We’re a rag-tag group of people vigilantly pursuing self-sustaining educational & employment opportunities with and for students and their families living in rural communities in developing countries. We believe in asking hard questions like, “What do you need and how can we help?” We believe that communities know their needs better than we do and that it’s our job to listen. We’re big on being kind for the sake of kindness and we believe that even the smallest acts of kindness can make a big difference. We believe in keeping vigil over one another and watching for opportunities to help, no matter how far off the beaten path those opportunities take us. We’re vigilant in our belief that God has given each person unique gifts and that one of the highest forms of worship is using those gifts to serve others. We believe God has a purpose for each life and Vigilante Kindness is our purpose. Join us as we live out wild adventures in service of God and others. Join us in committing acts of Vigilante Kindness.
Dear Granny Panties,
Thank you for covering my, uh, real estate when an unexpected gust of wind lifted my skirt all the way up my back. Your vast expanse of fabric kept me from experiencing yet another humiliating underwear incident. I am profusely grateful, as are the other people walking into the grocery store at that precise moment.
Love,
Alicia
Dear Gramma,
Today I woke up in the small morning hours and wandered out to the living room. The house was cool and dark and I tapped away on my computer, writing in the stillness. All the windows were open and the croaking frogs were the perfect metronome to my words. When I was done, I crept back into bed as Terry was getting ready for work. I drifted off to sleep for one last precious hour.
In that snippet of morning sleep, I dreamed that our family was having a party. It was a backyard party with crisp white tablecloths snapping in the breeze. Aunt Nancy poured some sort of exotic soup into bright white ramekins. She filled one too full, and soup dribbled over the edge, seeping into the tablecloth like a tea stain.
My mom and I set the tables and I stopped for just a moment to watch Terry. He sat near the grass and looked so handsome. He didn’t see me sneak a peek. You always told me he just gets better and better looking with age and I couldn’t agree more.
You arrived at the party and came up from behind me, putting your arm around my waist. I put my arm around your shoulder and kissed your cheek. It was so soft, like the cheek of a baby. You said “Hi, honey.” Your voice was so clear. In my waking hours I have trouble recalling the particular lilt of your voice, the rhythm of Texas buried under years of California. But in my dream your voice was so familiar, so filled with love.
In my dream you had cancer, but it appeared you were undergoing treatment. I asked you “How are you feeling?” You squeezed my waist and said “Much better. How are you feeling?” I laughed and said “I’m feeling fine, Gramma, just fine.” You said “That’s good.” and patted my bottom twice, like you always did. I have no idea why you always patted my bottom like that. Was it because I’m so tall and you were so small? Is that all you could reach?
There was music in the background and Uncle Jon and Aunt Jill danced close together on the patio. Hayley was mortified until Katie pulled her on the dance floor. Katie wore a gorgeous, dark pink dress that made her rosy cheeks even more striking. Katie and Hayley danced and laughed. Everyone laughed with them. You and I stood there, your arm still around my waist, my arm draped around your shoulder. You leaned into me, just the slightest little bit until your hair was touching my chest. We watched them dance and we were so happy.
You turned to me and asked “Is everyone here?” Before I could answer, I woke with a start back in my own bed. I gasped for air like I was breaking through the water’s surface after swimming down deep.
My dream hung around me like gauzy sheets and as I sat up in bed, I realized my alarm hadn’t gone off. I swung my legs over the edge and for a second my mind convinced me that my dream was real, that your cancer was responding to treatments. That you were indeed feeling better. That you were still here. My feet touched the carpet and I realized it was not real, that it was just a dream. A cruel dream that left tear drops on my shirt as I got dressed. The dream looped in my mind, always stopping when you asked “Is everyone here?”.
In the unforgiving light of day, I answered your question. Everyone is not here. And today that thought has seeped into me, leaving me stained with sadness.
I love you, Gramma. Come talk to me in my dreams again soon.
Love,
Alicia
Dear Shark Week,
Thank you for being at the beginning of August so I can lay around all day and watch sharks without feeling guilty. You rank in my top three favorite weeks of the year right next to Easter and Fourth of July. Now don’t be all mad that you don’t have the #1 spot. Resurrect the Son of God or shoot some fireworks and then we’ll talk. At any rate, I love you, Shark Week.
Love,
The girl in the shark socks
P.S.-To buy a ‘Live Every Week Like It’s Shark Week’ t-shirt, click here. And then call me so we can wear them on the same day and be twinsies.
Dear Group Power,
Thank you for making my arms feel like they’ve been fighting hordes of ninjas. Underneath all that pain, there might actually be muscles. My arms are too sore to do any housework, so thanks for that, too.
Love,
Me and My Spaghetti Arms
Dear Gramma,
Last night I was enjoying the quiet of the wee morning hours. I could hear Terry snoring in the bed as I sifted through a box of things my mom gave me. There was a book of things I wrote in first grade that I can’t wait to share with my class. There were cards from my first few birthdays. I traced your signature on the cards you sent me and I traced Grandpa’s name, too.
Underneath the stack of birthday cards were items my mom brought back from your house, including the postcards you bought on our trip. The backs of the postcards were blank and I sat in our office staring at their stark backs. Tears welled in my eyes because those postcards will always be blank. I sunk to the floor, wishing for your words to trace with my fingers.
I flipped the postcards over and ran my fingers across each glossy image of the places we’d been together. It occurred to me that it was exactly three years ago to the day that you took me on that crazy bus tour for my birthday. We had such a good time, didn’t we? As I studied the postcards, I remembered the day we visited Novi Sad. Do you remember when we stopped on that bridge and I asked you to take a picture of me with the beautiful buildings in the background?
You took this:
I asked if maybe you could take another picture. One that captured the buildings and especially the clock tower in the background.
You lined the camera up carefully and took this:
I laughed and asked if you could possibly take another photo with the buildings in the background and preferably my entire head.
For a third time you lined the camera up really carefully and clicked the button, confident that you’d certainly got a good shot that time. Do you remember how hard we laughed when we saw this?
And then our bus was leaving so we never did get a decent shot of that clock tower. Gramma, you were so good at so many things, but you were an awful photographer. Just awful. And I’m so glad because each time I think of that bridge in Novi Sad, I remember how hard we laughed that day and how relieved you were when I banned you from taking photos for the rest of our trip.
Later that night, we ordered banana splits for dinner in the hotel bar. The bar was closing and you asked the waiter to take our picture. We ate and talked well into the wee hours of the morning.
Thank you for taking me on that trip. And thank you for never sending those postcards to your friends. Three years later they have come back to me, reminding me that the things we saw on our trip paled in comparison to the time we spent together.
Love,
Alicia
Vigilante Kindness 