Kelsey Timmerman's Blog, page 34

What has aid ever done for anyone?

Somewhere along the line aid has become less cool.

Everyone is all about teaching a man to fish, not giving him a fish. Everyone is all like trade and not aid. I’m guilty of this too. (See my give a man a job making shoes not a free pair of shoes argument regarding TOMS.) In response to this, Save the Children UK made a Monty Python inspired video about the not-so minor things aid has accomplished.

It’s hilarious and gets the point across.

Want to support smart aid? Be a smart giver. Learn how here – here.

Don’t see poverty, see potential

Jessica Jackley in Uganda about to have her life changed by changing lives.

Jessica Jackley eventually became the co-founder of Kiva, but before that she was a lovestruck philosophy major who followed her boyfriend across the country to California where she worked a temp job at Stanford.  While there she attended a lecture by Muhammad Yunus, founder of the Grameen Bank, which makes microloans to the poor.  She was impressed at how he simply sat down with the poor and asked them what they needed, instead of telling them what they needed. She was inspired to do the same.

She quit her job and spent three months in Uganda interviewing farmers and fishermen.  She saw how small amounts of money could make a big difference — kids could go to school, medicine could be afforded, and sugar could be bought for tea allowing families to invite guests over and improving their social status.

Jessica asked her family and friends to lend money to the people she met. Kiva was born. A few years later Kiva has loaned hundreds of millions of dollars to entrepreneurs around the world.

I had the pleasure of hearing Jessica speak last night on the Ball State campus.

Jessica talked about how we shouldn’t look at the worlds poor with pity: “Don’t see poverty. See potential.”

Kiva’s mission is “to connect people through lending to alleviate poverty.”

Replace lending with stories and that’s pretty much my mission statement.

I want to give you $25 to lend through Kiva

In honor of Jessica’s visit, I’m giving away four $25 Kiva gift certificates, so you can connect with someone’s story around the world.

Tell me your mission statement in the comments for a chance to win.

(I’ll randomly select a winner from comments here and on Facebook. I’ll announce the winners at the end of the day Wednesday.)

 

 

 

 

Calling all Ball State student writers

Who are you writing for? Why do you write?

These are big questions.

I want to help you help our community with your writing skillz. (That’s right with a z!)

I’m assembling a League of Extraordinary Writers who want to improve their writing and make an impact in the Muncie community. Over the past few years, I’ve committed myself to helping local organizations tell and share their stories, but there are more stories than I can tell. I need help. I need you!

This League of Extraordinary Writers will work with organizations like the Leadership Board, Big Brothers Big Sisters, TEAMwork for Quality Living, and the Facing Project. Writers will take on assignments with deadlines and have their work featured in newsletters and blogs.

What’s in it for you?

Other than the warm fuzzy feeling that you are making a positive impact in our community, you’ll have some shiny clips to feature in your writing portfolio, interact with a community of writers, including me, and, let’s face it, giving back looks awfully good on your resume.

I’m excited to help you develop story angles and answer any writing method/career questions.

Here’s what you need to do

1. RSVP on Facebook to meet On March 13th at the Innovation Connector located at 1208 W. White River Blvd in Muncie (not too far from campus) at 7PM. I’ll explain how we’ll work together and upcoming assignments of which you can choose to be a part.

2. Write your first assignment: 300 words on someone who has helped you get to where you are today and where you would’ve been without them. These will be given to the Leadership Board and potentially used on their blog. The assignment will be due on March 20th.

Who’s with me?

Sign up on Facebook now.

Be a part of the Facing Project story

(This is a joint note from me and my co-founder of The Facing Project, J.R. Jamison.)

Stories make a difference.

Stories shatter preconceptions and expand our worldview.

Stories change our hearts and inform our minds.

Stories feed our curiosities and our souls.

Every person has a story and so does every community.

What’s yours?

We invite you to be a part of the story of The Facing Project by helping us reach our goal of creating facingproject.com website. The site will house the tools to help the project spread to other communities, and will allow current Facing Project communities the ability to share their stories on their own unique sites, such as fortwayne.facingproject.com. This next step in our story will push this movement forward and provide the opportunity for thousands of unheard voices to be shared.

