Email: Melissa Wheeler

Hello to Everyone from Belfast,

Since I last wrote around Christmas time, a lot has happened. Things for me have become much more of a routine. I get up every day, get ready for work, walk to work in either a rush or take my time (depending on the weather), and then I spend my days working with kids, adults, and the more seasoned adults. “Recycled teenagers” they call them here in Northern Ireland. Although sometimes the days seem long, I am constantly amazed by how quickly the weeks pass me by. Here I am six and a half months into my year, and it seems like just yesterday I was getting off the plane.

I work with lots of different groups here in Northern Ireland, but the vast majority of those programs involve kids. Working with kids is one of the most wonderful things in the world, I think. I constantly am amazed by the innocent peace that these kids have. I also have kids that have lost that innocence in one way or another. Kids here deal with some of the same pressing issues that plague youth everywhere. Some of my kids are dealing with things that I cannot even imagine. Although sometimes they are challenging, I am always able to see within them that peaceful and innocent child that is growing, learning, needing, and wanting more from life. The relationships that I make with these kids bless me in so many ways. They bring smiles to my face and consistently remind me that there is hope. Hope for Northern Ireland. Hope for this world.

Because our work here is based on relationships, we are all learning to talk the talk and walk the walk here. No matter how hard we try though, the “American” label precedes us everywhere. It is easy to fall into the trap of thinking of yourself only what your nationality defines you as. I mean: I am so much more than just an American. All of the YAV' here have been reflecting lately on the age-old question, “When do you speak up and when do you remain silent?”

I find that in the stillness I see grace in a much more powerful and meaningful way. I am not used to this stillness in my life. Being still is simply not American. We are a culture of "time is money" and "hurry up, I haven't got all day." If it sounds like I am mocking the American way, in fact I am just as pressed here to constantly stay moving. It is just as much a struggle here in Northern Ireland to say no to the things you know you don't have time for. It is still just as hard to find that time to reflect, to be still. Because of this I have struggled with what it means to be still. Do you have to whisk yourself away on a holiday to the beach and sit listening to nothing but the waves crashing around you to find stillness in your soul, your mind, your heart? Do you have to be in silence to be still?

I have learned that you can seek the stillness of the moment—those times when you feel grace hit you like a gale force wind off the Irish Sea. Being still can happen in so many ways. I find that I can still my mind, heart, and body in ways without having to shut the door and be by myself. These moments, the moments where you feel the presence of God within you so deeply it makes you want to cry and laugh at the same times are the ones for collecting for a rainy day. We have lots of those rainy days here in Northern Ireland. So, I take those moments with me and tuck them away in my heart, and when the pressures of the world creep up and stress is pushing down on me, I take them out and remember that feeling, always hoping for another glimpse of grace along the long and not always the easy path of life.

Peace,

Melissa Wheeler

To read more day-to-day reflections of my time in Belfast, go to my blogspot.

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