11 PM - Christal Earle’s Blog

It was super hot and the smell was quite bad. I was surrounded by loud music and laughter. I closed my eyes and listened to the mix of familiar and unfamiliar voices that tickled my ears with their chatter and I remembered a memory I had from when we first started Absolute.

Ten years ago this week, Absolute began to officially exist. We were 3 people and we were broke, but we had a dream. What if there was something that existed in our Canadian high schools that was edgy, relevant and, most of all, something that offered hope and perspective? What could a group of passionate people become capable of accomplishing? What would you do if there were no limits?

Since those days, we have had over 225 people travel across Canada into High Schools with our road teams, we have had over 2000 people join us on our Hero Holiday trips and have spoken to well over 1 million students in schools across Canada and internationally. Each life we reach represents a life that is powerful and full of incredible potential. Each seed of hope that is planted makes it all worth it.

Over the years we have received countless emails, messages and phone calls that have continued to serve as a source of encouragement for our staff as we continue to forge ahead. We are not perfect and we have made many mistakes…but we are still here.

I remembered where I was when we determined that no matter what, we were going to see this thing through and we were going to do whatever it took to reach a generation with hope and love. Now here I was many years later, standing in the most unlikely of places: a garbage dump in Dominican Republic. Together with the Hero Holiday participants, we were hosting a party for the stateless Haitian people that worked there. It was an honour to be welcomed into their world and in that moment I realized that I could have missed out on all of this if I had given up – if we had given up on Absolute. But we didn’t, and we won’t. We are going to carry through as an organization into this next decade ignited with passion and a fervency to see a generation become instruments of love, hope, and change.

Whenever I am leading a workshop or speaking to students and adults, I like to ask them one simple question, “What would you do to help change the world if there were no limits?” It is hard for us to be honest when we hear those words because we have a hard time thinking of possibilities without limitations. We live in a world that is continually putting limits on our thinking: media ads tell us what we “need” and we listen, friends tell us how to act and we conform, life experience leaves us jaded and we allow that experience to shape our view of the possible, societal expectations push us to lean one way, and our attachment to money can cause us to limit our willingness to take a risk. Taking the easy road may be less risky, but a life that is lived without risk is a life that hasn’t really had a chance to live. Loving people is messy and reaching past judgment and comfort zones can seem scary, but it is always worth it. Our lives here in Absolute are a testament to that. Over the years we have loved, we have lost, we have taken risks and we have fallen short; but always, we have known that we wouldn’t want to live any other way. This is how change happens and that’s why we choose to be a part of it.

What would the world look like if more of us were willing to take a risk, willing to jump over the edge, and willing to make our voice be heard? It would look very different, and it would look more like hope. We hope that you will join us in Absolute in some way, that you will add your voice to ours, and that together we can help the world to look more like a world of hope and possibilities. Together, we can make 2010 the year where we lifted off the limits!

Saying goodbye is hard. Airport farewells never get easier, letting go of someone that you love is painful, and even change can be difficult. There are many times on this journey that we have been on in Absolute when we have had to learn to say goodbye. Faces have changed and positions have shifted over the years, there have been some painful separations of distance and time, and there has even been loss that we have had to support each other through. We have had to wave goodbye to families as our truck is pulling out of a community for the last time, wave tearful goodbyes to kids we are leaving behind in a children’s home and we have had to let go of little hands that we knew we wouldn’t hold again. But through it all, one thing has helped me to hang on: knowing that I am not alone.

Almost anyone will tell you that one of their favourite parts of an Absolute Hero Holiday is at the end of the day. Not because we are done the hard work and not because we get to escape back to our comfort zone. Rather, it is because it is when we sit down and connect with each other and have a debriefing on the day’s events. It may not seem like much to you, but when your world has been rocked and you are realizing that there are way more questions than answers in life, sometimes it is really great to be able to have someone that has shared the experience with you to walk alongside of you and challenge your way of thinking.

