Decisions, decisions.

One of the most difficult things (and most beautiful things at the same time) about my job is that there are never right or wrong answers. You act as your conscience dictates. Everyone on the team has the same basic respect for the choices of the others. We joke, of course, that so-and-so gives everything away and some other so-and-so won't give anything to anyone; but I would say that a majority of us are softies at heart and would happily give someone the shirts off our backs if that someone really needed it and if it weren't completely indecent. When it comes down to it, though, we wield a decent amount of power. As coordinator, you can have a person banned from meals, or from the grounds entirely. You can give away bags and bags of canned goods, and refuse a request for a pat of butter. Sometimes these decisions are handed down out of necessity (we don't have any butter), but more often it is simply a judgment call (if I give you a container of laundry detergent, you will tell all your friends and then I will have 15 requests for detergent and will be running up and down the basement stairs retrieving it for the remainder of the meal).

It is so hard to establish protocol for different situations, because almost every situation has a unique quality to it that renders any possible protocol inapplicable. When I first arrived here, I was very concerned with trying to determine the Inn's policy on certain things and was very frustrated with little inconsistencies I found among members of the team. I realize now it is because I am working in a place that recognizes the individuality of each person that walks through the door. It is because these are moral decisions we make, not cold-hearted business decisions. Our business is loving people for who and what they are. Sometimes loving them means giving them what they ask for; sometimes it means withholding it.

During an interview with someone involved with Mount Irenaeus a few weeks ago, I mentioned that I encounter God every day in the guests. He asked me what I meant by that, how did I see God in the guests? I don't remember what I said then, but now I realize that every person God sends my way is his way of challenging me. He, embodied by a guest, is looking me in the eye and saying, "Here I am. How are you going to help me?"

Most days, I come home satisfied, knowing that I have done the best I could. Some days, I wish I had done more and regret those moments when I was too busy or too lazy to listen to someone's story or to give them what they needed. Those are the moments I try to keep in the back of my mind when others come to me asking for my attention and care in times of chaotic activity at the Inn, or times when I would rather not have to listen to people's problems.

There is a sign on the inside of the door (whose bell seems to ring constantly) that says "Smile, Jesus is at the door." I see it every day. I have stopped noticing it, except on days when I need to take a deep breath before answering the door. It is then that I see the sign and it actually does make me smile, because I know it is a reminder to everyone who answers that door. Knowing that we all need that kind of reminder is incredibly reassuring to me. I am not the only one who struggles to do the right thing, or even to know what the right thing is.

On a more personal note, I have been accepted into an internship at Mt. Irenaeus for the upcoming academic year. I will be helping with hospitality at the Mountain and working with students on campus at St. Bonaventure University, trying to promote the Mountain and expand its ministry to a greater population of students. I am so excited to live in the mountains and to take on this new role with its new set of challenges. With the excitement of planning for the future comes the sadness of leaving the Inn behind. My official last day is July 25, and I will likely be moving out that weekend. I never realized how attached I would get to the team, but even more so, to the guests. I know I can see the team because I will be returning to visit. The guests have much more unpredictable futures, and I fear coming back to find some of the guests I have become closest to not here.