On the highest hill in Richmond,  Va.-with views so romantic that young men bring their girlfriends there to propose-is a historic monastery that once housed cloistered nuns.  And just as fascinating as the grounds is the singular institution that now inhabits them, an institution known as Richmond Hill.

It started 13 years ago as an ecumenical community that provides hospitality, healing and racial reconciliation through prayer and worship services, individual and group retreats, counseling, discussions and studies in urban spirituality.  Rev. Bruce Yoder, PhD, Richmond Hill's development officer, calls it a quiet place that “encourages people to work at levels of increasing depth in order to transform their own lives, their relationships and the city."

One part of the community is a group of residents who live by a modified Benedictine rule, gathering for prayer three times a day and offering hospitality to thousands of guests annually.

Yoder, who has been a Mennonite minister for many years, earned his MDiv from Yale in 1975 and his PhD in psychology in 1997 from Virginia Commonwealth University.  Nine years ago he discovered Richmond Hill and began attending its Monday night service because "it was the best interracial gathering I knew," he says.

He became more involved through volunteer work and worship services while working on his psychology degree.  He intended to teach in a seminary after earning his doctorate.  But about the time he earned his PhD, Richmond Hill created a position for someone to coordinate its development efforts, including a $7 million capital campaign to renovate the ancient facilities.  Yoder saw a chance to combine religion and psychology, and applied for and was given the job in 1999.

Yoder is a nonresident staff member and one of the few salaried employees.  He freely admits the pay is low for a professional.  But he finds more compensation being part of a group committed "to being catalysts for what we believe God wants to happen” in changing individuals and social institutions.
No day is typical.  He may:

• Start by going to a meeting at the YMCA on a program of dialogues Richmond Hill will host on     metropolitan Richmond and race, jurisdiction and economics.
•  Meet with an accountant on the capital campaign.  Rewrite a solicitation letter to donors.
• Get a ladder and change the fluorescent bulb over the copier (strict division of labor is not one of the community's values).
•  Attend a Chamber of Commerce dinner to be introduced to corporate contacts.

Good development officers know, he says, that the job is not just fund raising.  It's about cultivating relationships.

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Disaster Mental Health Institute

Though there were still skirmishes to be caught in, the Bosnian war was technically over when Teri L. Elliott, PhD, traveled there in 1996 to observe, listen and try to understand the impact the turmoil had had on the people.

In Mostar one day, she watched a group of children play.  As she drew closer, she recognized the game they were so caught up in: cemetery.  They were making little graves, putting little markers on them.  Like so many traumatized children, they were acting it out again and again, Elliott explains, until they could see it in a way that made sense to them.

It is for that kind of insight Elliott would like to bring more psychologists into her field of disaster mental health--a career path she believes will burgeon in the next 1O years as more humanitarian aid agencies recognize that psychosocial interventions are as essential as other types of aid to enable people to function after a tragedy, be it a man-made conflict or a natural disaster.

Her own job is evidence of the field's increasing prominence.  Almost three years ago, just as she was finishing her degree at Long Island University in Brooklyn, the Disaster Mental Health Institute at the University of South Dakota hired her as its first full-time faculty member.  The position, with requirements for both teaching and ongoing service in trauma, was what she had trained for despite a persistent lack of evidence such jobs existed.

Now she, along with the institute's director and the three other faculty members, leads a Clark Kent life: On many days, as Elliott says, "We act pretty much like regular professors.  We come in, we teach our classes, we do supervision, we do our research."

But with a phone call, they can be heading across country or around the world.  Elliott screened and provided mental health services to victims of the 1999 North Carolina floods.  And in 2000, at the request of the Gambian Red Cross, she flew to that country on two hours notice to do crisis intervention when a Red Cross volunteer and a number of high school students were shot in a civil uprising.
 Other parts of her work are more planned.  Under the institute's agreement with the International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies, she is helping the Gambian Red Cross develop programs to teach the nation's natural healers and others about psychological support.  At other times she has gone into school systems to teach suicide prevention or disaster preparedness or to instruct school counselors on psychological support after traumas.

She is also conducting research on the truth and reconciliation process in South Africa; the Northern Ireland conflict; bullying and the strengths of children who don't bully; and why helpers enter the field of trauma.

It's not a job for everyone, says Elliott.  And it's very hard for professionals, she says, because in working with various cultures, "You have to let go of what you know and then you have to grab it back."

 But for Elliott, who gave up amore lucrative career in computers, "It's great, rewarding work."

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Counsel, Office of U.S. Senator Richard Durbin

A typical day for Natacha Blain, JD, PhD, often unfolds like the front page article in the Washington Post or the lead story on CNN.

Each morning Blain, a counsel for U.S. Sen. Richard Durbin (D-Ill.), scans the news looking for clues on what her day will bring.  With just a moment's notice, she could be attending to the concerns of Durbin’s constituents, talking with lobbyists and examining pending legislation.  The next minute, she might be preparing the senator for confirmation hearings on President Bush’s cabinet nominees.  Or the day may find her busily drafting legislation, a job responsibility that enables her to put her psychology training to work.

"The senator has taken an active interest in mental health issues, she says "and I am happy to help bring some of these issues to his attention."
Recently Blain developed legislation granting presumptive eligibility benefits to mentally ill offenders.  She's currently examining ways legislation might be able to reduce the high rates of police suicide.

Blain's route to Congress was nonstop.  She caught the public policy bug in graduate school when she worked as an intern in APA’s Public Policy Office.  Soon after graduating from the law-psychology program of Villanova School of Law and Allegheny University now known as MCP-Hahnemann University, in 2000 Blain started working for Durbin as an APA Congressional Fellow.
The excitement of work in Congress hooked Blain almost immediately, and she accepted an offer from the senator to serve on his staff permanently before her fellowship ended in August.

"I interviewed with many congressional offices and committees, and decided to join Durbin’s staff because they were so welcoming and really took the time to took at my background and determine how best to utilize both my law and psychology degrees."

And the initial shine hasn't worn off, says Blain.  If anything, the excitement that first captivated her has only gained momentum.

For instance, one day near the end of the 106th Congress, she canceled all her meetings, skipped lunch and ignored her ringing phone so she could pull together Durbin’s talking points on the Republican Legal Immigration Family Equity Act.  The bill was slated to come to the Senate floor that night and failed to include changes in immigration laws that Senate Democrats supported.

"We got together a comprehensive 15 minutes of talking points for him, which is pretty good, and then the issue didn't come to the floor," she says.  "We had no idea what was going to happen.  We just had to be very prepared."

Indeed, timing is everything on Capitol Hill, says Blain. "When the moment is right to strike you have to take that moment," she says.  "If you wait too long to get more information, someone else will have introduced the legislation."

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