This past Christmas, we had two Hero Holidays happening: one in Mexico and one in Dominican Republic. In Mexico a family received a house for Christmas and it changed everyone’s life that was involved in the process. In Dominican Republic we helped two families get solid foundations on their homes, as well as worked in garbage dumps, helped at an orphanage and had a Christmas Fiesta with a community that had never had one before. I was in Dominican Republic and something happened that came up when I was talking one evening with some participants. On Christmas Day, we went to a village and played soccer with the community in the afternoon. It was a lot of fun and we made some great memories. But the memorable part for me happened when the sun went down and we set up the big white sheet on the front of someone’s house.

Right there, in the middle of that little village full of stateless, impoverished families, the evening became magical as we all stood around together and watched Ice Age 3 in Spanish. For many of the people there it was the first time they had ever seen a movie, and as Sid the Sloth bumbled through his adventures with the woolly mammoths and saber toothed tigers, the crowd tittered and giggled non stop, elbowing each other and pointing at the screen. Children gasped in surprise when the action got intense and all eyes were glued to that transformed white sheet for a full 90 minutes. There was no crunching popcorn, no beeping cell phones, and no whispers, only rapt attention as each person wanted to drink in the whole experience.

As I stood there among the crowd that night I was reminded of why I love to go to the movies at home. Entertainment is not about critiquing someone’s performance or about always needing to see the latest film. Entertainment is a privilege and it is a gift to be able to get lost in a story for a while, no matter what your situation is in life. In some ways, entertainment is as much of a human need as many other things. It may not have seemed like much, but to be able to offer that community something that gave them a lift out of the normal tedium of survival, it was a gift worth giving. As the movie finished and the crowd began to disperse in the dark, one little boy was walking by our team and they heard him say in Spanish, “This is the best Christmas ever!”. We didn’t come with gifts or anything fancy - we had no gifts left to bring. We came with our friendship and with something for all of us to experience together and that alone made that night special for him and for us.

As we sat around later that night, debriefing over the day’s events and processing what we had experienced, each of us saw something different in the evening. We each appreciated different aspects of the day and how much this Christmas would be one for all of us to remember. And the next day, while many of our family back home would be fighting their way through the boxing day sales and finishing up their third or fourth Christmas meal, we woke up and smiled and laughed at the gifts we had received on Christmas: friendship, laughter, and a new appreciation for the value of spending time with people that are important.

Today is the beginning of the rest of our lives. Each day is a gift and each breath is a blessing. What we choose to do with our time, energy and resources becomes both our offering and legacy that we give to the world around us. Saying goodbye to another year is bittersweet for me as 2009 was a great year for us in so many ways and we each experienced moments that we will cherish forever. But 2010 is full of exciting possibilities and you can be a part of it!

From all of us in Absolute and on behalf of every participant and beneficiary from each of our programs, we wish you a Happy New Year! Together, we can make 2010 a special year for countless lives around the world!

I only knew her briefly, but my friend, JK, told me all about her. She was 17 and ever since as long as anyone can remember, she was passionate about anything that was pink. In fact, although her real name was Bu-Tomb, she quickly got the nickname of “Pink” when she was first found on the streets as a young child. She was one of the first children that Kru Nam had ever rescued out of the horrors of the brothels, and she had been at the home since 2001. She had a mom who was still on the streets and recently made it through a drug rehab program. She had three other siblings, yet she had no official existence. She was stateless, she was at risk, and she had a smile that would melt your heart.

It had gone unnoticed for quite a while, slowly and quietly stealing her strength, her health and her future. Like a stealthy thief it may have laid dormant in her body for years, but no one will ever know for how long. She was one of 3 kids from the children’s home to ever make it to the 11th grade and she was sponsored by kind foreigners who cared about their future. She loved school and she had hopes of what she wanted to be when she graduated. Although she owned nothing of any material value in this world, she was loved, she was valued and she was among her family in that place. It was a large family full of other kids like her and full of caring adults who worked tirelessly to help them let go of the past and embrace a future that could be free from exploitation and shame. Her life was a bright light and that light was stolen by an enemy that no one saw coming: cancer.

