture, and native and invasive species in conservation work.  

Again and again, we witnessed this region’s beauty, potential, and fragility.  It is a place of interlocking species and stories, held together by shared earth, water, and air–a place intimately shaped by the forces of nature as well as the people within it.

In last week’s CSL newsletter, Pastor Kate reflected on the profound “gift of hearing a community’s story [during a spring break service trip]–bearing witness to their tragedies and their triumphs.” We felt similarly humbled by that opportunity here in Indiana, as we learned and served alongside people doing all manner of good work in this corner of the world–from park rangers and “guerilla gardeners” to community artists and activists. In the spirit of valuing stories and perspectives, we offer below the reflective takeaways from some of the students we were fortunate enough to accompany on our early March trip.

Melanie

The regional service trip highlighted the importance of understanding stories both personal and historical. Every place we went to had its own background story, shaped by its people, environment, and history. Understanding these stories helped us connect with the land around us, fostering empathy, respect, and a deeper appreciation for diverse cultures and experiences. By learning about the challenges of the communities we visited, I better understand the broader issues they face and how we can contribute to positive change. Stories help us see the bigger picture and find meaning in the actions we take.  

Student Leaders Melanie and Adam help with seed planting for this year’s Juneteenth celebration at Nichol’s Park in Midtown Gary.

Adam

Having this regional trip helped me to continue seeing the world in a different light. Doing hands-on service is nice, but it’s always harder to bring the lessons of a roof repair or hurricane relief work to NW Indiana. However, listening to stories about families within and just beyond VU’s walls resonated with me more easily, and also made me feel that I was having an impact in my community. It’s too easy for us to say “this is a problem, but it’s not happening where I’m from”, but this trip forced us to confront these questions in our own backyards. 

Abby 

Abby and other students explore the Indiana Dunes National Park and help remove invasive species to make space for an upcoming stream monitoring project.

This service trip really made me understand our environment in a different way, both culturally and naturally. I have always thought that gardening was hard to accomplish in Indiana, and that you need the perfect land to do so, but through learning about sustainable gardening, and the different ways you can re-plant food, I have been proven wrong. It was really interesting to participate in this kind of service trip, one that combined our current understanding of service, with one that sees service as learning, giving time instead of giving physical labor. Doing both helped me broaden my worldview, and I will take that forward to work that I do in my church and community.

Ximena gets her hands dirty while practicing winter sowing for the Juneteenth plant giveaway.

Ximena 

As a first year student, I was anxious as to what my first service trip would be. I had never done outdoor service and it honestly scared me. However, this trip helped me see many ways one can do service. We started our trip by learning about our environment and history from not only Indiana but Illinois as well. Our group worked on looking past the “front cover” of cities and looking at its inside work. We learned about different viewpoints and how a community can overcome its struggles. Through this service trip, although we did do some physical labor, we learned to listen and carry the stories we learned and how that is also an act of service.

Dallas 

Dallas helps with invasive plant removal and with packing totes full of locally grown produce for new moms in the WIC program.

Our Spring Break Service Trip was a very unique experience for me that helped to deepen my personal understanding of how different communities come together. Throughout the duration of our trip we learned about some of the business decisions that caused some of the largest environmental and social issues in Northwest Indiana and Chicago. Personally, I’m still amazed at how much damage can be done to one community in such a short period of time. Every area we visited challenged me to strengthen the value of listening to help learn from those we want to serve. It was truly moving to see how much it meant to them that we simply took the time to listen and understand their situation. 

Jake helps with invasive plant removal at the Shirley Heinze Land Trust Meadowbrook Nature Preserve.

Jake

Coming from someone who isn’t from the area, there was a lot of learning to do on this trip. Our service trip focused on learning a lot. Each day left me with a greater understanding of the places we visited, because we took the time to learn about where we were, and the communities present. Learning about the unique geography of Northwest Indiana served us well, but it’s something that would benefit all service trips. Similarly, getting to connect with the people we were helping first rather than simply getting to work immediately enabled us to further understand the impact of our efforts. I strongly believe understanding and service go strongly together hand in hand after this; understanding the context behind the need for the service is just as important as the service itself.

Carolyn 

Carolyn helps with plant removal to make way for an upcoming stream monitoring project.

It’s impossible to truly be of service without understanding the communities you’re serving and why you’re doing it. Without knowing the background behind the struggles a given community is experiencing, it’s impossible to address them effectively. During this trip, we were intentional about educating ourselves on the background behind the environmental issues northwest Indiana and Chicago are facing, and how they have historically impacted our area. It’s only in light of this knowledge that we were able to truly understand the context and importance of the current work that organizations are doing in our communities. By understanding why they’re responding the way they are, we were able to work with these organizations rather than simply for them to genuinely meet their needs.

Dunes Learning Center Fellow Lisa explains native and invasive species in the Indiana Dunes National Park, on our way to the Maple Sugar Time Festival at Chellberg Farm.

Murals created by local youth and families at the La Villita Park community garden in Little Village, Chicago.

Dallas and Jazzy create their own art as part of the Ordinary Wonders exhibit at the Lubeznik Center for the Arts in Michigan City.

Two ways to think about land, power, race, and industry in our area: the Pullman National Monument, and Lorraine Hansberry’s “Raisin in the Sun.” We experienced both live and in person this Spring Break.

ILAS Director, Anna Stewart, and Assistant Director, Kat Peters. We both feel so fortunate to have been on this trip with an amazing group of thoughtful, talented, and engaged students.

Members of the community of Yorkin, on a canoe of the STIBRAWPA association. Photo used with permission from https://enstibrawpayorkin.wordpress.com/images/

I have seen a saying around campus in the past few weeks, in the Student Life Administration window, in the Valparaiso University Center for the Arts Box Office: “Fall is proof that change is beautiful.”  It’s true, fall is beautiful.  However, I was thinking that perhaps we need the reminder by way of a catchy saying because we don’t often feel that change is beautiful.  In fact, it can be downright scary.

Everywhere I turn, people are reflecting on change.  The Institute’s Listening for Purpose podcast Season 2 Episode 2, an interview with Valpo senior Reahlyn Bryce (which was released on November 12, 2024), is all about change and beauty in inspiring songs.  Reahlyn and Listening for Purpose host, senior Simeon Klepac, discuss the impending transition facing seniors as they finish out their time at Valpo and make plans for the future.