Click below if you want to be a part of this story…

Do you believe in the power of stories?

A belief in the power of stories is at the heart of why we started The Facing Project. For the past year we’ve been in the pilot stage trying to figure out how we could best enable communities to tell their own stories, and to see if anyone would be interested in the project at all.

We wrote a Toolkit, prepared an Informational Guide, and started sharing the idea with everyone we knew. By June we had a Facebook Fan Page, and by September we had signed on our first community.

We currently have five projects in five cities spanning two states.

Active projects include:

Atlanta, Georgia: Facing Sex Trafficking. They will mesh the stories of those who have been trafficked with print, theatre, photography, and film.

Rome, Georgia: Facing Hope. They’re telling the stories of poverty in their community through print, art, theatre, and photography.

Fort Wayne, Indiana: Facing Homelessness. They’re sharing the stories of their homeless neighbors through print, music, art, photography, and interpretive dance.

South Bend, Indiana: Facing the Future. They will showcase the stories of inner-city girls through print, photography, and film.

Muncie, Indiana: Facing Autism. We will revisit our hometown and tell the stories of those who face the spectrum of autism each day through stories, monologues, and other outlets with the end outcome of creating a resource guide for families.

More communities are waiting in the wings.

The most amazing thing is that these Facing communities have created partnerships that span from kindergartens to colleges, nonprofits, businesses, and governments. All coming together to tell their communities’ stories!

If you believe in the power of stories, please consider being a part of ours. Click below to help us get one step closer to making The Facing Project website a reality.

– Kelsey & J.R.

University of Kentucky using WEARING!

From the department of awesome news of awesomeness…

The University of Kentucky has announced the selection of WHERE AM I WEARING? as their 2013-2014 common read book.  This means that all incoming freshman will read the stories of Amilcar, Nari, Ai, Arifa, Dewan, Zhu Chun, and all the rest of the amazing folks I write about in WEARING.

I’m so pumped that I can almost forgive the Wildcats for beating my Wally Sczerbiak-led Miami Redhawks 58 to 43 in the 1999 Sweet 16.

Almost!

 

American Made Messenger Bags by LexiWynn

My Timbuk2 laptop bag was made in China. I’m not sure of any bags that are made in USA until now…

LexiWynn Bags are made in Illinois. They’re running a cool Kickstarter campaign to help launch their new label.

Tell me what you’re favorite beer is the comments for a chance to win one of their cool Koozies. You’ll also be entered to win if you RT my upcoming tweet, or share my facebook post. The winner will be randomly selected.

“We’re talking about Autism.”

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(Our boy Griffin)

For the past six months, every waking hour and some of our dreamtime ones, too, have been dominated by what you’re about to read. It’s important to write about stuff like this. That’s why I’m so glad my wife Annie chose to put her thoughts, feelings, and our journey down in words.

 

“It’s a boy!”

Kelsey and I had been in the ultrasound room for maybe five minutes when the tech announced with certainty the gender of our second child. We looked at each other and smiled. Coming into this, we were both fairly indifferent as to what we were having — we already had a daughter who we were over the moon about, and we knew we would be ecstatic to have another little girl. However, once we heard those words and realized that we not only were having a healthy baby boy, we were going to have the pleasure of experiencing parenting both a daughter and a son, and we couldn’t have been more excited.

After a fairly easy pregnancy and delivery, Griffin Noah entered the world on May 26th, 2011. He was perfect. We brought home our boy and felt our family was complete. He was such an good baby, very content and easily entertained. He was also full of smiles and very affectionate, especially toward me. As he got a little older, we noticed that developmentally, he was behind where his sister, Harper, had been when she was his age. Griffin was nearing 12 months and wasn’t walking or talking yet. But he was a boy, and we had friends and family with boys who were also slow to develop. We felt like it would just take a little extra time and were confident he would come around.