Pink was diagnosed with leukemia earlier this year. By the time she received the official diagnosis, the cancer had begun to spread to her stomach and she was unable to digest food normally. Her young life was quickly slipping away and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Because she was stateless, there wasn’t a lot that anyone cared to do about it -anyone except her family at the children’s home. Together they located her mother, found support to help cover the medical costs and together they made her last time on earth beautiful and full of dignity. Different staff members would stay beside her bed. Although she wasn’t supposed to be there according to the hospital, her birth mother would come and sleep under her bed each night, trying to be as close to her as possible. Kru Nam made sure that Pink was treated like a princess. Despite the fact that she shared a hospital room with 8 other patients, she was in her only little world of pink: pink headbands, pink pillowcases and even a pink robe.

Pink’s birth mother was Burmese and Catholic, and as the priest was located and brought to give her her last rites, they hooked her frail body up to adrenaline. Her heart monitor steadily beeped as the priest prayed and her mother started to cry and sing the songs of the dead. JK and a small group of friends stood by in silence. Slowly the monitor went flat, and as Pink’s spirit left the earth JK’s cell phone rang. It was Kru Nam. “What just happened? I know that something just happened.” She somehow knew. I think a mother’s heart always knows, deep down inside, no matter how many “children” she has.

Pink was a gift to the world and her life was worth the effort. She left the earth knowing that she was loved and that there were people who cared deeply about her. Like countless millions of young lives at risk around the world, she needed to know that there was a safe place to grow up in and there was a safe place to live out her dreams. Pink’s memorial service was sweet and beautiful; just like her. She was dressed in her favourite pink shirt.

Kru Nam is one of the heroes that Absolute has had the privilege to support and work alongside of through our Hero Holiday programs in Thailand. We need your help to be able to continue to do so. We are returning to work with Kru Nam in August of 2010 and we would love to have you join us. Your life can be a part of the picture of hope that we are endeavoring to draw for kids such as Pink who need to know that someone believes in them. Please consider playing a part in creating that picture.

The stage lights are coming back up as Jon walks out to the centre of the stage. Flashing a smile, he puts the microphone close and begins: “Me da mucho gusto estar aqui con ustedes, ojala te diviertas y te esta gustando la presentación! My name is Jon and I am a drummer for the band Hundredfold. It’s really great to be here today with all of you.” Seeing his confidence and hearing it in his voice, you would never guess the story that lies beneath it all.

Racism. It’s ugly, it’s offensive, and as a Canadian, I want to believe it doesn’t happen in my country. But to our shame it does happen and often in the place where a generation should be safe to be free from it: it happens in the schoolyard, in the hallways and even in the classroom.

Jon was born in Santa Cruz, Bolivia to Mexican parents. When his family returned to Mexico City, he quickly adjusted to his new life by playing soccer. Within a very short period of time he and his brother were discovered for an elite team that was famous around the country. Traveling to compete all over Central America, becoming a young celebrity in the world of soccer, he even began to do TV commercials for products, enjoying public admiration. His future in the world of soccer looked extremely bright. He was young, he was promising and he was loved. But when Jon was 10 years old, his family decided to move to Winnipeg, Manitoba to start a new life - and everything changed. Their parents needed to find better employment opportunities for the future of their family and John and his brother had to come to terms with leaving behind their dreams of a bright future of professional sports.

As he entered junior high in the public school system in Winnipeg, Jon went through extreme culture shock. Not only were the city, the weather, and the language all foreign to him, but he quickly realized that there was something he had never considered: that “Mexican” was a dirty word. Each day became a routine of torturous racism and bullying as Jon was victimized in the schoolyard, in the hallways and in the classroom. Jon recalled moments of being held down, kicked, spat upon and being viciously verbally assaulted – all because he was different. In the midst of all the shock and pain, he began to withdraw, turning inward and entertaining dark thoughts.