Whenever I attend higher education conferences, colleagues discuss changes on their campuses that make the future uncertain and require adaptation.  A change in national administration always brings uncertainty, and many people from all sides of the political spectrum expect the upcoming administrative change to be paradigmatic.  

How do we discern our calling and vocation in such times of change and uncertainty?  How will our calling change in the impending future?  Does impending change bring us hope?  Fear?  Is the change one that we wanted, or one that was forced on us?  Does it bring us deep happiness, or is it full of sadness and regret?

For many people, the question of vocational transition is not merely intellectual or emotional, but real and material to their lives.  

During the height of the Covid-19 pandemic, I wrote about women that I know in Costa Rica and Northwest Indiana who responded to uncertainty and crisis with creativity and grit that opened up new possibilities for their families and communities, despite great hardship.  The loss of tourism income, the decline of fish populations for island dwellers, the need to take a step back from college – all were setbacks, but the vocational resilience of these women made survival possible for their families.

I want to sit with the stories of so many who have gone before us, who have passed through intense and frightening times, and who survived, even when many others didn’t.  From American Indians in my home state of South Dakota that survived boarding schools and are still here today, to refugees who passed through the Darien Gap after leaving behind everything they once knew; from Black Americans who migrated to the North during the Great Migration to escape Jim Crow, to individuals with health diagnoses that set them on vocational paths they would never have chosen for themselves.  All of these folks lived a vocation of survival and resilience in the face of change, and forged paths forward.

When economic and political systems are in upheaval, changes and uncertainty affect us all, and we are called to consider how our vocations meet the specific moments we find ourselves in.  Big changes mean that our vocations are going to shift, and we may or may not find deep happiness in that transition.   Deirdre Egan-Ryan, Professor of English and Director of faculty development at St. Norbert College recently wrote for the Network on Vocation in Undergraduate Education blog:  “Even if we don’t want to admit it, we can all feel some degree of fear as our vocations shift. It’s natural for transitions to be times of uncertainty, sometimes so intensively that we fear losing our very sense of self in the process. This is especially acute when changes are ones that we did not choose and that feel out of our control.”

Despite the fear that can come with change, new vocations are also opportunities.  In the ILAS student staff read this year, Your Calling Here and Now by Gordon T. Smith, the author encourages us to face questions of change and vocational discernment with an intentional thoughtfulness.  Smith describes this thoughtfulness as “critical, confident, creative, and compassionate” (p. 82): we see past the hype (critical), we speak for ourselves (confident), we are capable of adaptability (creative), and we have empathy for others (compassionate).  These are postures that we can intentionally practice in moments of uncertainty, and will help us to move forward.

In her podcast interview Reahlyn Bryce reminds us that change and transition are a part of life, as fearful as uncertainty might make us.  She reminds us that we will not be able to accept the gifts of a new future if we cling too tightly to the past.  May we all, in times of change, embrace the vocation of moving forward.

The Institute for Leadership and Service, we are currently accepting applications to our summer fellowship program called the Calling and Purpose in Society (CAPS) Fellows Program.  This is an opportunity to live out a calling in the moment, but also to practice the steps of discernment and deep listening, to learn about situations in the world that require attention and response.  The experience will prepare students to approach future issues of calling and purpose with tools of reflection, community, and a responsive attitude.  

If you or someone you know are interested in the CAPS Program, you can find more information on our website (www.valpo.edu/ilas), or write to us at lead.serve@valpo.edu. 

-by Deaconess Kat Peters, M.Ed., M.A., Assistant Director of the Institute for Leadership and Service

Twenty-one Octobers ago, I was a college student hovering over one of life’s many threshold moments, poised between what seemed at the time like teenager-hood on one side…and the yawning gap of “adulting” beyond. It was fall of my junior year at the University of South Carolina (yes, Go Gamecocks and especially their women’s basketball team, but I digress).

Beginning my fifth semester of college, I found myself right at that halfway moment in college where things start to seem more real and people begin to ask you a little more about what you might actually do after graduation.  And I….I did not feel like myself at all. I felt like I was trudging through molasses. Everything seemed foggy and gray, as though I was peering through a grimy, smudged window at other people, who cheerfully and purposefully strode through sunlit spaces, while I remained ineluctably apart, unable to access them or the bright clarity they so appeared to possess.  

In hindsight, I know I was struggling with a depressive episode, but I didn’t have language for that at the time because I’d never walked through that before.  So it just felt like something had gone terribly wrong. Tired and unmotivated, I abruptly pulled out of the many extracurricular activities I had been industriously undertaking–from our version of an ambassador in admissions (including being one of six who helped host fancy gatherings at the university president’s house) to a res hall council member and community volunteer.  I decided that I needed to pull back on my ambitious coursework as well.  As an honors student double-majoring in English and Spanish, I hoped to possibly attend graduate school for literature one day, and so I determined that I needed a breather.  Maybe, I mused, I could scale back on a course or two that wasn’t as essential for my still-developing doctoral plans.

That term I was enrolled in a fascinating honors seminar on pre-1800s African history, a subject about which I knew embarrassingly little. I didn’t fully appreciate how fascinating this class was, however, because at that moment I lacked the capacity for true awe or wonder. To this day, I can still vividly recall the course’s kindly and erudite professor who, prior to his Peace Corps service in Uganda and graduate work, had graduated from Kalamazoo College.  As a twenty year-old South Carolinian, I had no idea where Kalamazoo was; it sounded as faraway to me as the many centuries-removed history I was attempting to puzzle out.

I visited Dr. Atkinson’s office hours because I had resolved to switch from the honors seminar version of this class to a lecture-based version, with less intensive reading assignments and less corresponding projects.  I would still learn the material, I reasoned, but without as many additional requirements. Stepping into his office out of polite obligation (in my estimation anyway), I certainly didn’t want him to think I didn’t like his course. I thought it my duty to inform him of my change in plans so he would not be surprised when I moved from one roster to another on his teaching schedule.

I still remember how he peered at me through his glasses as I dutifully stood before him, reciting my plan.  He smiled softly and asked me to sit down.  How was I doing?  What did I think about the book we’d been reading?  What else was I taking that semester, and why had I chosen his class in the first place?

It all came tumbling out. Or, at least, some of it did.

