The New Poor

You'd never know it by the junker I drive around, but statistically speaking, I'm rich. Having any car that can get them to their jobs and allow them to run errands is all some people really want, considering that lack of transportation is one of the biggest problems for America's "new" poor. According to the census bureau, for the first time, more poor Americans live in the suburbs than in cities.

Today on Morning Edition, reporter Rachel Jones interviewed a poor woman in the suburbs of Des Moines, Iowa, who was having trouble getting ahead because of problems with her "new" car, which a friend sold to her for $75. Public transportation was nearly non-existent between her suburb and downtown Des Moines, where she could access social services. Like most suburbs, her home and her job were miles apart, with no sidewalks for walking and no local bus service. And the $75 car had already cost her more than $800 for insurance and registration, which she really couldn't afford.

According to Jones, poor individuals are not the only ones struggling to deal with this new demographic. The suburban town and and city governments are struggling to come up with the services their "new" constituents need. And though many of us have extensive networks of friends, family and resources that we can rely on in hard times, this is not true for everyone. A lot of Americans are just a divorce, hospitalization, or job loss away from really hard times. And many of those people now live in the suburbs.

This story felt particularly poignant to me, as I have been trying to understand what a ministry to the poor would look like in my life. Though I live within the city limits of Indianapolis, my area feels more suburban, perhaps the only exception being the bus line that runs walking distance from my home. Until today, I have been trying to find a connection downtown where I could go and help them, the poor people. Now my focus is shifting. Seeing poverty as an issue close to home gives me more of an opportunity to practice sharing rather than giving. And when the people I help are my neighbors, I am forced to consider them as people rather than a cause.

Lord, give me eyes to see the poverty that is all around me. And give me the wisdom to know how to reach out to others with the dignity they deserve.

That was easy!

This is NOT a free (or paid) advertisement for Staples, but I did receive one of their Easy Buttons for Christmas. I've stumbled into a couple of wonderfully ironic moments to use it.

Like one day at work after two coworkers both labored through a list of numbers multiple times to determine why they couldn't balance. They called me over, thinking perhaps Excel wasn't calculating correctly. I verified the formula, questioned the total they were seeking to balance to, and made them swear that all the numbers they typed were correct. "I've gone through it seven times," one of the them said. Just for kicks, I decided to scan through the numbers myself, and within 15 seconds, I found the error. They were grateful, I was magnanimous, and I returned to my desk. When I got there, I realized I had brought my Easy Button to work with me that day. So I slipped back to my coworker's desk, pushed the button, and when the deep male voice said, "That was easy!" she snarled. "You're a brat!" she proclaimed. (Even magnanimity has its limits.)

Lately, I've wanted to hit the Easy Button every time I have to type in one of those word verification entries. Is it just me, or does it EVER work on the first try? I set myself up for this classy illustration, but after I snapped the photo, I tried to type it in for real, and I had to redo it twice!

Oh, how I wish my Easy Button really worked! Have you had a moment this week when you would have liked to borrow my Easy Button?

Compromise

I've been hearing a lot about compromise lately, thanks to the new wave of bipartisan rhetoric since last November's election. Once again, everyone wants to work together, get along, just be friends. And I have to admit, it's better than the partisan rhetoric we normally hear.

In the past day or two, however, I have begun hearing a slightly different conversation. Suddenly, people are asking what issues we should compromise on. And suddenly, we all realize that there actually is a gigantic elephant standing in the room. Compromise, for most of us, means the other side needs to give a little.

Yesterday I began to think about compromises I'm asked to make; they seem to fall into two categories. Compromises in relationships tend to be essential and highly valued. If I want to eat Chinese for dinner, and my friend would prefer Mexican, we compromise. Mexican tonight, Chinese tomorrow. On more significant issues (you homeschool your children; I send mine to public school), compromising for the sake of the relationship might mean agreeing not to argue about the issue, encouraging one another in the struggles, praying for one another.

The other kind of compromises fall in the moral/ethical arena: what I believe to be right and wrong, true and false. Will I lie if my employer asks me to? Will I stand by while unborn babies are aborted? People who compromise on these areas tend to be looked down on, called "flip-floppers," and reveal their lack of conviction.