In their vulnerability, many students like Jon search desperately to silence the pain - and he was no exception. Fueled by pain and self-hatred, he began to spiral down into a haze of drug abuse, depression and suicidal obsessions. Dreaming of escaping the pain seemed so much more comforting than crawling back up. After a failed suicide attempt, Jon had a reality shot. He needed help. His brother recognized that Jon needed an outlet to express himself and talked his parents into buying Jon a drum kit. A drum kit may seem like a random thought, but it turned out to be just what Jon needed to let out his frustration and discover something he was really gifted in. As he began to realize his abilities and passion for music, Jon also began to trust again. Shortly after he received his drum kit, Jon met Gord, a middle aged man who ran the local youth centre. Gord began to give Jon opportunities to be a part of something he could feel excited about and something that helped him find his way out of the pain of rejection and school violence. Through his kindness and encouragement, Gord gave Jon the ability to believe in himself and to believe that he could do something significant despite his history.

Today, Jon is touring with Hundredfold, a band from Winnipeg, Manitoba that tours in high schools with our Absolute road teams. Jon has the opportunity to stand in front of students every day, sharing his story and his heart. Through his courage to be honest with students about racism, pain, and rejection, he is able to give them an even greater gift to hold on to: the gift of hope.

Because Gord took the time to believe in Jon, thousands of Canadian high school students have been given the chance to hear about hope. There are many youth like Jon in our schools and communities, but there are also many “Gords” - the adults who are willing to take some time out of their own lives to believe that they can make a difference. I may never meet you, Gord, but I want to say thanks for all the long hours and love you put into that youth centre. Many lives are changed because of your willingness to see the potential in someone else. You are a hero.

Absolute has the privilege to meet thousands of students across the nation each year, and each of them is unique and full of incredible potential. Many of them are like Jon and many of them just need to know that someone believes in them and they are going to get through the pain that they are feeling right now in the middle of their circumstances. You can be a part of what we do! Check out www.absolute.org to see how you can get involved.

It would have been hard to see what was really going on that day. It didn’t look like much more than a group of people standing around a kid with a bleeding nose, wondering if he was going to be ok, and then slowly turning around and going back to work. Only he wasn’t really ok, it wasn’t a regular group of people, and we were all standing beside huge mounds of garbage overheating in the Caribbean sun. Not really a typical scene after all.

His name is Ganasse. He is 10 years old. He lives in a quiet little village that I have many friends in. His dad died when he was only a baby. He has an older brother that works out of town and his mom is “in the hospital” two hours away. He is Haitian and he is without any proper identification papers. He works in a garbage dump and he is as tough as nails. I don’t really think his mom is in the hospital - I think she is never coming back to him. She has been “in the hospital” since I have known him and I think no one in the village has the heart to tell him she isn’t coming home. In all reality, Ganasse is a stateless orphan, and his future is largely determined for him at this point in time.

One of the Hero Holiday students with me that day at the garbage dump brought me over to see him when they found him sitting to the side. He was trying to make his nose stop bleeding. Sitting down beside Ganasse with a pile of tissue and wipes, I tried to help him understand how to stop the bleeding. With one hand I held his tiny, dirty hand and with the other I wiped his tears that were streaming down his face. Liquid brown eyes searched mine and I could see the fear in them. He wasn’t just a kid with a bleeding nose. He was young boy who didn’t know what tomorrow would hold. He was a child without a mother or father and this garbage dump was almost all that he knew of life. He had spent most of his life being on the outside and looking in: wondering what it was to have a family, dreaming of what he would someday like to be and having to figure out how to survive today.

As I held his hand, he leaned his head against my shoulder, never saying a word. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to. Finally, I raised my arm around his shoulder and hugged him close. He snuggled in and didn’t move for a moment, soaking in the human contact. This was something I had failed to realize: the power of human touch to heal the heart. When was the last time he had been hugged? Did he have any memories of human tenderness and touch? Did he crave being noticed? Had he ever felt he was someone worth holding on to?