Gently and with the care of a seasoned mentor, Dr. Atkinson encouraged me to stay–and not, I should hasten to add, because I needed to prove myself as some sort of exceptional college student or as someone who could not slow down and take a breath. (As a former academic advisor now myself, let me just reiterate: quadruple-majoring remains a bad idea! You do not need to do ALL. THE. THINGS.)

All these years later, I better recognize what he was up to that day. I think he intuited that what I actually, desperately needed was to relax my death-grip on the idea of who I was supposed to be–someone who never made less than an A, a perfectionist with a logical plan for academic and career success. 

Drawing me out in conversation, Dr. Atkinson encouraged me to stay in the class, not because I should but because it would be an opportunity to lean into curiosity. Indeed, the same sort of curiosity that propelled me toward exploring and analyzing themes and patterns in literature could find an outlet in these ancient primary documents. What patterns might I discover in the cultural traces of these historical texts? What stories were they telling beneath the lineages and lists? Why did it matter?

Ultimately, this proved (almost) invitation enough. Truth be told, I’m sure some part of my decision to stick it out in his seminar was rooted in a fear of disappointing him. But another part of my decision stemmed from his ability to see through my facade to the heart of the matter. What I needed wasn’t a plan to open up my schedule…so that I could probably push myself that much harder in literature seminars. What I needed was a release, a reminder of why any of this complex humanities work spoke to me and resonated so powerfully in the first place. I needed to reconnect with creativity and curiosity, and, perhaps slowly, with myself and a world blessedly bigger than me.

I’m sharing this story today after giving a version of it several weeks ago for Morning Prayer. I am so grateful to Pastor Jim and my colleagues in Calling & Spiritual Life for settling on this year’s Monday Morning Prayer theme as “That Time I Asked for Help.”  On the surface, it seems like a strange theme–certainly not the sort I remember my pastors growing up might have organized a sermon series around–but it makes a lot of sense on our college campus, where we’re all (whether students or not) learning and growing and challenging ourselves and falling short and getting back up and reflecting and learning anew.  

That’s the essential work of education after all, but it’s also the essential work of being human.  We just need reminders from time to time, and sometimes those reminders are grace-filled encounters when we admit we need someone else’s perspective or guidance. Other times (and often in my own experience), someone else perceives the heart of the matter, gently offering up the support you didn’t realize, let alone begin to articulate, that you needed. 

That is grace, and that is a gift, if we can only be wise enough to humbly receive it.

–Dr. Anna Stewart, Director of the Institute for Leadership and Service

I would like to invite you into a journaling activity this week.  We at the Institute for Leadership and Service like to promote reflection.  We think of it as a muscle we can exercise.  You know, how strong muscles are just kind of “nice to have” until one day when you need to move a couch or pick up a child, and then those muscles become absolutely necessary.  Similarly, reflection may seem superfluous, until the day we kind of just need to know what we think about a subject.

OK, the reflection activity.  Get out a writing instrument and your journal, or a piece of paper, or the back of a napkin.

First, write down where you are from.  You decide if that means, city, state, country, etc, but I mean a geographical place.

Next, think of something about that place that is meaningful to you.  Spend a little time describing it in writing. Is it a place in your hometown?  The waterfall?  Is it the public pool?  Is it the weather?  The way the sunset in August looks? What does this element of home look like?  Feel like?  Smell like?

Finally, write down why it is meaningful to you.

Now stop.  Did you do it?  Even if you’re not writing, imagine in your mind’s eye before you continue reading.

Mine is a ponderosa pine tree (smells like vanilla) next to the family cabin in the Black Hills of South Dakota.  More specifically, the day I was contemplating the age of the trees and the mountains, and spotted a rose-breasted grosbeak bird perched on one of the branches.

OK, now let’s think about our calling for a minute, our vocation(s).  One set of questions for thinking about calling is: “Who am I, and how do I show up in the world?”  Or, “How do I understand the world around me, and my place in it?”

Sometimes we think of these vocational questions as very metaphorical or philosophical questions.  I want to take a step back and make sure that we ground our philosophical/theological questions in the actual material world for a minute:

How do I survive?  Where does my food come from?  Where does my water and energy come from?  What is the soil under my feet and the land use capacity of this area?  What temperate zone are we in?

Or, who are the elected officials and civic organizations in my town/state/country this term?  What do they care about and work on?  What happened 100 years ago in this town that still influences our reality today?  Is being “me” different, depending on if I’m living in Indiana, or South Dakota, or Costa Rica?  If so, how?  If not, why not?

Together with our student staff, this year we at ILAS are reading “Your Calling Here and Now,” by Gordon T. Smith.  In this book, Smith reminds us that our vocation or calling is not theoretical – it is real, it is specific, and it is grounded in actual reality:

“Vocation is always particular: this person, at this time, and in this place.  Vocation is never discerned in a historical vacuum; it is always in the specifics of the world in which we live.  It is always about the here and now – and, as needs to be stressed, it is the here and now as it comes to us, as it presents itself, not as we wish it to be.  We get beyond wishful thinking, and we name reality and discern calling in the light of and in the midst of this time and this place – this situation.”

The “here and now” of our present situation is specific, and it’s daunting.  Our global situation is full of war and conflict.  Our national situation is a time of divisiveness and uncertainty.  The current U.S. Surgeon General’s Advisories in place have to do with mental health, loneliness, and gun violence.  Our economies and environments feel precarious.  

We can wish those things away, but Smith reminds us that our calling is not to live in a dream world, but to address our time and place as they are, with the tools at our disposal given our formation.

To end this activity, I invite you to look back at what you wrote about where you are from.  What about that place makes you who you are?  And what about who you are, has something to offer to the place and time where you live now, and to the people in that place?

To my ponderosa pine, I bring my learning from a geomorphology class that taught me that the ground that pine is standing on is an ancient volcanic batholith.  To the cabin, I bring my realization that my white family came into this land after violence, conflict, and betrayal whose legacy lives on.  And to the grosbeak comes my experience of finding another grosbeak (is there any way it could have been the same one??) perched in a branch near my home in Costa Rica, years after this original siting.

My place brings me awe, it brings me deep and complex questions, and it brings me evidence that we all are connected.

What does your place bring you?

