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As I’m writing this morning, sipping my coffee with Beirut in my ears, the Windy City is living up to its moniker. I always feel reenergized when the weather cools and I break out my fall attire. I want to wander feeling the crisp breeze on my cheeks, seeing the trees glow with their own autumn wardrobe, gazing over the steely waters of Lake Michigan whipped into choppy white-capped waves. I want to sit inside with warm muffins and tea and blankets and watch the wind blow. It’s a time for friends, for love and for loved ones, when community comes together to prepare for the winter months. And as I’m writing this morning, my mind wanders through the annals of memory to a place and people that are forever connected with feelings of intimacy and f(F)riendship. I’m speaking of my time with the Southern Appalachian Young Friends (SAYF for short), a group of Quaker youth from a region spanning Kentucky to Georgia. I’ve written before on this blog about my Quakerism; here I move from abstract ideals to a concrete community. We gathered monthly for weekend retreats at the various Quaker Meetings in the region, sometimes doing community service, sometimes discussing aspects of Quakerism and how to live out its tenets, sometimes just playing games. I joined SAYF my freshman year of high school, our first year in a new town. The move to Berea was beneficial for many reasons and a plethora of factors contributed to my immense personal growth, but I credit most of it to the Quaker community. Like many that age I was reclusive, unsure, defensive in my incompleteness; I felt content, but only because I kept my eyes down and my ears closed. So when I got out of the van at the Knoxville Meetinghouse and a stranger immediately threw himself into my arms screaming “Catch me!”, I was somewhat taken aback.
The most marvelous thing about that community is its self-sufficiency; its strength comes from a commitment to mutual care. In the middle of my first year, a senior SAYFer was killed by a drunk driver. In the retreat after the incident, a healing circle was held to honor her and help the community put itself back together. I had never gotten to know Lily, but the pain and loss was palpable. I began moving around the outside of the circle giving backrubs, the only way I knew to provide active comfort for emotional wounds I didn’t share. That experience stands out in my mind for two reasons: one, it shows how much I had come out of my shell, and two, it’s when I knew that I wanted to care for SAYF in a more official capacity. Community caretakers are called Nurturers. It’s a complex role; we weren’t ‘in charge,’ so to speak, because the idea of a power hierarchy is antithetical to Quaker philosophy. We didn’t lead the community as much as steer it, breaking up cuddle puddles when we needed to get on with our schedule and keeping activities on track. I guess ‘peer facilitator’ is a pretty apt description, tacking on a fair bit of emotional counseling and consolation when the teenage years inevitably took their toll on our fellow SAYFers. We would rewrite the SAYF Guidelines every year to fit the evolving needs of the community; we lead Meetings for Business; we kept the fringes of the community engaged, making sure nobody was left out; we were figures of comfort, peers who you knew wanted to help. The adults (called Friendly Adult Presences—FAPs, a somewhat unfortunate acronym that has since been amended) largely took a backseat during retreats, only there for emergencies. I can only recall them taking the reins once, during my last year, when a couple SAYFers seriously violated the community’s trust. The FAPs handed down the decision—it was the latest and most serious in a pattern of behavior, so they were asked to leave for the good of the community—but they requested that I break the news. Telling everyone that our beloved f(F)riends wouldn’t be returning wasn’t easy, but by that time SAYF had become a second home and SAYFers a second family. Clearly I don’t have firsthand experience to support my next assertion, but after four years of love and trust I felt like the community, as well as everybody in it, were my children, my siblings, my partners; it truly felt like a familial duty. I have yet to find that deep sense of responsibility and belonging elsewhere.
2 Comments
Samantha T
11/2/2016 09:11:57 am
Ian, gosh how much I miss you and your way of words. You summed up a beautiful community in the best way possible. I have been trying for years to be able to describe sayf and everything that comes with it and you succeeded! I love and miss you and everyone in that community. I carry y'all with me always (:
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Kaitlynn T
11/2/2016 09:33:36 am
SAYF put into words is never an easy thing to do. This community changed me from a very hateful person who wanted to go nowhere in life to a person who grew to love everyone around her and strived to make her life something great. They brought out the true me and showed me it was okay to let down barriers. I couldn't be more grateful to have been introduced to this lovely group. && I hope for years to come others feel the love and compassion we all had when we were there.
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