His nose had stopped bleeding, and he had stopped crying, but my heart was broken. Sitting on the side, watching everyone around us working, I saw life from his perspective for a moment: adults rushing to find food and supplies to provide for their own hungry families, loud dump trucks roaring past us, flies buzzing frantically around the heated refuse, two lone palm trees with leaves barely moving in the near stagnant air, and the anxious faces of Canadian teenagers who were continually looking back and checking to see if we were all right. I realized how high the mounds of garbage looked from this angle and how focused and determined each of the adult workers were to find what they were looking for. This was no place for anyone to have to work in, let alone a ten year old boy. Like each of these workers that I saw in front of me, Ganasse deserves more. He deserves a future.

Like me, the Canadian students with me that day learned many life lessons. Some of us are probably still processing those lessons even now. But that tender moment with Ganasse left us with something more than questions and frustrations: it deposited a resolve in each of our hearts. The resolve to continue to be a voice, the resolve to recognize the power of each of our lives and choices, and most of all, the ability to see how we can make a difference one life at a time. Today, there is a school in Ganasse’s village that we helped to expand to include more kids such as himself. Ganasse is in a home with a family and he is being taken care of. And today, like the Canadians that joined me in that garbage dump, I am determined to work harder than ever to make the world a little less scary for the Ganasse’s out there.

You can join us on a Hero Holiday in Dominican Republic in July of 2010! To find out more, check out www.heroholiday.com.

Our obligation is to give meaning to life and in doing so to overcome the passive, indifferent life. ~ Elie Wiesel

“My real name is Johnston Ho but you can call me Jo Ho. People know me as an outgoing, friendly, funny and random individual, which can be proven on numerous Hero Holiday trips. From dressing up as a girl, to dressing up and singing as Taylor Swift, to dancing with the father of the family who I helped to build a house for, to creating my own secret handshake in the community I built a house in, I love life…”

Social anxiety sucks. What if fear plagued you every minute of every day? The fear of the unknown, the fear of people, the fear of new situations. Every day you feel the same pain coupled with sweaty palms, a racing heartbeat, and nerves worn raw and thin. What if the simple act of taking the next step forward seemed too difficult? When you are paralyzed by depression, anxiety, or any other number of mood disorders, the pain of feeling judged or isolated by others can sometimes be so intense that there can seem no way out but to end the pain at what you perceive to be the source: you. But there can be relief from it, there can be hope, and there can be freedom. Johnston is living proof.

Johnston can point back to the summer of 2007 as being where things had reached their worst. By the time he had reached his 16th birthday that day in August, he felt so alone, so rejected and so paralyzed with depression and anxiety that there seemed no hope left. His list of options seemed to grow thinner. But somehow, at that lowest point is where he began the climb back out. As he sat home, alone on his 16th birthday, out of desperation to find help, Johnston began to research his problems. Slowly, through what he read and studied, he began to realize that he suffered from social anxiety. He wasn’t the problem, nor did he bring it on in any way. Life happens with or without our permission, and he now recognized his feelings for what they were: a mood disorder.

But recognizing something and following through with a game plan can be two very different worlds. When we suffer with mental health issues, it can be very difficult to separate ourselves from the disorder. It’s hidden inside of us and quite frankly, it would prefer to stay that way. That’s how it thrives and succeeds at convincing its victim that there is no escape. But like any lie, sooner or later it must be exposed for what it is, and Johnston found out how to do that.

One week after his birthday, Johnston found himself on a bus, headed towards Vicente Guerrero, Mexico. Having already endured the two hour ferry ride to Vancouver and arriving at the hotel in Abbotsford by himself, Johnston was at a bit of a loss. Could he handle being away from home for two weeks? Could he handle being around 15 other strangers and what he was about to encounter on this trip that he was unwillingly signed up for?

