The Inner Voice of Who Knows What

the pilgrimage: Henri Nouwen and my own topsy-turvy little heart


A few weeks ago was the last Ranchwoods get-together of the year.

All the jumble of emotion and thought process that accompanied the formation and continuation of a high school girls’ Bible study culminated last night in the most beautiful way possible.

From the very beginning, ‘relationship’ was the buzz word. We, a few white girl FPU students, wanted to build relationships with them, a few high school age black girls from across the street, across the culture boundaries that defined us.

By the end, there was no ‘we’ and ‘them’ – or at least the collective we had come to appreciate, embrace, and celebrate our collectively diverse nature. We danced together, with some popping, locking, and dropping that I would have never tried on my own. We imitated each other, with wild gesticulations, ‘yanadarimeans’, and British accents. We played together and enjoyed the company of someone different.

As we went our separate ways, I passed by some girls outside and attempted my newfound groove once more. We laughed at my incompetence, joking but appreciating our differences. Before I left, they asked me to call.

We can try to convert young souls, undermine a subculture we think inferior, and try to mold people into our own image as much as we want… when all they ask for is a call.


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