And if you are in doubt, or despairing, I invite you to return to your (former or current) place – there will be direction there for you.  What flower is blooming?  What bird flits by your window?  What person that you encounter in your daily routine brings a smile or an encouraging word?  What deep historical truth about your place can help you to know what the next right step is, in this time and this place?

-Kat Peters is the Assistant Director of the Institute for Leadership and Service, housed in the Division of Calling and Spiritual Life at Valparaiso University

Over the course of this summer and my internship at Erie House, one thing has became ever more clear to me each time I wake up and head to work: any number of individually insignificant factors can decide whether or not it’ll feel like a good day. For example, it could be cloudy but not raining, my bus is on time, and I have an extra minute to grab coffee before I clock in. That’s already a good day. Just as much, if it’s raining without an umbrella, both of my bus rides get delayed, and I have to show up twenty minutes late, that’s kind of a rough start.

Any one of those single elements shouldn’t be enough to make or break a day, but taken together, they pile up quickly. And, of course, that’s just the first hour or two of your standard weekday. If you’re in the habit of noticing things, there will be more of these little factors than a reasonable person would even try to count. So, that begs the question: What do you do when every single part of your otherwise normal day seems to be going wrong?

I suppose you just have to do your best. There’s not much else that can be done. 

Whatever you have to do that day, just try to do it well. Enjoy the help of who’s with you. If you’re going solo, just focus on your surroundings, thinking as much as you can about whatever catches your eye (if it’s not something good, keep looking). Eventually, the object of your frustration will only become a smaller part of an otherwise normal day. Maybe something better or worse will happen later, but that’s not happening in the moment.

• by Lucas Lennen, Erie Neighborhood House

Photo credit: Shirley Heinze Land Trust

As my internship continues, I continue looking for a purpose big enough to dominate my life. I’ve always loved reading and since childhood, narratives of grand proportions filled my head, so much so that I’ve come to expect my purpose to be similar to the same characters that had
populated my life. Frequently I find myself looking for a purpose big enough to dominate my own life or appear on some metaphorical horizon. I had expected to see something like a summer thunderhead marching across the sky, or maybe something far away but with a promise of grandeur like the Chicago skyline as seen from the Indiana Dunes National Park.

This summer, and especially the CAPS internship has set my mind on a future that I am
typically happy to ignore. My previous blog post mainly talked about my refusal to truly think
about vocation in a real sense, but I’ve realized that I have been expecting a lot out of myself
unconsciously. That looming purpose, I now realize, was meant to be just that, looming and out
of reach. An imposing storm front that would never rain, and a city that would always be
shrouded in mist. A thing that is always there to look at and admire, but I could never touch the
clouds, or wander the far away city. To be honest, I’m a little disappointed in myself as I have
always left the infinite to others, and to the realm of impossibility for me.

As I considered the issue more, I realized that I associate that huge imposing cloud with works
and people who I admire the most, but don’t personally know and probably do not entirely
understand. Things and people who have pointed to or embodied something bigger than myself.
Therefore, I cannot or will not attempt to reach it. Unfortunately, the irony of this situation was
lost to me until I relatively recently. By separating myself from these big things I’ve also made
myself relatively isolated, and less able to connect with the immediate things which populate my
life. I’ve also denied myself the opportunity to grow or stretch beyond my perceived limitations.

Recently, I have been reading Ted Kooser’s Kindest Regards and the author’s focus on the
beauty of locality has steered in another direction. With the help of Kooser, it has become more
apparent to me that those little kernels of meaning and beauty that can be found anywhere
contain storm clouds, and the seemingly small things will swell to the size of hurricanes if given
the chance.

To be honest, I’m not sure what to do with this realization. I certainly don’t have all the answers
right now, but I am part excited, and part nervous about what my life may look like going
forward. In the meantime, I’ll make sure to be more aware of the kernels which keep piling up.
As for a concise and satisfying conclusion? I’ll leave that for the next internship which is only a
short Junior year away.

-Korbin Opfer, Shirley Heinze Land Trust Intern

Today is my last day of my CAPS summer fellowship at Heartland Alliance. I look around the office. It’s quiet, a normal Friday morning as people mostly elect to work remotely before the weekend. Regardless, while everyone goes about their day, I sit here reflecting on some of the things I have learned this summer about both the work I have gotten to be a part of in refugee resettlement and as part of a non-profit at large in Chicago, IL.

I once asked my supervisor the question, “how does Heartland approach the problems it wants to solve?”, and she gave me an answer I did not expect. For those that may not be familiar, Heartland Alliance’s mission is to resettle newly arrived refugees and immigrants in Chicagoland with the goal of helping them to become self-sufficient. My question about its “approach” could have yielded a number of answers. 

Her answer to me was that Heartland takes a “strength-based approach”, something that helps each person newly arrived to the country to center, at least for a moment, on what things they bring to the table as a citizen in their community. Getting them to “feel confident in their skills, but also to feel confident that they are human beings who are here to contribute to society,” is the ultimate goal, something that can transcend any single service Heartland provides. 

When we look at the broader implications of the strength-based approach that Heartland takes, it certainly places the refugees and immigrants in a position of accountability, or at least more accountability than one might think refugees should have. In fact, this is often a misconception: both from the outside world, and from inside Heartland (and organizations similar to it). When I asked my supervisor about common misconceptions she hears about her work, she spoke directly to this issue. “We are not here to save people”, she told me. “We are here to support. People save themselves, but they need our support to do it.” Sometimes staff and even newly arrived refugees see Heartland as an organization that can solve everything, which can affect the effectiveness of such a non-profit with limited resources. To be effective, it takes the newly arrived refugees to recognize that even in a new and often-times intimidating home, that they are still capable as human beings in society. They have to see themselves in the equation, and all of the autonomy, but responsibility that comes with it.

As I think about what I have learned this summer working in a non-profit, that may be the most important lesson. At Heartland, we are not here to save people; we can only support them in saving themselves. The best way to support them is to help them see not just their own strengths, but to see themselves as citizens in their community. Avoiding “mission drift”, where an organization loses sight of its goal (in this case supporting, not saving) is hard in refugee resettlement, a line of work that faces you with real people and consequences. But as an organization, Heartland does not have the means to address the root of the core challenges that refugees face in Chicago and the United States. However, it can support people, one by one, in facing those challenges, and give them the disposition to continue to overcome them long after we are supporting them with tangible means. Maybe in the future Heartland can exercise more influence on some of those core challenges. For now, it needs to focus on its strengths: supporting refugees with personalized services, all in the name of allowing them to create a better world for themselves. 

