To
all those parents who love God and pray that their child have a deep
and abiding relationship with God: Send them to NGA.
Tesia understands her name well—her name means “loved
by God.” The opportunities provided by NGA have given her many
experiences of sharing that love with others. NGA activities allow
the participants to unleash their abilities to love—for their
target projects and each other. The result I see in Tesia is an 18
year old woman who seeks first God’s kingdom and is confident
to deliver on the promises she makes. Our collective hope, as well
as our work, has been peace on earth: every NGA student is a beautiful
expression of that peace.
Tesia, in her role as International Service Project coordinator, has
repeatedly been confronted and challenged—she knows that she
cannot do all her responsibilities on her own—she has learned
to enroll others as well as trust that God will fulfill. Her reliance
on God—her God stories are what encourage me most.
I am grateful to the depth of my soul for what God has provided us
through Jeff and NGA. It is my earnest prayer that all people know
who they are and from where they come—NGA is a real answer to
that prayer.
Eric Bobrycki (Father of Tesia Bobrycki. 2nd year intern)
Lisa DeGoede
“I came into this program leaving my less than ideal family
at home to mediate between themselves and strove to focus on my
own growth. Surprisingly, this did nothing to diminish our relationships.
On the contrary, my family is communicating more effectively now
than ever before. My relationship has improved with each and every
one of my family members. All my internal struggles, striving for
a deeper, more real relationship with God and facing my long hidden
fears; all of my efforts are making the difference.”
Joyce Payer
Professor Cormaney
College Writing and Research
September 11, 2008
The average student, upon graduating from high school, is generally
faced with one of two options: find a job or prepare for a career
by continuing on in academia and attending college. While attaining
a degree or some other form of higher education is often encouraged,
neither option is fool proof. Merely moving on to college does not
imply success. Many students have little idea what direction they
wish to take their lives, and while some eventually do graduate and
go on to successful careers, an even greater number either drop out
or graduate without a plan for the future. Too many people are sent
off into the world without a clear concept of who they are or what
skills are needed to become a productive member of society. With such
underwhelming success, one wonders if academic education alone should
be the recommended path for today’s youth or if more emphasis
should be put on experiential learning.
My decision to search for a career in music was not a hard one to
make, mainly because music was the only thing I could never consider
living without. It has always been a huge part of my life. As a child,
there was never a quiet moment in my house. The days were filled with
my mother’s singing, my father’s whistling, and my own
attempts at learning various instruments around our home. As I grew
older, I dedicated my time to practicing both my viola and piano—not
because I was forced to but because I truly loved it. I competed and
was even awarded scholarships to several colleges and universities.
No one doubted the path I would continue on after graduating, so when
I announced that I had decided to take a year off from my studies,
including my music, some close to me were shocked. They thought I
had lost my mind.
My reasoning was solid, however. I wanted to take time to discover
more about myself before I was tied down to school or a career. I
wanted adventure. I wanted confidence. But more than anything, I wanted
to push myself to create an experience that I could take with me,
and that would help prepare me for the rest of my life.
Upon graduating, I joined the NextGen Academy, a program designed
for high school graduates who want to develop their own personal skill
sets and character through public service. I had relatively no idea
what sort of service work I would be doing, only that there was a
glimmer of hope that we would be sent over-seas for a period of time.
Terror and excitement coursed through my body as I stepped off the
plane in Seattle and was ushered to the NextGen headquarters for the
opening program. Ten others stood around me, varying heights, weights,
and races, but all with similar looks on their faces—unsure
of the direction of their upcoming year. We all knew we would have
an adventure, but none of us expected our adventure to be handed to
us in the form of a small, colorful, paper crane.
In the midst of the chaos of opening night, we had been bombarded
with various gifts: A journal, a pen, several papers, and the opportunity
to draw a crane out of a hat, my own being red. None of us gave the
latter a second thought, and their importance was not made known until
the director stood up and announced our schedule of events for the
year.
“This year,” he began, “our team will have the opportunity
to create our own international service projects teaching Character
Education in five countries in Southeast Asia.” He went on to
explain that we would be in charge of every aspect of our projects,
from designing them, to raising the money, to carrying them out in
our countries. We would work in teams of three, and stay overseas
for one month. He continued to call out each of the countries within
the project: Thailand, Nepal, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, and India. I
held my breath, waiting to hear which country I was assigned when
the director announced
“If you are holding a red crane, you will be going to India!”
