The trouble with being needed

To a certain degree, to be needed is a wonderful feeling. It gives a sense of usefulness and purpose to one’s life. Being needed makes a person feel uniquely important; perhaps without her, a job or task could not be completed.

In a community with need (and let’s face it, that is probably the majority of communities everywhere — if not all communities), inevitably someone in my position will find places to be needed. Being able to step in and alleviate stress or do things others simply can’t get around to due to more urgent responsibilities has allowed me to feel like I belong in Booneville, like I’m not just keeping busy but actually helping.

It used to be that when someone would ask how long I would be in Booneville, the response was something like, “Oh, that long!” Now when someone asks when I leave a typical reaction is, “That soon!” occasionally followed by a question of how things will get done without me. Some members of my church have even joked about finding me a husband so I will stay in Booneville.

The difficulty I find myself faced with is showing my community that I am actually not needed, but that they, in fact, can fill their own needs. This of course means remembering myself that I am not the only one who capable of what I’m doing and finding people willing to take on a little responsibility.

After months of practice, I have worked out the kinks of making a complex-looking church bulletin with Word (a program most everyone has on their computer these days). Now I just need to figure out who would like to take over for me. At the Boys and Girls Club, I am hoping to enlist the older kids and teach them how to make a club newsletter.

You see, being needed can be a wonderful feeling — but ultimately I’m not here to be needed so much as to show that I am not needed. I am here to work alongside the people who won’t leave at the end of April so that this community can continue to improve with or without me. I’m not here to be needed; I’m here to love and believe in Booneville.

Everything I needed to know about coaching basketball…

So this story begins one week ago on Monday when one of the high school volunteers brought me the phone at the Boys and Girls Club. I looked at her with very confused eyes, sure she must too be confused about who she was supposed to give the phone to — because who would call me at the club?

Well, turns out she was not confused at all. On the phone was the head coach of the third and fourth grade girls basketball team I am assistant coaching. I discovered later he had attempted to call my cell phone first, but with no answer tried the club. He was calling to explain that practice for the evening was cancelled since there was the threat of ice on the roads (this is still odd to me, by the way). Thinking that was all, I thanked him for letting me know and got ready to go back to coloring with a seven-year-old. But, to my surprise, he had something else to tell me. He would not be able to make our game on Thursday. I would have to coach — alone.

At this piece of news I nervously chuckled and said that should be fine as long as he told me what I needed to do. Mind you — not only have I never coached anything in my life, but as a team we had only had one practice and one game since my return from Christmas break. I managed to grab myself a Post-It note and a pen and got ready to take notes. Everything I ever needed to know about coaching a third and fourth grade girls basketball team would have to fit on a three-inch square. At least what he felt I needed to know did.

As the time between Monday and our game on Thursday rolled by I tried to not think too much about what I would do. Granted, this was probably not the best coaching strategy, but we were playing the same team as the prior week (coincidentally the best team by far), so losing was unfortunately inevitable.

When 5 p.m. on Thursday finally came I decided my role would be to make sure the girls played even amounts of time and combat discouraged feelings no matter how ridiculous the score. I must have looked at least a little like a deer in headlights since Rick, the director of the club, offered to help me out. I welcomed it.

I didn’t call a single time out (mostly because I wasn’t sure when would be a good time for one). I have no clue what our final score was because the scorekeepers kindly reset it at half time so as not to overwhelm my team. In the end I think the girls and I are equally looking forward to the return of our real coach.

Assistant coach I can do; I am not a head coach.

March for Life

Over the weekend I had the opportunity to travel as a pseudo-chaperone with some of my church to Little Rock to participate in the 30th annual March for Life.

My trip began around 1 p.m. on Friday climbing in a van with three high school students, my mentor and another youth leader from the church. These might seem like odd or small numbers, but there were only five high-school-aged youth in our church to begin with, and since the diocese of Little Rock requires chaperones to be 25 (and I am just shy of 23) both male and female adults, not counting myself, were required. Barely on our way we realized check-in was at 6 p.m., not 3 p.m. This turned out to be no big deal as we spent our extra time at a mall (a rare occurrence for me these days).

Activities as the “Extravaganza” (as the diocese liked to call the event) included praise and worship, a couple of speakers, a Christian screamo band, a dance (or as I would refer to it from my high school days, a “mixer”), prayer service, Mass, rosary, adoration and, of course, the march.

Undoubtedly the highlight of the weekend for our youth was the dance. … It provided an opportunity for them to have fun and meet kids like them — other teenage Catholics living as Christian minorities and sometimes suffering as a consequence. They didn’t have to worry about being called out by a teacher for their beliefs or asked why they worship Mary.

Having grown up in very different circumstances, the need for such events was foreign to me (and to the archdiocese of Cincinnati). Even from the several months I have lived in Booneville I haven’t received any outright discrimination as a Catholic in an area where I am among about 1 percent. To hear some of the girls talk about how they are not comfortable in school expressing their religious background drove home what a blessing it is for these high schoolers to have a state-gathering.

Undoubtedly the highlights of my weekend were the march (of course) and getting time to really talk and get to know some of the girls from our youth group and spending time with my mentor.

The march was unlike anything I had done before. Trying to overcome my political apathy along with my journalism background (we are typically supposed to remain neutral/unbiased) protests and things of the like are not really my forte. It was need to stand in a place surrounded by people from all different parts of the state and all different backgrounds and beliefs united in one thing.

And the rest … see above about the hardships I learned take place in our small community for some of the youth to understand why I really appreciated that aspect. It is just hard to really get to know people in a group setting once or twice a week. Or in the case of my mentor when she has five children and almost always one is needing her attention (her oldest and most independent was on the trip with us).

If anything, the weekend was just a reminder how much I have learned since I have been here and how much more there is for me to continue learning.


Becca