“Problem-posing education affirms men and women as beings in the process of becoming.”  Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed

• by Aidan Obermueller, Heartland Alliance

‘I don’t know.’: the response that never feels good enough. Whether it is an answer to what you want, why you started, or what you plan for the future, few leave a conversation satisfied when you say ‘I don’t know’. But I, personally, don’t know a lot of things. I am a very indecisive person; I like to do a lot of things, and I don’t mind doing a lot of things, so, while some people might call me a people pleaser, I would say I’m just really adaptable. I want what others want because I would be content with either.

Being so flexible is great a lot of the time; I’m reliable, understanding, good at sharing, good at listening, good at conflict resolution, and the list goes on. But that also means, I have a hard time setting boundaries, and don’t always receive the same grace I give others. While it can frustrate me in the moment, it’s not something I like to focus on and often just brush off.

But there was one day where this flexibility made me feel like Elastigirl, being pulled in all different directions, and I felt as if everything was out of control. I had just finished putting out a fire with one set of kids, when I see Willow and Zack (names have been changed to protect privacy) start shoving each other, so I rush over and say, “Uh-uh-uh, keep your hands to yourself; we do not solve our problems with violence” to which Willow responded with “Then make him to stop.” Willow did not like that Zack knew all the lyrics to the song we were playing and was singing it.

As I explained to Willow that Zack had every right to sing and that sharing a classroom with other students meant sometimes we had to hear and do things we find boring or don’t necessarily want to do, she interrupted to tell me how mean and horrible of a teacher I was, which I took. I let her finish and then said, “Okay, well just because you think that does not mean you can shove Zack. So it’s either you go color or play but no more shoving.” She rolled her eyes and went to hug me and I cringed inside because one of my biggest pet peeves (which I did not know I had until this summer) is getting a hug after an argument or disagreement where there was clearly no resolution. I stopped her and said, “No, you don’t get to hug me after telling me how horrible of a person I am without apologizing. I am not mad at you and I respect that you feel that way about me but I do not want a hug, because you hurt my feelings.”

Willow’s face went blank. She was so confused and awkwardly walked back to her table. We went the rest of the day like nothing happened and I wished the kids a good day and reminded everyone to be safe like I did every day.

But, as I took a deep breath as the last child left, it really hit me. I said ‘No’ to a hug. In general, I feel bad rejecting any physical touch because I recognize we need touch and it is important for a lot of people to receive that from others. Because of that, there were so many days I went home upset after I allowed a hug from my coworkers and students after getting an earful from them that was negative. It felt like a slap in the face.

A few weeks prior, as I was giving a friend the rundown of my day and mentioned feelings this way my friend said, “Why do they get to feel good after making you feel bad?” Roasted, I truly was. Because any behavior you allow, you endorse.

• by Noemi Vela, By the Hand

As a result of my time ending at Jacob’s Ladder, I have been given a chance to shift my focus from getting the most out of my experience to reflecting on everything that I’ve learned and what it means. Throughout my summer at Jacob’s Ladder, I had the pleasure of learning many lessons, though the ones that stick out the most to me are the ability to walk into new experiences with an open mind and heart and not to put too much emphasis on my expectations. 

I believe that it’s completely normal to have expectations and a mental checklist of things that we want to accomplish when entering a new environment or experience. It’s a way to hold ourselves accountable and a way to maximize what we’re learning. Even though having expectations is essentially inevitable, I have come to realize that expectations can limit us and put us in a box. If we’re constantly thinking about an imagined quota or very specific experience, it can result in being very disappointed and sad that it didn’t work out the way we planned. When in reality, the expectation that we didn’t experience wasn’t meant for us, and the one that we were able to experience, can lead to us learning more about ourselves and others. 

It can be unrealistic and daunting to say “Don’t have expectations”. We all have goals and ambitions (personally, professionally, academically), so it can feel weird to say “I’m going to walk into the experience with no expectations.” However, my time at Jacob’s Ladder taught me that schedules and plans can change. It’s completely normal. As a result of schedules and plans changing, it’s vital that we are flexible and aren’t attached to our perceived realities. If we can let go of the imagined reality where all of our expectations are met, it can be freeing and lead us to learn things that we wouldn’t have learned otherwise. I highly doubt that I will completely stop walking into new situations with zero expectations. However. I will be flexible with my expectations and open to them changing. 

Since I have learned that my expectations do not equal my reality and that is okay, I have felt much more accepting and comfortable with what happened compared to what I thought would happen. I believe that this mindset switch is very helpful as I am getting closer and closer to my career since the workplace can be unexpected and is prone to going through changes. With an open mind and heart, it helps the always-changing and unpredictable conditions of the workplace feel a bit more manageable and that what is meant to be, will be. 

• Natalie Ensor, Jacob’s Ladder Pediatric Rehab

A lot of people think that I am a shy person. But really, I am just an anxious person, and that results in me thinking and rethinking through any possible implications and consequences of any actions or words before doing or saying them. And when I do not pre-think through them, I will post-think through them afterwards. Or both, which can really slow an interaction. Shockingly enough, that kind of hesitation comes across as shy.

As I have gotten older and worked on it, this pattern of thinking and hesitation have been steadily decreasing. And this summer specifically, I have gotten to practice a new mentality surrounding social interaction that has really helped.

It started at the beginning of the summer. On maybe my second day, one of my supervisors took me to a meeting with her where she was planning an awareness event with a few other representatives of youth organizations over coffee. While I was only there to shadow, walking into a meeting like that on only my first week, I felt woefully underqualified to be there. Talk about having to think through a social interaction. I was introduced to all of the people there, who were all very nice, and they began the meeting. As they planned, I heard a bit about how each of them came into their fields, and I thought about what an odd set of circumstances that these people would wind up at the table together. An odd set of circumstances, I realized, just like the set of circumstances that brought me to the table. I started thinking, what would be so different about me that my circumstances were any less valid when I too, had the same goals? Not much. I was reminded of a phrase that I had started telling myself last semester: I belong in every room that I am in. But now, I actually had to put it into practice.

