Jennifer Vosters

     Spring Break 2001.  In Florida, Cancun, or any other warm, tropical location, crowds of college students bask in the warm sun by day and hit the nightlife with full force for a week of reprieve from the semester grind.  In Auxier, Kentucky, population 150, eight Marquette students huddle in a freezer-like nook tucked under the stairwell of a tiny, crumbling, brick schoolhouse.  The moaning wind assaults the exterior doors that lead from this tiled-floor cove, making the chilled air feel even colder.  Not knowing what to expect from each other, the students sit in a circle around a double wick candle, staring into its flame as though its warmth would somehow heat them or its light could somehow clarify their thoughts and give them the strength to share their souls with the seven others in the circle, whom they barely knew.

    Summer 1999.  Eight high school students sit in a circle on the sweltering lawn in Minneapolis.  With the heat index up to 105 degrees and the humidity at least ninety percent, the tired, sticky faces reflect the exhaustion of working all day while the hot sun beat down upon them.  A Black man in a wheelchair comes by every day to watch the students work and, despite the heat, seems to enjoy watching them scraping, painting, and chattering.  The students thank God for the food and share their reflections on their time with each other.  They have spent the entire week working on various homes, although the air is so wet that the shutters and trim hardly dry from one day to the next.  One girl starts a paint fight; the paint on the skin never dries but can be wiped away with the perspiration in the broiling heat.  They are thoroughly worn-out, but are proud of their accomplishments and happy with their company.

     During my time at the two aforementioned service trips--one in rural Appalachia and one in Minneapolis--I observed how quickly small communities can develop.  Two separate groups of strangers miraculously became two new and unique families in those weeks.  During the process of defining my role within the group, having fun, working together, and sharing stories, I quickly developed heartfelt bonds with my teammates.  Community development became a very obvious and defined process during those trips because the formation is more intense than in normal, day-to-day circumstances.

     Belonging to or developing community requires its members to feel as though they hold a special place within that group.  The ability to contribute oneís gifts and personality to the greater group dynamics are crucial in feeling valued and appreciated.  In Appalachia, the four men and four women from Marquette University comprised a group of many strong, entertaining personalities.  While I loved their hilarity and vociferousness, I found my niche not by becoming loud and silly as well, but by being a listener in the large group and sharing myself in one-on-one conversation.  I was truly touched when, on our last evening of reflection, Erik told the group that he had learned he did not always need to be the center of attention.  My ability to listen to people and relate to them made him realize his tendencies to only listen to other people insofar as it was beneficial to him.  I needed to hear that.  I needed to know that I was appreciated and that my personality helped the group of eight function as a whole.

    In developing relationships, a person needs a certain amount of time to discover her role in that relationship as well as in the community.  She may serve one purpose in a group of friends that is very different from the role she takes in organizations or work relationships.  Sometimes I am the entertainer, sometimes the listener, the supporter, or the organizer.  These different roles do not mean that I am a different person in these relationships; rather, the subtle strengths in my personality are more apparent at different times.  During the summer of 2000, I took on an enormous task of helping organize the volunteers for the ìMcCormick for State Assemblyî campaign.  Although I knew virtually nothing about politics or elections, the experience left me amazed at my ability to step into the position of leader when it was required.  For this reason, I think that people often fill certain positions or roles that are needed in a community, without realizing they were capable of satisfying that role.

    During both the Catholic HEART work camp in Minneapolis and Spring Break with Christian Appalachian Project, the team of peers with whom I worked formed tightly sealed and quickly bonded relationships. Regardless of the location, I have never felt the inner peace, the sense of belonging, and the joy of being myself as I did on those two trips.  I have often wondered why these communities become so important and so vital, while the trip lasts only one week.