On September 18th, 2012, which happened to be the day before my thirty-second birthday, Kelsey and I were gearing up for a big day. He was speaking at Emens Auditorium that evening as Ball State’s Freshman Common Reader author, and I was excited that I was actually going to be able to attend! His events were typically out of town, and with two kids, it was never easy for me to hear him speak. With a babysitter lined up, and plans to meet up with family and friends later that evening, I was looking forward to a night out. There were just a few things we needed to do first.

Griffin and I dropped Harper off at preschool and headed across town to the pediatrician’s where he was scheduled for his 15-month well visit. While waiting for the doctor to come in, Griffin patiently played with puzzles on the floor. Dr. Burt entered and greeted us as usual and started asking some questions. He had reviewed Griffin’s developmental questionnaire, and because he was not yet talking, he asked, “How does he tell you he wants something?”

I sat there, trying in my mind to come up with an example of a time he had ever shown me that he wanted or needed something. I couldn’t. I said, “Well, if he wants his sippy cup, and it is on the table, he just gets it.”

“Does he bring toys or other things he is interested in to show you?”

“Umm, no, I don’t think he ever really does that.” I could tell Dr. Burt was feeling uneasy about the answers I was giving him.

“Does he imitate you?”

I could think of a few things Griffin would do back and forth with us — smacking the table, wrinkling up his nose and making a silly “oomph” sound, but I was starting to feel nervous about where this conversation was headed. Dr. Burt squatted down next to Griffin, who continued to happily play with his puzzle. He looked from Griffin to me and spoke four words I will never forget, “We’re talking about autism.”

I couldn’t believe what was happening. He had to be wrong. How could I not know that something wasn’t right with my own son? I tried to think what I knew about autism, and it wasn’t much. As prevalent as it is (1 in every 88 children), surprisingly I didn’t know anyone personally who had a child with this diagnosis.

“He interacts,” I managed to choke out through tears. It was like I was grasping for anything that would make Dr. Burt change his mind.

He told me to schedule an appointment in a week to come back with Kelsey after we had a little time to process things and come up with questions. In the meantime, we were referred to Riley Children’s Hospital for an official evaluation and also First Steps, a government program that provides in-home therapy for children ages birth to 3 who have any kind of disability or developmental delay.

I kept turning around to look at Griffin in his car seat on the way home. It felt like I was looking at a different child, like I was bringing home someone else from this doctor’s appointment. We walked in the door to Kelsey asking us how the visit went, and I almost hated to say it out loud because it just made it that much more real. He was just as distraught by my news, and we immediately started pouring over the Internet, reading every article and watching every YouTube video we could find. It was terrifying. We read list after list of red flags for autism and were broken hearted to discover that he did exhibit some of the signs. He wasn’t always responding to his name, he never used gestures such as pointing to indicate he wanted something, and he never engaged in any imaginative play.

I cried for seven days. I was sad, pissed off, and scared.

It was agony waiting to get an appointment with Riley. We waited over a month to hear from them and were finally scheduled for November 26th. We had read so many times how important it is diagnose autism early, and we felt so helpless just waiting around for his appointment. Fortunately, after a few weeks, Griffin was able to start his developmental therapy with First Steps, and his therapist was wonderful. It was such an emotional roller coaster ride, and I looked forward to her Tuesday visits when she would bring me back up. I joked that she was not only taking on little Griffin, but his 32-year-old mother, too.

We were scheduled to see a developmental pediatrician as well as a clinical psychologist for his evaluation at Riley and were relieved when they concluded that, although Griffin did show some red flags, they didn’t feel like there were enough to diagnose him this early and planned to re-evaluate in six months. They recommended a book called An Early Start for Your Child with Autism, and once we started reading it, even though we did not receive a diagnosis, we felt the authors had a way of describing our son. In a way, it was a relief for me to come to this conclusion. The past few months, I had watched Griffin do things that I questioned and wondered and worried about, and my heart just broke over and over and over again. With this new perspective, I could be more understanding of the way he is, and I could start celebrating all the things he was continuing to do and improve on, as opposed to being so afraid of what he was failing at because I didn’t want a diagnosis.