Little did I know just how many opportunities I would have to put this thought process into practice this summer. My supervisors have brought me to tag along with them to nearly all of their meetings this summer, just so I can get a feel of how Girls on the Run operates. So, in addition to learning a lot about the organization that I am working for, I have met many people and had several intensely social interactions. Each time, reminding myself of my new mantra, it gets easier to walk in thinking about why I am there rather than how I got there. And now, at the end of the summer, I have realized just how much weight this takes off of an interaction. 

At the most recent meeting I went to, my supervisor took me to a luncheon packed full of people, many of whom were invited because they head up nonprofits. Walking in, though I felt significantly better than I did at the first meeting, I was still a bit uncomfortable, because confidence is a skill, not an epiphany. And this big, formal room of leaders felt like the confidence Olympics. So, I was following around my supervisor, not saying much, until we walked up to two people who were talking, and my supervisor got into a conversation with one of them, leaving me to talk to the other person. At first, the conversation was a bit strained, I was extremely conscious of being at least a decade younger than everyone else in the room, and I could not even focus the conversation on the purpose of the luncheon… because I was completely unaware of it. I could not stop thinking about the formality, and the fact that everyone was shaking hands in dresses and button-ups. But then, after my conversation partner and I had awkwardly interrupted each other by accident a few times in attempts to initiate a conversation, I glanced down and noticed that he was wearing flip-flops. For whatever reason, this immediately snapped me out of my hesitation. We both belong in this room, no matter the formality. I physically felt my shoulders relax. I apologized for interrupting to bring attention back to the conversation and I started talking and talking before my mind even gave my lips permission. Apparently, the person I was talking to was a professor, and if I enjoy talking about one thing, it is definitely school. As it turns out, so did he. Then, when the lunch part started, Professor Flip-Flops asked me if he could sit with us, and settled on my answer before he even asked my supervisor. He told her he was joining because I was “fun”. 

I was floored. Never before have I been one to bring new people into a social group, and certainly never before has my first impression on someone been that I am a “fun” person… usually not even my third impression. This made me realize that the practice that I have been doing this summer has really helped: I went from being intimidated by a small coffee-get-together to hyping myself up during a large luncheon. This skill is still, obviously, a work-in-progress. One does not go from being nervous in a one-on-one social interaction to being comfortable in any social interaction in one summer. But I am a little better at it than before, and I have found that my new reminder is very helpful for me. 

• By Katherine Naylor, Girls on the Run

Just like at Valpo, the Grünewald Guild has a walking labyrinth outside, just beyond their central building and right next to the river. Anyone can use it at any point of the day, or night even. I actually heard from someone that they went out to walk it at night and stargaze. We use it during our final Vespers service of each program week too; to meditate on all the things we’ve learned from the week, to center ourselves and find a few minutes of peace and quiet inside our busy bodies.

This last week, I started to really pay attention to how the labyrinth walk made me feel in the moment. It’s a triple-spiral, which can mean a lot of things to people depending on their spiritualities, but as you move through the labyrinth, you pass by the spirals you already walked. I’ve been doing a lot of personal discernment lately, and it got me thinking about just my life’s journey thus far. It’s only about two decades worth of memories, but I can see so many different sides of myself when I look back, just like how the spirals loop back to themselves. But I’m not becoming an entirely new person every time I move on or take a new turn, I just add more to my story. My passions and interests, talents, quirks, and experiences all stay with me. They walk with me, even if my path itself is twisting around and around in a dizzying spiral. 

In another of our weekly Vespers activities, we have made our own labyrinths by tracing the shape into a small disk of clay. It’s up to the artist however they want it to look, and each person’s ends up looking a little bit different from their neighbor’s. Sometimes we’ll draw inspiration from one another, sometimes give it a gentle effort but not too much, and other times people think completely outside the box and make their labyrinth into a cube. When these clay labyrinths dry, you can trace your finger through the path either you or someone else made. It’s a way of sharing our stories and paths with each other.

As I’m finishing out my internship here at the Guild with only one week left, I’m looking back on the memories I’ve made with the people and the land around me. Some experiences have opened new doors for me that I’d like to keep open as I come back to Valpo. Others have shown me interesting perspectives and walks of life that add to my understanding of the world and how I engage with it. I think I’ll be visiting our labyrinth at Valpo a lot more often next year.

Blessings,

Gabby Unzicker

Grünewald Guild Intern 

As of late July, I have served as a Communications Intern at Grünewald Guild in Leavenworth, WA for two months as part of my placement as a member of the CAPS Fellows Program. Through working in this position, I have exponentially grown to further refine my vision for my vocation as I approach the final year of my academic career at Valparaiso University. The mission of the guild is highlighted through the three core values of art, faith, and community and, since I am a Music and English major, I initially thought I would gravitate my attention mostly towards the value of art during my time here. Surprisingly, that was not that case and I started to primarily focus upon the aspect of community involvement and how it uniquely manifests itself at this non-profit organization. By nature, I have more of an introverted demeanor and it often takes me a bit of time to feel comfortable with expressing myself in a new environment. Interestingly enough, I did not feel as timid as I typically do during a transitional period of my life, and I think that lack of apprehension I felt is due to the Guild deliberately being a welcoming and community-oriented environment by its very design. 

The manner in which I started to recognize myself leaning towards the value of community was quite subtle and implicit but, in hindsight, the pattern is so obvious. For context, the programming I help advertise through the Guild is called the Waymaking Summer 2024 program where, from June to August, there is an eclectic array of art classes held at Grünewald Guild, and approximately two to four of these classes are taught per week. Whether it be a passion they have indulged in for decades or an unfamiliar pursuit, our students can acquire a new toolbox of inventive skills to pave the way for their artistic endeavors through these classes. Though not included in the dictionary, the term “waymaking” remarkably encapsulates this inquiry because it refers to the peculiar and ever-changing approach that artists take towards their creative undertakings. The length of a programming week varies from four to six days, but the day that begins each week remains relatively routine. Programming always starts on a Sunday and, after dinner, the guild hosts an evening vespers service. 