Service for others brought these groups together.  This service provides the individual with the opportunity to do something tangible for another; a sense of accomplishment and different sort of pride in her work results afterwards.  For some people, service through counseling, mentoring, tutoring, or visiting is most rewarding, but my favorite is manual service because of its tangible rewards.  Eight college students climbed on a slippery snowy roof in Kentucky and tore off five layers of shingles in the thirty-two degree weather.  Five days later they stood on a well-laid, beautiful roof of new shingles and could jubilantly cry out, ìThere.  See?  Look what weíve done!  Eddieís roof wonít leak anymore!!!î  We loved each other for that work, as we pounded nails and sang songs together, to the delight of the elderly man who lived there.

     These service trips and the new communities I joined also offered a retreat from my daily life and the daily communities with which I was involved.  I wasnít a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend, or a student; I was an equal, a part of the group, a worker, a server, and most importantly, myself.  I did not have to be the person that was expected from my parents, boyfriend, or friends.  I could simply be meóthe me I knew and loved, the silly, yet responsible, the God-loving and worshipping, the prayerful, lost, wise, or unsure.  Suddenly, it seemed, I had people who really cared about who I was, because they wanted to get to know ME, whoever I was, no matter what.  No Questions Asked.

    At Catholic HEART, I experienced a freedom for the first time to discuss my faith, God, and family with people my age without fear of criticism or rejection; if nothing else, I could leave in a week and never see these people again.  It offered me a sense of escape; I could become as attached or unattached as I chose to the people surrounding me.  There were no responsibilities of having to maintain a relationship with these people.  The community was almost like a new loveóall the infatuation, excitement, and joy of connecting with a new person wrapped tightly into one amazing week, solely because the unity HAS to happen that quickly, or it will not happen at all.  There is no time for hesitation; the foundation is set and community built without delay, without wondering if it will last, or if you will miss them all terribly when itís time to go home again.  It only took one day, one day of driving through the hills of Ohio and the flat stretches of Indiana to make me fall in love with my new Marquette friends, my new family.

    I felt utter joy and peace in bonding with people whom I had never met before and relating to them so well.  In developing a close-knit community with these people, I got a taste of their respective communities:  Catholic, divorced or troubled families, traditional two-parent families, sports teams, youth groups, and school and church atmospheres.  I learned about people who lived in the inner-city, the rural backwoods folks of Appalachia, the elderly, the young, the non-Catholics, and the Charismatic Catholics.  It opened my world and gave me a new perspective on people who were not from a small, Caucasian, farming community in Wisconsin, where everyoneís parents were married and had been dating since high school.  In Minneapolis, I was almost the only one out of my group whose parents had not divorced or had serious marital problems.  Even though I was eighteen, this shocked me as I realized how sheltered I had been.  I formed these bonds with my new families because I wanted desperately to learn about people who were, maybe if only in small ways, different from me.

     In some respect, it was God Himself who brought these communities together.  I know in my heart God put me with the team on my Appalachian trip for a reason; He knew I needed their love, joy, and easy-going natures to remind me how to be joyous and carefree again.  He gave me friends who experienced His presence in similar ways, through service, work, prayer, song, and reflection, friends with whom I could reminisce with or pray with in the future.  And it is also the ability to find God in all people that wakes me up and proves to me the joy that I already know; Godís love is manifested in our love for each other.  When people come together, who are all looking for and knowing Godís love in their hearts, a loving bond forms quickly and naturally.  Still, if I know these things, why can I not find them as easily in my own family, or my own friends?

    I left for my Spring Break while my two roommates flew to Florida wondering why I was going to spend a week in the snow of Kentucky re-shingling roofs while they swam in a pool and tanned.  I needed freedom from them, to make new friends and get away from what I felt were their controlling clutches; clutches that were mostly imaginary and constructed in my mind.  I was afraid to open up to them, the two people I saw every day, and discuss the things that were on my heart.  I remember one of them asking me why I never wanted to discuss my faith or my concerns about life with her--I didnít know what to say.  I was afraid she would take me too lightly, or would not really understand why my faith was so important to me.  After the trip, I turned away from those girls even more, because I had found new friends at Marquette who understood my experience and the loneliness I felt being away from Kentuckyópeople who, I thought, could understand who I was more than anyone else.