Power is Perfected in Weakness

By Ana Mahomar and Elizabeth Russell
Franciscan Volunteer Ministry

Ana and I are both currently in our second year of service with Franciscan Volunteer Ministry, each of us at two different sites. We both have had two very different volunteer experiences, both in ministry and community, so it has always been special for us to get together on retreats and have those shared moments along with the rest of our cohort. Last fall on a retreat in West Virginia, we planned a community prayer together for the whole group. In our planning process, we agreed that using a Mary Oliver poem along with a short scripture passage would appeal to our fellow FVMs. We chose a poem titled, “The Moths,” and we paired it with 2 Corinthians chapter 12, verses 9-11 to emphasize our need to be at peace with the limitations we encounter in our ministry. The outcome of this prayer exceeded our expectations, with high levels of shared reflection from a majority of our group. It has always been something that stuck with us, and so to continue to share the ways in which our limits show up in our day to day life as we continue on our FVM journey, we have each offered a short reflection.

Elizabeth:
I have had the privilege of getting to know many of the guests while serving at the Saint Francis Inn; and recently, I have gotten to know a woman who is a mother of two children. It was a very rainy afternoon and during the middle of a meal this particular mother walked in soaking wet with her daughter’s stroller and was seated for her meal. She flagged me down to talk while I was working in the kitchen; so I approached her in the dining room and we sought out a semi-private space. She began sobbing before she could get any words out about what was upsetting her, but finally shared that she was currently facing an illegal lock-out of her apartment, had no diapers left for her daughter, and was terrified of her current circumstances. She had been in touch with a shelter, so she and her children would have a place to stay that night, but she was anxious about the idea of being separated from her children at any point and about her son being old enough to know that they were not at home. They also had no access to any of their belongings and had no way of getting new ones because the were locked out of their apartment without notice.

With little idea of what could console her in such a trying time, I encouraged her to utilize all of the resources we provide at the Inn. I reminded her of the phone in our office she could use to call the shelter and get clarification on any details she needed to know to help her feel safe, gave her diapers and wipes for her daughter, and went across the street to our clothing distribution center to get her a dry shirt and a rain jacket. Despite the list of things I could think of to try to make her feel safe, more comfortable, or less anxious, it all felt a bit hopeless. At the end of the day, there was nothing I could do to get her back in her apartment or make the rain stop. However, I could tell her that she was making the best decisions she could to provide a safe place for her children to sleep that night, and that coming to us to get herself and her daughter a hot meal was an important step in the right direction. I also reminded her that she was being a good mother, and was continuing to make intelligent decisions for her family. She was controlling everything she could. She slowly began to collect herself, wipe her tears away, and began looking strong once again.

We all have limits, and some days while working at the Saint Francis Inn, my limits seem to dominate my capabilities. Now in my second year with FVM, that fact only becomes more relevant as time goes on. I work every day to find peace in knowing that doing all I can, limitations and all, is still making a difference to those I serve.

Ana:
I began my first year as an FVM in Silver Spring with lots of energy, ideas, and willingness to serve. However, as my ministry days became filled, taking a moment to stop became difficult. Thankfully, God placed people around me who would help me notice, and once I noticed, my lack of "stopping" became clear. Andres, a nineteen year old young man from Guatemala whom I tutored twice a week throughout most of last year, was one of those who helped me stop and notice. As one of my ministries, I worked with him and other students who have recently arrived to the US during an afterschool program. At the end of tutoring time, we would always have about half an hour to play soccer or basketball. I’m not the best at either sport, but I enjoyed listening to everyone's stories, watching the games, and joining them when they convinced me. The students constantly included and encouraged me, they even taught me how to pass the soccer ball to my teammates and how to score in basketball. I noticed how at home we felt around each other and appreciated listening to their stories and sharing mine with them. However, there were times in which listening and noticing seemed unbearable.

I can recall several afternoons in which Andres shared bits and pieces of his story with me. We would sit on the edge of the soccer field or practice shooting baskets, and as soon as I asked about new happenings in his life, his words came to life. Andres shared about his journey to the United States, the hopes he had for life here, and the starkly different reality he encountered every day. Instead of a smooth transition to a welcoming environment, Andres struggled to learn English, find work and housing, and become part of a community. He spoke about his difficulty sleeping in his apartment, and about the conflicts that stem from being the only Spanish-speaker at the restaurant where he worked. Andres also spoke about his fear of being sent back to Guatemala, and about his friends and family over there, who were in constant danger. I sat there, listened to his story, and appreciated Andres and his presence; but soon I found myself wondering about what I could do to solve his problems and alleviate his worries. After exhausting my options, I stopped and realized that I couldn't fix any of the troubles that Andres faced. I could not accelerate his English learning, provide him with better housing or job opportunities, care for his family, or secure his immigration status. The feeling that came with accepting these limitations overwhelmed me, and I felt powerless. I knew I could be present for the students, listen to them and help with their English, and I knew it meant something to them, even if it seemed as if it were nothing to me.

When we chose Mary Oliver's poem and the second letter to the Corinthians to pray with on that Fall day, Elizabeth and I had no idea how much these would mean to us throughout the rest of our FVM days. As we continue to minister in our respective sites, we learn as we love. We are humbled as we notice our weaknesses and limitations and understand that those who God allows us to serve, share their journeys with us, not as problems for us to solve, but as a stories for us to listen to and as people for us to know and love in whatever ways we can.