The opening vespers service on Sunday evenings has an activity that is distinct from the rest of the services that are held throughout the week. Since the week is young and the guests have only just started to filter into Centrum, the main building on the guild’s campus, the staff is curious to what these students plan to make of their stay. To quench that curiosity, our Executive Director, Sarah Sprouse, leads the group in an activity where every participant is asked to share three words that they would like to be descriptors of their upcoming week. Since I regularly attend these services, I share my three words to each new group that makes their way to the guild, and I have started to notice that I use the word “community” as one of my three words invariably. Though this activity is not new to me, I do not have a predetermined set of words that I recite from memory just for simplicity and consistency. I chose my words purely to reflect my own personal aims for each week, but one of those unchanging aims is to learn about the people who surround me and soak in their stories like a sponge. 

Through my daily tasks at Grünewald Guild, I am able to gain this sense of community through doing morning check-ins to supply the studios with ice water and an appropriate amount of art supplies, sitting with the students and guest artists at mealtimes, and engaging in our matins and vespers services. Through these commonplace exchanges, I am able to have meaningful conversations with the students and guest artists, and we are able to learn a lot about each other. There is one simple but incredibly banal question that has been asked many times throughout the vast majority of mealtimes and miscellaneous lulls of leisure and, at first, I thought that this question seemed very superficial and not exceptionally meaningful. Due to the clientele being art lovers, I have learned that this question has a lot more gravity associated with it than I originally expected. The question is, “What is your favorite color?” and an individual’s answer to this question acts as the key to learning a lot about them and their outlook on life. 

During the first week of the Waymaking Summer 2024 program, there was an artist talk during one of our morning matins services by Nancy Marsh, a returning guest artist at Grünewald Guild and former art professor at Valparaiso University. She was teaching a weaving class that week and, through this class, her students were able to choose from a wide assortment of colors to create their zesty concoctions. From her artist talk, Nancy elaborated that she does not believe that the choices her students make for the colors of their fabrics made on a whim or by a mere coincidence. She created an intricate chart that acts as a roadmap for the different emotional connotations that are associated with each color of the rainbow, and discussed how she took into account the specific colors that each of her students were drawn to. Through this method of quiet observation, she was able to deeply fathom the complexities of the mindsets of her students. 

This artist talk made me think about how, in recent years, active listening has been extensively studied and education about the topic has been embraced by the general public in order to promote empathy and kindness to those in our communities. I think that this truly eye-opening color theory offers a way that people can practice the art of active listening in a helpful and rare configuration. As a writer, I regularly find myself listening to the way in which other people choose to explain certain concepts to learn how to further fortify the strength of my own voice and perspective. I was exceptionally fascinated with Nancy’s casual phrasing of a particular concept within this color theory, and this quotation has branded itself in my brain. To describe how people are so allured to how variations of colors compliment and coexist with one another, she described this occurrence as being “higher than indigo” due to our divine connection that blesses humans to be able to perceive a never-ending multitude of colors. That phrase moved so swiftly and effortlessly off of her tongue and, upon hearing the verbiage used, I wrote it down as fast as I could so that I could remember it. 

Conversely, my favorite color is not indigo. My favorite color is red. I appreciate the versatility of the color red in its portrayal of emotions. Different shades of this color can overtly represent themes ranging broadly from love to passion to aggression. I have affectionately called the color red the “main character color” due to it boldly being the line leader of the rainbow. There have been multiple instances of students and guest artists at the Guild indirectly acknowledging that red is my favorite color, but there are two occasions that most notably come to mind. During a family-oriented week, there were two children who gave me a thank you card at the end of their time at the guild, and every word and image contained in my specific card was written in red crayon. One of the guest artists, Dede Shilling, and I bonded over the fact that red was both of our favorite colors and we deliberately decided to film our guest artist interview for the Guild’s website while both wearing red. I appreciate that the guild is a mindful community that takes the time to notice and find beauty within the small characteristics of all the members within their community. As cliché as it sounds, I feel as though the “v” in vocation stands for vibrancy and I have definitely found direction in my vocation through the vibrancy of the close-knit community facilitated at Grünewald Guild.

• Jasmine Collins, Communications Intern at Grünewald Guild

Reconnecting with my high school viola teacher after three years brought up her valid question of, “Any updates with what you want to do with your life?” When I replied, “Well, I want to apply for programs to study or teach in another country for a year… Then possibly grad school for something ‘international’…” we both had to pause and laugh; nothing had changed in the three years since we’d last talked. I still didn’t have a set plan.

Driving home that afternoon to get back to work with the Valparaiso International Center (VIC), I questioned everything. Why I still didn’t know, why I still didn’t have everything figured out. The following day, my CAPS interview project changed my perspective on everything.

For my CAPS interview, I met with Hugh McGuigan, VIC Board President but also a
Valparaiso University legend, and hearing about his adventures and international experiences made me realize that maybe vocation doesn’t have to be perfectly planned. Having worked as Director of International Studies and professor of orientation and English classes for international students, Dr. McGuigan was instrumental in growing VU’s study abroad programs, designing plans for what used to be the Gandhi King Center in the Harre Union, and supporting language programs for decades. He was there for the international students 24/7, and he emphasized the importance of immediately making freshly-arrived students feel welcome; that first impression was everything.

Yet, how did his VU legacy, based on compassion and love for his students, come to be? Through years of exploration, travel, life experience, and the ever-present need to give back. Dr. McGuigan’s experience abroad started as a military deployment in Europe, studying Russian linguistics, and led to traveling the continent afterwards, living in a German-intensive language community with people from around the world, and many more adventures. After returning to the US and earning his PhD in German, he never forgot the feeling of being the traveler and the joys and struggles that came with it.

These life experiences unfolded for Dr. McGuigan by following his love for language, travel, and culture, and he brought years of international immersion with him into his role at VU. This is not to say that this path did not require extremely hard work. After all, Dr. McGuigan started his international journey with military service and ended it with a doctorate degree. Discipline and planning were not absent. Yet, discipline and hard work are not the opposite of wandering and not knowing. I realized after talking with this incredible man that there is no syllabus for life, with the exact dates of projects and exams written ahead of time. There are challenging moments or events to prepare for, yes. But it is also possible, perhaps necessary, to leave time to explore.

Three years have passed since I entered VU, and I honestly am not done figuring out my next steps. But what I can say is that, after talking with Dr. McGuigan, I am not in the same place I was during freshman FOCUS. Living with other VU international students, struggling to understand new accents when studying in Spain, organizing the World Cultural Festival I used to attend as a child… These life experiences have unfolded for me over the years. And I believe vocation will, too.

