Up to the South Bronx

I went up to the mountain
Because you asked me to
Up over the clouds
To where the sky was blue
I could see all around me
Everywhere

I could see all around me—

EVERYWHERE.

-Patti Griffin, Up to the Mountain (MLK Song)

I’ve never heard the voice of God. Oh, would it were I had that great gift of Moses and could receive His will for my life directly from His mouth. Instead, I must keep my eyes, heart, and spirit open to discover His specific instructions for my life’s’ journey.

Indeed, do not be fooled, He has a calling for each and every one of us. We are all called up to our own respective mountain tops.

From my cliff, I see the Diego Beekman Security Officers; I see the Boys on the Block; I see many, many, MANY children. & I love it like Pooh Bear loves honey. There are those who consider this model ambitious with negative connotations. Still, everyday I find confirmation that this is exactly where I should be. Not moments ago I received an email from an awesome playwright inviting me to a performance of students from the Roundabout Theatre Company’s program, VOICES. I already have an invitation: my next door neighbor gave it to me as she fixed me a plate of chicken & rice. (Which was on point!)

Today was the first day I spent some time alone with some of the younger ones. We painted nails and peeled it off. We read along to the lyrics of Alicia Key’s ‘Superwoman.’ We read a little from a book of our growing library. We watch a little bit of Polar Express which not only gave me an intense anticipation for Christmas, but made me long to eat snow as I crave it heartily every winter. Mmmm…anyway…It sounds like we spent a good six hours together, but if you account for the attention span of kids it rounded out to about two and a half. After gently reprimanding one of them for touching all the M&M’s in the candy bowl, telling another she couldn’t have any more cookies or chocolate milk on my watch, and watching the third make a mess of her fingernails I was exhausted. Exhausted, but satisfied.

The other day after I excitedly ask K if she wanted to help me clean she said, “You’re picky aren’t you.” I immediately knew she was referring to my type-A organization and cleaning habits. She had not even known me for more than a few hours and already she asserted an accurate psychoanalysis. I’ve always had a very nurturing and maternalistic streak although I’ve hidden it behind tougher fronts than those of the boys on the corner. Here, however, I am able not only to feel Love for my neighbor, but to activate it through lessons on discipline, conversations with my neighbor, and mixing whole-wheat “Love Biscuits.”

I am so blessed to be here on Beekman, and although I see there are miles left to climb, I like the view just fine.