It's not a good day at the shelter, even for a Monday. One of our residents passed away over the weekend from a drug overdose. She was 26. She'd been in and out of the shelter since she was 19. Sometimes she brought her children with her. Other times, like this most recent stay, they were in DHS custody. Staff members who knew her say that WAA was the closest she had to family.

There's a memorial service planned for tomorrow afternoon, where staff and residents will be invited to share prayers, poems, songs and memories, and to say a final good-bye. Having started here only a few weeks ago, I didn't know this particular woman; I've heard her mentioned at staff meetings, but can't put a face to the name. I keep thinking that here in this building are most of the people who did know her, and who know and care that she's gone.

It's a strange, sad day. Life goes on here as it always does. It's just another burden to bear for these women who, like their deceased sister, have endured far more than anyone should.

This week at work, I was officially assigned my first four clients! As a case manager, I'm responsible for accompanying these women during their time in the WAA shelter. Since an emergency shelter is not meant to be a permanent home for anyone, most of what my job involves is assessing my clients' current needs and then planning for the time when they will leave the shelter. We explore housing options (ranging from independent rentals to city-funded transitional housing programs), file for public benefits as needed, and discuss goals related to employment and education. Despite the 40 hours of training I just completed, this week has been filled with quite a bit of learning on my feet! I've had a crash course on the public benefits and public housing systems in Philadelphia, not to mention having my eyes opened to the tremendous obstacles that the combination of domestic violence and poverty can place in a person's path.

At times I find myself becoming overwhelmed by the multitude of burdens my clients have to carry each day - I can only imagine how they themselves must feel. Sometimes they'll tell me a fraction of it, in measured voices incongruous with the meaning of their words. Other times their pain and frustration finds other outlets, such as acts of aggression towards staff or fellow shelter residents.

It's a challenge to see my clients as whole people - not simply notes in a case file jotted down during a sixty minute intake, or the subject of incident reports written up after altercations with others, or the sum of impressions formed during brief encounters and conversations that can only reveal partial truths. But at the same time, it's such a paradoxically joyous challenge, one that is pushing me to break open the empty casings of appearance and circumstance in the hope of revealing the beauty and dignity within each person who passes through the shelter's doors.

Most of all, this job is deeply humbly. Every day I am confronted with problems I have no means of solving, systems I have no experience navigating, people I too often have no idea how to help. I am fortunate to have the support of my colleagues at the shelter - strong, compassionate individuals who understand the risks and rewards of this line of work, and who know that a team approach provides the best chance of serving the myriad needs of the women and children we are all there to support. Their wisdom helps to compensate for my inexperience. And through it all, I am trying to trust that God will make up the difference when even the best of our human wisdom, compassion, and strength falls short.

The organization I'm working for this year just produced a documentary on domestic violence. There were some interesting comments made by folks in the documentary about the connection between violence in homes and the violence seen on innercity streets. It's well documented that children exposed to domestic violence are more likely to become involved in situations of DV as adults, whether as victims or abusers, but we don't often talk about the less clear-cut connections between interpersonal violence and violence within larger communities - cities, nations, ethnic groups, religious sects. We don't connect the violence that we perpetrate against one another in the secret corners of our lives with the violence that manifests itself in gang wars and drive-by shootings; in suicide bombings and terrorist attacks; in global warfare and nuclear proliferation; in the structures and systems that dictate length and quality of life based on race, gender identity, nationality, citizenship, sexual orientation, language, class, religious beliefs, and a host of other factors that have nothing to do with each of our inherent worth and dignity as human beings.

I really think it's important to consider that the way we treat those closest to us in our daily lives has consequences for how we exist as a society and as a human family. It's interesting to consider that the first mention of violence in Genesis is a brutal act of interpersonal violence - the murder of one brother by another. Even the story of the first sin takes place within the context of an interpersonal relationship. I've heard it said that the true weight of Adam and Eve's sin came not from their disobedience of God's command, but from the deception they employed when questioned about it - Adam tries to pass the blame to Eve, who tries to pass it to the serpent. The first lies are told, bonds of sacred trust are broken, and humankind is cast out of paradises.