• Lucia Otten, Valparaiso International Center

As I near the end of my time at Jacob’s Ladder, I am once again given the chance to reflect on the different experiences and opportunities I have been given this summer. Among all the different opportunities that I have had at my placement, the ones that stick out the most to me are those where I could attend other meetings/events in the community. All of the events that I attended gave me the chance to meet new people, have meaningful discussions with others, and learn new information. These events helped me get out of my comfort zone and learn new information that I will carry with me far beyond my time at Jacob’s Ladder. 

One of my favorite events that I got to attend was a collaborative meeting with other organizations in Porter County that serve the 0-3-year-old age group. This event served as an opportunity for different non-profit organizations to talk with one another and discuss the possibility of working together for an upcoming grant. Though it was overwhelming at first being in a new environment with many new faces, I felt welcomed and that my voice was just as important as anyone else who was in attendance. I was able to meet new people, share my perspective, and hear other perspectives. I was also able to learn about how organizations such as Hilltop and the YMCA are benefiting the community. 

Another event that I attended that I am very grateful to have attended was where a psychiatrist and professor from Ohio State University spoke. The speaker spoke about psychosis, schizophrenia, and early intervention efforts that are helping those affected. I was very appreciative to attend this event because this topic interests me particularly and I was happy to learn more about it from an expert in the field. At this event, the speaker communicated useful information on how to better help this population, shared research, and stated what kind of language and labels can be stigmatizing. I not only found this speaker very interesting and compelling but it allowed me to reflect on how we can better accommodate this population and help them receive the help they need. 

A direct impact of attending these events was that it helped me meet new people and have experiences that I wouldn’t have otherwise had the chance to have if I had been in the office that day. Though, I didn’t expect how it would help me reassess what is important. It’s not just about clocking into work and getting your hours, but about having the ability to learn from others, hear new stories, and reflect based on others’ perspectives. After having these pleasant experiences within the community, I couldn’t help but notice how my work performance and creativity improved. 

At the beginning of June, I moved to a town I had never visited, to live in a house I had never seen, and to work with people I had only spoken to over Zoom. My family dropped me off, and once I had all of my things arranged, I sat on the bed and had a strange but very familiar feeling wash over me: What do I do now?  I had the whole night ahead of me, but everyone I know and everything I do was scattered everywhere but here. The empty span of time ahead of me felt dizzying. So, I just sat there in the what-now feeling, thinking. I began to think about why this feeling was so familiar to me, and I thought of all of the other transitions I have had like this throughout my whole life: from the five times I moved as a kid, to the move into college, to my trip studying abroad, I began to realize that this is all old hat to me. I have done this before, and sure enough, I have done this again. 

In my time so far interning at Girls on the Run Northwest Indiana, I have been given many opportunities like this to sit and think. Certainly, to think about what I am doing. When sorting through data of school after school, exploring websites, Free and Reduced Lunch Rates, number of students, and how the different regions creatively allocate their resources into different forms of school buildings and structures, it is hard to keep one’s mind from thinking about what you are doing. But beyond what I am doing in the moment, I have had time to think about how vividly this data shows the vast difference in how each child is being shaped by their communities. Time to think about what kind of agencies we have in the shaping, individually or through programs like GOTR, and how adults have been and continue to be shaped by their communities in the same way as kids. My brain grounded in these numbers or more menial tasks like stuffing envelopes, my mind has been free to go swirling to how I have been shaped by the communities I have been a part of, and how structures in all societies are formed based in the context of these communities. School, family, friends, towns, religions, countries… we are all constantly shaping the world that is constantly shaping us. 

As a sociology major, and a long-time member of planet Earth, such trains of thought are not overwhelming nor new for me. However, the amount of time that I have had to think them are both overwhelming and new. Often, I fear that when I get into un-timed thought spirals like these that I will never get out. Or worse yet, that they will choke themselves out into a nothing of thoughtlessness. These anxieties spike when my hybrid work schedule allows time for my thoughts to cover and recover every topic that pops up, occasionally even circling themselves back into a deafeningly unfamiliar silence. 

In this silence, just like in the emptiness of the first night, I am faced with both a concern and a solution. This time, I am reminded of once when, having joked that I am known by those close to me to overthink things, a dear friend of mine replied that he does not believe that overthinking is a thing. This is because he has never worried that someone was going to overthink something but has known many people to be concerned about someone underthinking things. Now, thinking back on it, in the thoughts or in the silence of having completed thinking them, I believe that he is right, and that there is no worry in thinking however much my mind chooses to think, because at least I have had the opportunity not to underthink things. And, with the contexts of what facets of the world I am shaped by and am shaping, I feel just how privileged I am to have time to think about thinking.  

• by Katherine Naylor, Girls on the Run

As my internship draws to a close, I’m faced with the same question that I begin the internship with. Why am I working with an environmental non-profit, what difference could I ever make?

After all, some of the largest companies in the world will still produce overwhelming amounts of waste byproduct, people will continue to toss their trash out their car window, and large chunks of plastic will always dot our beaches like sick leaves on a dying plant. Trees will be replaced by light poles, native plants by decorative shrubs. Those involved with environmental activism will still bravely stand their ground against those who couldn’t care less and have more money than most people could ever imagine.

Quite frankly, my voice seems quite small amid the roaring of those who know more, have more, ARE more than me. In a world where it is much easier to do nothing than speak up for what we believe in, we all must make a decision to voice what we believe in. My heart has exponentially grown since my first day at Save the Dunes, and the non-profit has sparked a passion for the world that is knocking on our front door.

And in a seemingly insignificant moment sitting in our company meeting room, I realized my voice resonates. It bounces off the floor to the wall, again off the ceiling, being heard by those who sit in the room with me. I am not soundless, I am not voiceless, and I do make an impact. Maybe it won’t change the world, but it might just make my peers think a little differently than they did before.

My opinions do matter, and it is possible to voice them loudly. Like a small rock making waves in a pond, a grass growing in the middle of a cracked sidewalk, a bee pollinating the vegetables in a neighborhood garden. My voice is not as small as I have been made to believe.

Maybe the future I dream of is within reach, because my voice resonates.

• by Heather Elwood, Save the Dunes