Autism is a neurological disorder that causes social-interaction difficulties, communication challenges, and a tendency to engage in repetitive behaviors. The severity and symptoms of the three impairments across the autism spectrum can vary widely. No two children on the spectrum are the same. Aside from Griffin’s communication delay, he also is not always the easiest to engage. He is willing to play and interact, but it needs to be on his terms. Although other children sometimes amuse him, he doesn’t seek them out, and he can be content to play alone.

Griffin is currently enrolled in preschool two mornings a week, which provides the opportunity to be around other children, and he also now does speech as well as developmental therapy each week. We are excited about the progress he is making! Although this has been such a struggle for me, I try to keep things in perspective, as I know people deal with so much worse.

Griffin loves his momma’s hair. He loves Bob Marley music. He giggles uncontrollably when his daddy swings him through the air. He smiles, laughs, and hugs. He melts our hearts and amazes us every day.

We couldn’t love our boy more.

The Where Am I Eating? Trailer!

You can Pre-order Where Am I Eating? An Adventure Through the Global Food Economy at Indieboud / Barnes & Noble / Amazon

Happy Valentine’s Day! Hope you enjoy the trailer for my next book!

Rubio’s Drink Heard Around the World

The last five years I’ve been making a real effort to become more civically engaged. As I’ve said before, once you become a parent you have less time to change the world, but more of a reason. So last night, after Annie and I watched Grey’s Anatomy on our DVR, I switched over to catch the middle of Senator Rubio’s rebuttal to President Obama’s State of the Union. (Don’t worry I DVRed the SOTU and will watch it later or just read it. All the politics without the applause and awkward facial expressions of the VP and Speaker of the House.)

That’s when I saw this.

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Annie was asleep and I had to wake her up. I was rolling with laughter. I got the giggles. Annie said, “Boom goes the dynamite,” referencing my great giggle fit of 2011 while I watched the video at the end of this post.

When people speak their mouths get dry. It’s happened to me in front of a few thousand people before, and it will happen again. Those moments when so many eyes are staring at you make each gulp of water seem like an eternity. I can only imagine what Senator Rubio felt like with millions watching. Did he think about all of those who had come before him — Bobby Jindal channeling his inner deer-in-the-headlights and Michele Bachmann staring off into space.

If Rubio would have excused himself and stepped over to grab his water, I wouldn’t be writing this post. Instead, he seemed to think that he was the Flash and could grab the water, gulp, and face the camera again without anyone noticing. Unfortunate.

The really sad part is this is the kind of thing that can tank a political career. That’s how shallow our politics are. The dude was thirsty, so he grabbed a drink. No big deal. But the way he did it was absolutely hilarious and whether you are Democrat or Republican, Independent or Libertarian, you have to agree with that.

Boom goes the dynamite!

Pope’s don’t quit

In 2001, I attended a service at the Vatican hosted by Pope John Paul II. (Every Tuesday he was at the Vatican, he conducted a service open to a general audience.) The thing I remember most is just how feeble the man was, how much effort every word and step took, and because of that effort how much more each one inspired the crowd. Despite the pain, the Pope didn’t quit. He never did.

He was shot and didn’t quit. Instead he visited his attempted assassin in prison. In 2001, he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease and suffered from severe osteoarthritis. He didn’t quit. He “poped” for another four years.

This is what puzzles me about Pope Benedict saying that his strength “has deteriorated…to the extent that I have had to recognize my incapacity to adequately fulfill the ministry entrusted to me.”

A Pope hasn’t retired in 600 years. There’s more to this story than the Catholic Church is telling the public.

Somewhere Dan Brown is writing a future bestseller involving the Pope’s Butler stealing documents and the Pope resigning less than a year later.

In honor of the Pope hanging up his mitre, I dusted off this piece I wrote in 2005 about seeing Pope John Paull II in person.

PJ Paul and the Blessin’ Bishops

St. Peter and St. Paul, along with their fellow saints, watched over us from their perch upon the arms of the Vatican reaching out towards Rome, making the act of stashing a weapon seem even more profane.