“I was late for the bus and when I got on I said absolutely nothing to the person beside me for about 4 or 5 hours. Then someone started a poker game at the back of the bus and somehow I began to relax and had the chance to be myself. I won the game and I actually started to relax and felt my SA (social anxiety) slipping away. During the trip I started talking more and didn’t stop; I got to be myself and not what my SA wanted me to be. And that was just the beginning…”

During his time on Hero Holiday, Johnston was a part of a 15 member team of participants who built a house for a family that desperately needed it. Together with that family, nail by nail, they forged a new future and hope for each other. For the family it was about shelter, safety and being lifted out of paralyzing poverty. For Johnston it was about a hand up to hope and freedom. Both came empty handed and both left full of promise. This is what Hero Holiday is about: succeeding together.

“I have battled with anxiety most of my life. This trip has changed my life, but probably not in the way that the organizers thought it would change me. I used to keep all of my emotions inside and after this trip everything changed. I even wore a sombrero from Abbotsford to Victoria on the ferry! I would have never done that before.
I used to get extreme anxiety using the phone, going on msn or Facebook, knocking on people’s doors, saying hi to anyone, walking down the hallway at school, going to social events, using instructions, getting responsibility, and many other things. Now, I am not the same.
The reason why I am so open about my past mental problems is that I lost track of what was most important: the value of life, what every day means, what one day can bring and what you have to show. Your potential is limitless. Risk everything for what you truly want. You only live once so stand up, speak loud and live your dream.”

For more information on how you can be a part of a life-changing trip like the one Johnston was on, check out www.absolute.org. We would love to have you join us. You belong here!

I hate my contact lenses. I hate that I have to remember to take them out before I go to bed, that I have to wrestle with them on early mornings, that I sometimes put them in backwards (yes, you can put them in backwards!) and most of all, I hate that I can’t see hardly anything without them. But if I had to be honest with myself, I should count myself fortunate to not have to worry about my vision. They are called corrective lenses for a reason: they are able to correct my vision impairment. Like you, I have the gift of sight.

The night that Vaden and Charles met with the group of parents from her school, they were preparing for the regular questions for Hero Holiday: how much does it cost? Where will they stay? Will they be able to call home? But they weren’t expecting her parents to ask what they did. Kelsey’s* parents came forward after the meeting and asked them one last question. They wanted to know if we would allow her to join us on our Dominican Republic Hero Holiday trip the following summer. Of course we would, why not? And then they pointed out which daughter was theirs: the one quietly sitting down, staring straight ahead, with her hand on the collar of her guide dog, both of them patiently waiting for the answer. The simple question, “Would it be possible for Kelsey to be a part of the trip?” was met with a simple answer, “We would love to have her join us!”.

That summer was a first for Hero Holiday. We started building our first school that is now the education centre for almost 100 young children, we began a life long friendship at a garbage dump with a group of people that we have grown to love and respect, and for the first time, we had a new pair of best friends, Kelsey and her dog, Kaylie. Together they helped carry cinder blocks, apply mortar on the bricks, mix cement, and most importantly, play with the crowds of kids that surrounded them in fascination, eager to learn more about what life was like from their perspective.

Guide dogs for the visually impaired have been recorded as being used as early as the 16th century; they are not a new concept. Yet, like so many other limitations or disabilities, those with impairments can be held back by perceptions, lack of opportunity, and even by public stereotypes and stigmas. That year, Kelsey proved to us and to the people that were a part of the experience that not only was she a true hero, but there are many around the world who are capable of doing far more than anyone thought possible, if only they are given the opportunity. We were proud to have Kelsey as a part of our trip, because she was Kelsey and because she belonged there.

Chances are, if you are reading these letters right now, you are part of those of us who make up the population that have our sight. Many of us may never know what it is to be limited by stereotypes, perceptions, and ignorance, yet that means that we can reach and dream even harder of what can be done to make the world a safer place for all of us, without exception.

