Since it is my last semester at Messiah and I have not yet completed all of my language requirements, I am taking the MCPC cross-cultural course. Part of the class requirement is to volunteer once a week in a local after school-care program. This week was my first week “in the field.” Walking into the cafeteria, our group arrived just in time for “Power Hour,” the hour during which the kids concentrate on getting the homework finished and graded. I gravitated toward the slightly older kids partly because I tend to be more comfortable with that age group… and that was the only area that had an empty seat. As I sat down, most of the kids playfully looked away and were very tight-lipped, but even the strongest person can only keep it together for so long before being completely overtaken by my incredible charm. Pretty soon kids were grinning. How you ask? What do kids enjoy talking about? Pranks. Hopefully I won’t have too many angry parents on my tail later.

I think one of my favorite moments was when I asked one little boy his name, he was probably only seven and pretty intently coloring. He didn’t answer, but a little girl across the table piped in telling me his name. Upon hearing that he quickly looked up and shouted at her “Don’t be telling her my business!!!” It was pretty hard to keep my composure after that one. I spent the rest of the time helping the kids with their homework and laughing with them. When my group was leaving, one of the little girls, Dinasia, came up to me and asked me if I had to go with the rest of the group or if I could stay just a “little longer.” If her intention was to melt my heart, she thoroughly accomplished her mission. A short while later I had 15 kids all crowded around me telling me they weren’t ticklish with that I would tickle them to be sure. When only 3 kids remained, they gathered around my necklace (which rests on my predominant chest) and asked me what it was made of. I told them it was a shell, and they asked if I found it on the beach, I shrugged and replied that somebody must have. They then examined it more closely with a magnifying glass… right by my chest.

When they became even more comfortable with me, they touched my hair and rosy cheeks asking why my hair was that way and wondering why I was wearing too much make up. The couldn’t believe I didn’t have any on. When their parents finally came, each, in turn, asked me when I was coming back. I heart breakingly told them not until next week.

I don’t think it’s really fair to say I was doing a “service project,” if the kids blessed me more than I ever could them.

Having visited many cities, including Philadelphia, but never having lived in them, my time at MCPC has been a new experience. I feel that for those that have not grown up in an urban environment sometimes perceptions that all city dwellers are cold, and unfriendly arise. It is easy to see where these ideas might stem from. Americans are busier than ever and with technology from the Internet to cell phones, isolation within a crowd is becoming easier than ever. The visitors that have negative views of Philadelphians might be dealing with more self-projection issues that attitude from others. I’m not saying that every street in Philadelphia is like Sesame Street, but like with most places I’ve traveled, you come to know a place by talking to the people that inhabit it. Philadelphia is not just home to the Liberty Bell, Love Park, and Phillies… it is also home to Stan and CJ, in fact, presently it’s the only one they have.

Yesterday to celebrate Valentine’s Day early, some MCPCers and I took a trip to Love Park to take some pictures. I typically lag behind, so I got the opportunity to talk to Stan. Stan recently lost his home to back taxes. His navy blue suitcase that wheels through the streets is deceiving because he is neither coming nor going. In his mind, he tells me he feels like he’s been reduced to an animal which explains the shock when I look him in the eyes while we talk and not only ask him his name but tell him mine. We didn’t talk long, but we talked.

Stan was watching our group intently as our group rotated in and out of Indiana’s “Love” sculpture taking pictures from every angles. I drop back to talk to him and found out that he was originally from Miami, but moved up to Philly to bury his mother. Now homeless, he makes some change by taking tourists’ pictures in front of the sculpture. His eyes light up as he passionately talks to me about his interest in photography. As my group is getting ready to go, I shake CJ’s hand and watch as he jumps up from his newspapers to take a picture for a couple of girls standing by the statue. I can’t help but think to myself that those are all he has to keep him warm tonight. Unlike other homeless, he has nothing with him except for the clothes he is wearing and the stack of newspaper on which he was sitting. I fumble the keys and bus token in my pocket wishing I had something I could give him, but I don’t.

Philadelphia may be a city, but it is a city of individuals. The apostle Peter did not have silver or gold to give the beggar, but he could help him walk. The older I get, the more I realize that I can’t save the world, but I can stop for the one. I may not have money, but I can talk to someone and more importantly, listen. I can be with them. I can learn what they need before I offer prayer, I can give an extra blanket even if I don’t have an extra dollar.

It is fitting that in the City of Brotherly Love, Jesus keeps reminding me who my brothers are and that whatever I do for them, I do for Him.

“We become not a melting pot but a beautiful mosaic. Different people, different beliefs, different yearnings, different hopes, different dreams.” – Jimmy Carter

Looking out my window, the rolling green hills of Grantham have been replaced by the brown brick of my new home overlooking a bustling Broad Street with students and motorists competing for the right of way. There is no dead of night here. Though New York is the city that never sleeps, Philadelphia’s night life, full of music, laughter, shouts, and sirens continues through the morning (though you’ll have to catch the subway before midnight). Philadelphia is full of new and exciting experiences to be had, whether it be…

basketball games

hula dancing,

exotic food,

or new classes,

but for me it is not the art museums, restaurants, festivals, or clubs that give a city its character; it is its people.

Having earlier found and slipped on the only patch of ice in Philadelphia, I decided to gracefully bow out of ice skating for the afternoon, but I’m glad I did. It led to one of my most memorable experiences at MCPC I have had so far- my conversation with Chona. I will now do my best to regale you with how it went.

At first I am a little hesitant to strike up a conversation, the facts being, I am a foreigner to Philadelphia, at least 30 years her junior, and am very white. No, I mean it. I don’t like spicy foods, my family came over on the Mayflower, I don’t mind the occasional country song, and my dancing at best is so-so. But, I love people and I love Jesus, and Jesus loves people, so I decide to strike up a conversation. What is the worst that could happen?

Time flies by as Chona and I share stories from our lives with each other. If you only know one thing on your road to becoming a people person, know that people enjoy talking about themselves! Chona tells me about meeting her husband in the Philippines and her subsequent life as a military wife filled with adventures in faraway lands and the struggles of raising her daughters on army bases. She shares restaurant suggestions with me and even some family recipes. Her face lights up as she proudly points out her daughter who is showcasing Polynesian dancing with her company. My jaw drops when I find out that her daughter is 40 and Chona is 86! I tease her and say she doesn’t look a day over 30, and in actuality, I am only slightly stretching the truth. I tell her about my life and explain why I am at MCPC. Messiah College serves as a nice faith segway, so we start talking about the deeper things in life and who God is to us. Chona is a devout Catholic and jumps at the opportunity to pray. She thanks me and says that she was blessed to meet me, but I assure her that it was I who was really blessed.

Philadelphia is home to a world of opportunities, life changing experiences, and most importantly, new relationships, for those who look for them.

Will you look?