“I have to hide my knife; they’ll find it.” He motioned towards the line forming in front of the metal detector. Through these particular gates there was only one destination – Vatican City, and entrance was allowed or denied by the five guards standing by their side.

Matt was from Australia and not the brightest fellow in the world. He wanted to be a model or clothing designer, which is fine if you like the balding, small pointy featured inbred look. It was hard to take his love for fashion serious, as he gestured wildly his hands turned blue from coming into contact with his bargain blue jeans.

We were already late because Matt took an hour to pretty himself up. He was an acquaintance I could not shake no matter how hard I tried. We were sharing budget accommodations in Rome and our twin beds where no more than a foot apart. If I got up to go to the bathroom he would ask me where I was going and if he could come along.

“I’ve got an idea.” After stuffing the Swiss Army knife down the front of his pants he looked at me for approval. “They’ll think it is my zipper when they wand me; I’m home free.”

“First off, you aren’t going to need the knife in there.” I motioned towards Vatican City. I proceeded to lecture him on the fallibility of his plan and the intricate nature of his lack of intelligence.

“You’re right. Wait here while I stash it in the toilet.”

Fifteen minutes later Matt came out of the restroom with a smile of accomplishment on his face. The weapon was hid.

The line turned underneath the wall of saints, went up two steps, and headed toward the security station.

The security screeners were dressed in drab business clothes, which set off the clown-like outfits of the Swiss guards next to them. The Swiss Guard has offered their services to the Catholic Church as security for the pope since 1505. Their pants, striped in yellow and red, flare at the thighs before ending just at the knee. Beneath their neck a white frilly color stuck out. At their side they held a halberd, a staff with a long axe-like blade at the end. Their clothing would provide camouflage only in a circus, and an extravagant one at that, and no doubt the bagginess and bulkiness of their garb would inhibit any sudden movement; it was more than apparent that the Swiss haven’t been battle tested.

The line ended in a building where upon entering the crowd dispersed searching for a seat in the auditorium. Cameras were readied and a buzz began to arise.

Everyone stood as music came across the speakers. The doors at the back of the room were thrown open and the procession began.

The crowd erupted and surged towards the aisle as the question mark of a man was wheeled in on his gold chariot by his entourage. It was a mini “Pope mobile” and he waved to the crowd occasionally reaching out to bless someone.

Once on stage, the cart stopped thirty feet from the Pope’s chair. He made the walk with an aide at each side stabilizing him. He lined himself up in front of the chair and with great faith let gravity firmly set him down.

The entrance was greeted like that of a rock star’s, PJ Paul and the Blessin’ Bishops, but I felt bad for the feeble leader. Instead of a cart he should be sent down a zip line that ends straight in the chair. The entrance would not only keep him from having to walk at all, but it would be such a grand spectacle worthy of a man of his station.

“Viva La Papa!” The man’s cry was picked up by the horde and began to resonate throughout the room.

He made the sign of the cross and then with a breath of exhaustion took to his task. He read blessings in four different languages and then recognized each one of the groups in attendance. In a weak voice he would announce their presence and bless them. Some would shout and holler, others came more prepared and broke out into a song; one group stroked their violins upon recognition.

The Pope’s head was firmly affixed to his chest most of the time while reading off the names. Often the singing and cheering interrupted him. Occasionally he would look up, his powerful eyes staring out from his feeble body, and he would shake his fist in praise.

A rock concert or soccer game I could not decide, but the atmosphere surrounding this sickly man was electrifying. For a man in his shape to have the will to sit up out of his bed was near miraculous.

Matt was a series of flashes from his camera, signs of the cross, and “Viva La Papa’s” throughout the papal audience. Some were brought to tears, others to ecstasy when he stood up on his own after three tries and was helped off the stage. As for myself, I felt sorry for the old man.

The crowd, newly blessed, shuffled out of the auditorium to explore the wonders of the Vatican. I went with Matt to recover his knife. It was ten in the morning and we had already held an audience with the most revered man in the city. The day and Rome stretched out before us.