Absolute welcomes people of all ages, backgrounds, and abilities to join our Hero Holiday trips and experience the power of making a difference. We are able to do what we do because of our staff, volunteers and participants, and because of the finances raised through our fundraising endeavors. Currently, we have an exciting way for you to help and have something tangible in return: purchase our 2010 Calendar, “Together” and help us to continue to see lives changed at home and around the world through compassion, love, and action. Go to http://www.heroholiday.com/calendar to purchase yours.

“Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others” ~ Jonathan Swift

*names have been changed

Her name at birth was Yi-Ting Yu, but if you met her you would understand why her parents chose “Joy” as her English name. There was no option, really. When you first meet her, you immediately know that you won’t forget her. Gregarious and outspoken, she is full of life, naïvete and laughter. Like every student that comes on Hero Holiday, she has a story, and like every student that returns home from the experience, she is never the same.

Joy’s family is Chinese, having immigrated to Canada when she was a young child, and settled in Richmond, BC. As she began to grow older, the cultural divide began to spread between the world she wanted to be in and the one in her home. Feeling that her two “lives” couldn’t connect, Joy began to withdraw from her parents and home life, creating a further disconnection between her and her parents. As she entered high school, like so many before her, Joy began to wrestle with who she wanted to be, falling short on both sides and within a short period of time she began to roam the streets of Richmond late at night with a group of friends out looking for violence, and out to steal. Pain and confusion can be difficult for any of us, but when your home life is unstable, when you feel like you don’t know where you belong, and when you are driven for acceptance, it is difficult to find your anchor.

But Joy wasn’t forgotten, nor was she unwanted. Leslie Dell, a student advisor and leadership teacher at her school, was working hard to help the students in their school to change the core of their school. Slowly, the students that she worked with began to draw Joy out of the dangerous choices she was making and involve her in their initiatives. As she entered her Grade 11 year, Joy was now a member of the leadership core, active on sports teams, sitting on the student council, and involved in influencing her student body for change. She was beginning to find her place and understanding her value. In September of 2007, Joy and the rest of their school’s leadership core sat in an auditorium, experience an Absolute presentation, and heard about Hero Holiday for the first time. She knew that this was something she wanted to do; something that she needed to do.

Joy began to fundraise to go to Dominican Republic with Hero Holiday. Sometimes working 2 or 3 jobs at a time, she slowly pulled the money together. Although her family still refused to support or help her in her efforts, she managed to raise enough to join her school group on Hero Holiday in July of 2008. Her life was never the same from that experience.

“Going there was the best decision I ever made. I believe in everything that we do there and I only come back home to realize that I haven’t done enough and I will always need to do more for others. I can’t be the selfish person I once was. It changed my life because I see the world with a different perspective and I approach life with new aspects.
I always ask myself what can I do to better the lives of the people around me, and what can I do to reach out to the people who don’t understand. I want to live my life to the fullest and seize every moment in the day because life is too short to hold grudges and hold out on dreams. I want to do everything now because I have it so good and so easy. We complain and complain about nothing. We say we need things that we only want. I need to see change, I want to be an influence for change, and I am making a difference.”

I wonder how many “Joys” there are in the world? How many youth get overlooked because they are acting out, seem unstable, or simply because they don’t have the courage to speak up and ask for help? Who will be their voice, will seek them out, or will give them the faith to believe that things can change?

In Absolute, our mission is to deposit hope and purpose in each life that we work with. Hope is what gives us the ability to change and it is what gives us the ability to hang on when life lashes out at us. Pain can blind us, isolate us and lie to us about our worth. But hope is what frees us to dream, to believe, and to reach out. Through our ThinkDay programs in schools, we work with schools to hold out hope to their students - the hope to hang on and to realize that they can see past where they find themselves.

I love hearing about what is being done in Canada for young women, and this idea totally gets my idea!

http://www.avivacommunityfund.org/ideas/acf2521

Check it out and if you like it, vote for it!

