Passion and purpose

One of my passions is reading. I did a writing/editing concentration, but that's because no university I know offers just a plain old reading concentration. I've always loved reading and from the time I learned how to read I always made sure to grab a book whenever I left the house. This practice came in handy at school whenever I had a minute of free time or if I had to accompany one of my parents while they ran errands.

While most of my fellow elementary school students proclaimed recess as their favourite part of the school day, mine was always right after noon hour when we'd rest our arms on our desktops, lay our heads down and listen to the teacher read us a chapter from whatever book we happened to be working our way through. I discovered some of my favourite books this way: Snow Treasures, King of the Wind, My Side of the Mountain, The Chronicles of Narnia. Many other favourites were found during evening family worship as we cuddled together on couches and rocking chairs. Blaze the Cat, Monka the Monkey, The Detective Zach series, the Shadow Creek Ranch series, The Bronze Bow, Treasures of the Snow, Sunlight, Mindy, Song of Eve. And still more books came alive at bedtime when my mum, or occasionally my dad, would pick out a book from our library, climb onto the end of my bed and read as many chapters as I could convince them to. Little House on the Prairie and all the books that sprung from that series, The Ramona books, the Betsy-Tacy-Tib series, Follow My Leader, Daddy Longlegs and countless others. Later, in high school English classes, I fell in love with Light a Single Candle, Hamlet, Les Miserables and more short stories and plays than I can possibly remember.

I love books. Their feel, their smell, the promise of potential a crisp, new book carries, the mystery and intrigue an old, worn book exudes. And I want everyone else to feel the same way about books as I do. I know everyone is different, has different tastes, different hobbies, different passions in life. But what about those people who don't like books, not because they aren't into reading, but because they can't read? For several years I've wanted to do something about the problem of illiteracy. I know the problem is so much bigger than anything I personally can solve, but I could make a difference in the life of one, and maybe in the lives of some.

Last year, in my final semester of university, I took Literary Journalism, a new elective class that sounded fascinating. For my project I decided to write about adult illiteracy in the Chattanooga area. I went to visit an adult reading class, observed everything going on, took copious notes, interviewed the volunteer teachers and then students. I heard their stories, I listened to their hurt. How people made fun of them for mispronouncing words. How reading one small Bible verse in Sunday School was heart-stopping. How little they knew of current events because they were unable to read the newspaper and learn about the world around them. How limited their job options were. How year after year their teachers didn't care, gave up on them without even giving them a chance. How they failed Phonics, Language Arts and English but were passed into the next grade, cast off to become another teacher's problem. And I was furious. But what could I do? A senior journalism major who became interested in their plight to fulfill the requirements of a university course. I finished my 20-page account of the state of literacy in the Chattanooga area, happily graduated and left the country. I spent a blissful summer in the hot, dry Okanagan Valley, preoccupied with swimming and boating, quadding and hanging out with friends, traveling to far-away provinces and preparing for a year of service.

And now I'm here in Tanzania and my thoughts travel back to Southern's School of Journalism and Communication conference room where six students and one teacher struggled to tackle subjects ranging from the Adventist dating scene, to a local cult, to a female-dominated knitting group, to a student missionaries death, to IHOP's nightlife. And illiteracy. What did I learn from my research? How did that information help anyone? What could I be doing now?

I'm feeling unsatisfied. I'm here to do PR for ADRA Tanzania but I'm given no guidance, no advice or suggestions. I think up new ideas for creating more awareness of ADRA TZ, but am told that "we've never done things that way. Let's stick to what we know will work here." I try to adhere to the old standards but am asked to "think outside the box and stir the waters with new ideas." I'm confused and feel purposeless. I want to find something else, something to make me feel like my time here has a purpose, that my year here is not a waste. Not full-time, maybe just one day a week. I want to get back into the literacy scene.

I want to help someone learn to read.
I want to be of service to the people of Tanzania.
But I'm lost and don't know where to start looking for ways to get involved.