My heart stopped. As he continued yelling off the colors of the other
countries, I searched the crowd for the two others who were also holding
a similarly colored crane.
The following months seemed to both fly by and stand still as we all
feverishly tried to create our programs before the designated leaving
date. I spent hundreds of hours with my teammates, Lily and Lisa,
emailing, phoning, and writing various organizations and people in
an attempt to find schools to teach in while in India, as well as
learning the curriculum we would be teaching. We spent nearly twice
that amount of time sending out letters to friends, relatives, and
businesses asking for financial support. Stress levels were high,
but nothing we went through at home compared to what we had to overcome
once we reached India.
Our team goal during our entire project was to connect—connect
with each other, connect to the country, and connect to its people.
But as soon as we stepped off of the plane, we were assaulted with
the many differences between home and our current location. Poverty
and extreme pollution plagued the streets, and we were told upon arrival
that it was unsafe to walk around by ourselves. Temperatures as high
as 120 degrees Fahrenheit made a small trip to the corner store a
tiring venture, especially when beggars all but physically attacked
us for any small amount of rupees. Our schedule constantly changed
due to conflicting exam schedules in schools we had made plans with,
and we grew accustomed to making lesson plans a few hours before presenting.
Three weeks into our stay, we were given the opportunity to travel
across country to a small tribal village in the mountains. The night
before departure we were told that it had been arranged for us to
present our Character Education curriculum to the entire village.
No one in the village spoke a word of English, nor did they usually
welcome visitors from outside the surrounding area, but it was up
to us to create a successful program. While hiking seven kilometers
up the mountain, we nervously discussed possible outcomes for the
day, all of us feigning optimistic excitement for what lay ahead.
But as we reached the clearing of the village, we noticed something
strange. There were no people. We cautiously walked around the tiny
acre of dirt the village was situated on, searching for its inhabitants.
The houses were no more than eight foot squares, and I had to bend
over just to fit through the doorway. As we neared the schoolhouse,
I heard scuffling behind me. I turned around just in time to see several
small bodies dart behind a house, and I quickly followed after them.
The next thirty minutes were spent trying to get within ten yards
of the children who had been following us. For us, it was a horrible
reminder of the extreme differences between our two cultures. For
them, it was a thrilling game. One or two brave souls would sneak
close enough to tempt one of my team to walk forward, only to zoom
away, screaming at the top of their lungs, when any movement was spotted.
Resigning ourselves to failure, my teammates and I retreated to the
coolness of the one room schoolhouse. We had no idea how to get near
the people of the village, let alone teach our “Character Education”
curriculum. While we waited for help from our guide, we each pulled
out the musical instruments we had brought along. None of us had any
hope for the rest of our day, so we turned to music for a small bit
of comfort. After a long sigh, I picked up my guitar, and the three
of us began singing.
Suddenly, we noticed movement through the door. Small heads were popping
up from behind the window sill, and within a matter of minutes, the
entire population of the village had ushered themselves into the schoolhouse
with us. Although they could not understand the words we were singing,
they stared at us with obvious intrigue as we performed hits by Green
Day, the Beatles, and other various folk tunes we knew. As the day
went on, our guide acted as a make-shift translator, and we performed
skits like “The Ant and the Grasshopper” and other Aesop’s
fables for the kids, who in turn would sing songs and show us dances
native to their culture. By the end of the day, we were sharing personal
stories and they were asking us questions about life in our respective
homes. While specific words and details were lost in translation,
no one seemed to mind. We were simply enjoying each other’s
company.
As we began our decent down the mountain, the entire village waved
us off, encouraging us to come back and visit soon. My teammates and
I exchanged looks of amazement. None of us could have ever guessed
that our day would turn out so perfectly. We had little hope for success
but were still able to connect to people completely different from
ourselves. We did not need intricate lesson plans or power point presentations
to make a difference. Our program was improvised, but we had an even
more amazing adventure because of it.
My time in India, and with the NextGen Academy, was an experience
I will take with me for the rest of my life. It pushed me out of my
comfort zone and into positions where I was forced to take charge
of my life. It gave me a greater appreciation for all of the small
things I take for granted, like clean water, and a greater sense of
how big the world is. Most importantly, I left my year with the NextGen
Academy with a deep desire to make a difference in this world and
the confidence to take on any obstacle I might face. I may no longer
be in India, but every day is still an opportunity to create another
life changing experience, and that is something I will never forget.
To
all those parents who love God and pray that their child have a deep
and abiding relationship with God: Send them to NGA.