C

Life is ironic. So much of our understanding of a concept is based on our cultural context, past experience, and personal bias. “Hard work” can often be a very relative term. Some of us work hard at labour-intensive jobs, some of us carry the weight and stress of being the decision makers for organizations, some of us do what we can to avoid work altogether. In our culture, it can almost even seem that we sometimes work hard at our play and invest our time, energy and resources into our toys, possessions, and experiences.

In our School Of Leadership, we have an incredible experience that is now fondly named, “The Shack”. The Shack is our own version of what life would be like for the millions of people that live well below the poverty line, and basically exist on less than $2 a day. In their world, home ownership is often a pipedream, school is a privilege often denied, and healthcare is non-existent. These are the working class poor, and they are what keeps our consumer costs low, our food picked fresh, our electronics affordable, and our closets full of clothes that we can afford. The Shack is a 7 day experience that each of our leadership students get involved in, and they eat, sleep, and work among the poor, learning how life and survival happens at that level. It is a life-altering experience, and we are proud of how compassionate and inspired each of them become as a result. This year, however, there was something new in store for the students: they were able to go to work with the migrant Mexican workers and join them in the fields and labour alongside of them to help see life from their viewpoint.

Brett, one of our School of Leadership Staff Members, filled me in on what life was like that day…

“Shack Work Day #6 started out with an early wake up at 4am. After cooking their breakfast over an open fire, the students were picked up at 4:45am at the highway to be brought to a local ranch to work in the fields. The minute the students stepped out of the truck, they got all kinds of looks from the Mexican workers, they could not figure out why these “Americans” would want to work in the fields.

“The day started with the students picking buckets full of cucumbers and hauling them to a big truck. They worked on the cucumbers for a couple of hours and by the time they were ready to move on to planting strawberry plants, they had picked two huge trucks full of cucumbers. It was only 9am but it felt like they had been out there for a really long time, and they were already feeling sore. They were then taken to a strawberry field where they were given a tool and a bucket full of strawberry plants. They used the tool to help push the strawberry roots deeper into the soil. They were constantly bent over, and they got so used to being bent over that it hurt a lot when they had to stand straight up. They all worked really hard. In fact, some of the old ladies working there said that the “little white girls” were hard workers, and out of an effort to encourage our students, the older ladies finished their own rows and came back and helped the girls finish theirs as well.

“It’s really hard to believe that people do this their whole lives. Working row upon row are children who should be in school alongside of seniors who should be free to relax and rest. The students were also thinking that a lot of these women would go home after a really hard day out at the fields to make supper, do laundry, and clean. The Mexicans work so hard, day in and day out, for a mere 110 pesos. There is no pay increase here - they all work for the same amount of income. The only incentive offered is easier jobs for the older workers. Not much of an incentive, really.

“The students didn’t really want to talk to me after because they said they had no words to describe what they had felt towards these extremely hard working people. They were feeling humbled and overwhelmed by the sadness of reality. For the students, after tomorrow they get to go back to their beds, warm showers, and a warm home, but the people whom they worked alongside will return to their own shack, left in their own poverty, only to repeat it all tomorrow.”

Row upon row, hour by hour, the world’s working poor labour to make our world easier and more comfortable. We cannot escape its effects on our lives, but we can work to make it better. Through our conscious choices, our efforts can help to change things. In Absolute, we make every effort to be conscious of what we are adding our voice to by our consumer choices. We encourage each of our students, our Hero Holiday participants and our staff and volunteers to do the same. During each of our Hero Holidays, we take time to help educate our participants about how they can add their voice to change and make a difference where they are at. The possibilities are endless; they are only limited by our own willingness to make the effort. We may not be able to single-handedly change the world, but little by little, as we dream and take action together we can make the world a better place for those who need to know that it can be.

To find out more about our School of Leadership or Hero Holiday, check out www.absolute.org.