It helps me to think about that carpenter's son who came to remind us that our relationships with one another are a vital part of what constitutes our relationship with God. That man who made no distinction between love of God and love of neighbor; who was himself the victim of a violent state execution, but who reopened for us the gates of paradise, of that kingdom of love and light.

It may sound trite, but I really do hope and pray that if all of us are just a little more like him, we can begin to heal the hurt in our lives, our relationships, our nations, and our world.

Thursday night (in addition to being Taco Thursday) was Spirituality Night for our community. I've really been missing praying the Liturgy of the Hours lately, so I volunteered to create a reimagined version of Evening Prayer, using quotes and passages suggested by the community in place of the official psalms and readings. I have to say, I was rather pleased with how it all turned out :-) There's something so joyful about praying in community, especially in the call-and-response format of the Liturgy of the Hours. I love the safety and the sanctity created by the rhythm of our voices, by the intentionality of our words. It was also wonderful to share with my community a form of prayer that is so special to me, in a way that I hope allowed each one of us to find some meaning.

In other news, we've decided to be a bit more environmentally-conscious in our community by composting - or, more accurately, by joining a Philadelphia-based program that provides pick-up service for compostable organic waste (the perfect solution for composting neophytes like ourselves!) Our "collection container" was dropped off this evening. During the week we'll fill it with fruit cores, vegetable peels, coffee grinds, tea bags, egg shells, clean paper, and cardboard (plus a few surprising things like dryer and vacuum cleaner lint...) Every Thursday night, the guys who run the program will swing by our house to pick up our organic waste, which they'll take to what I'm assuming is their own giant compost pile. Instant composting, with none of the smell or the hassle - and for only $10/month! The company is called Bennett Compost (http://www.bennettcompost.com/), and while it only serves Philadelphia, it's a great idea that could easily be implemented in other cities. For much better information on the benefits of composting than I could possibly provide, check out the EPA's website: http://www.epa.gov/epawaste/conserve/rrr/composting/benefits.htm.

It's such a blessing to feel the different values of JVC coming together in unexpected ways - a spiritual exercise becomes an opportunity for community bonding; an aspect of simple living raises our consciousness towards issues of social justice. We're certainly not living quite as intentional, integrated lives as we could be all of the time - but in some moments, the beauty and value of this year-long experiment become so clear, enveloping my soul in joy and thanksgiving.

We've had an eventful Labor Day weekend here in the JVC Philly community! On the first Friday of every month, art galleries in Philadelphia hold free openings. Since this Friday happened to be the first Friday of September, and we are always looking for free things to do, we headed down to Old City to check out the art scene. I think I enjoyed seeing the wide range of gallery spaces almost as much as I did the artwork itself; my favorite was a converted bank from days of old.

There's nothing like a visit from two toddlers to brighten your mood on a workday morning! I just had the pleasure of entertaining two such persons in my office here at the shelter. They just wandered in while their mothers were speaking with their case managers, and we shared a few happy moments together.

I've been struggling a bit these past few days. Absorbing twenty-plus hours worth of depressing statistics about DV, all while trying to manage my own emotional response to that information, has had me wondering at times what good any of us can really do. But little children always make me feel so hopeful; they embody the promise of new life, of future promise. All they wanted was my attention for the moment, and that I could readily provide.

Today I'm so grateful that the shelter is here to provide safe haven for these children and their mothers. I'm learning in my training that interventions like DV shelters are not nearly enough to solve the problem of domestic violence, or to target its root causes, but also that they are desperately needed in our present reality. Today I'm grateful to be here, amidst people who are struggling against forces too often outside of their control. I'm grateful to be present enough to entertain two toddlers, to smile at the shelter's guests and say good morning, to help create a modicum of safety and stability in lives that have been unjustly subject to danger and chaos.

We cannot do everything, but we can do something, and hopefully, do it well...