Politics seems to lie somewhere in the middle, and when there are only two sides, compromise can easily slip from agreeeable to apprehensible with hardly any effort. Especially if our side is the one who has to give too much.

What have your thoughts been, recently, in light of all this verbal hand-shaking? What compromises do you have to make on a regular basis? What issues will you never compromise on?

Undone

Over the weekend, my dad installed a new sink in my kitchen, and of all the projects we've done to my new house, this has to be my favorite. Having two basins and a faucet that rotates has made my life better, turned me into a calmer person. Not to mention cleaner -- I stopped doing dishes about two weeks ago as a matter of principle until we got the new one installed.


Saturday evening, with the rest of the chores completed and my new sink waiting for me, sparkling, I decided to start tackling the big job of washing every plate and cup, pot and pan I had used and left waiting. I started at the front of the pile, washing tupperware tumblers and sticky silverware. I scrubbed a few bowls and plates, trying to remember what I had eaten on them several days before. And before I knew it, the dish drainer was full.


It was about 9:30 p.m. at this point, and though I desperately wanted to have the dishes done, to cross the job off the list, I was exhausted and decided to stop there for the night. I didn't have to wash ALL the dishes done in one day. Afterall, it had taken me two weeks to get them all dirty. At least everything else was done. Or was it?


I walked past the laundry room and found two loads of clothes and towels that needed to be folded, and a few sweaters that needed to be put away. The sink project was not exactly finished either, come to think of it. My dad needed to do a little more work to solve a small leak in the plumbing. And then there are the thank you cards from Christmas that I still need to finish. Is one month too long to get them mailed? Plus, I'm also in the middle of about five books. All of them great, none of them finished.


Sometimes, all I want to do in a day is get things done. Like today at work, I kept getting new projects added to my list, and none of the old ones were being completed. In fact, when I go in tomorrow, I'll be right back in the middle of many tasks. That feels frustrating to me at times.


Getting things done, however, has become too high of a goal for me, and for a lot of us moderns. And in the process of getting a lot of things done, we hardly take a minute to think about what it is we're really doing, or what effect it's having on us or those around us. Sunday at church, my Sunday School class talked about the lack of love we demonstrate toward one another because we're too busy doing things. And one of the biggest impediments in my quest for Sabbath rest is trying to finish things up that I didn't get done on Saturday.


Leaving things undone has become a kind of spiritual discipline for me. My worth, my identity, is not dependent on the things I do. I am measured by who I am becoming in Christ, how HE is completing his work in me. Likewise, if I can never relax until my to-do list is finished, then I will never find the true rest Jesus offers through his finished work on the cross.



Tonight is looking pretty good for getting to the bottom of the two-weeks worth of dishes I stockpiled. But don't worry, there will be more dishes after dinner. And if they have to wait until tomorrow, that's ok, too.

"There has never been the slightest doubt in my mind

that the God who started this great work in you

would keep at it and bring it to a flourishing finish

on the very day Christ Jesus appears."

-- Philippians 1:6 from THE MESSAGE

Tagged

If I'd known that there would be games in the blogosphere, I'd have signed up a long time ago! And so, here I am, tagged by LL over at Seedlings in Stone. She bent the rules a little on her own "tagging," so I'm a little fuzzy on what I'm supposed to write. But I think it's along the lines of 5 odd things about myself, or something. Well, here are five things, indeed (you can be the judge of their oddity).

1.) My name has been confused for more than 10 other names in my lifetime, including but not limited to Jerry, Sherry, Cherry, Christy, Chastity, Christine, Charles, Cher, Terry, and Chariot.

2.) I fractured my pelvis on the day after my 16th birthday while running in a cross country meet. Subsequently, I had to use a walker for a few weeks in high school.

3.) Between the years 1993 and 2006, I moved 16 times. (Yes, that's an average of more than one move per year). In September 2006, I bought my first house; maybe now the moving can finally end, at least for a while.

4.) I'm not afraid of heights, but I'm deathly afraid of falling. You can lock me at the top of the Empire State Building, and I'm fine. Pretend like you're going to push me off the curb, and I'm scared to death.

5.) I once played "O When the Saints Go Marching In" on the harmonica during a Sunday evening church service.

So there you go. More than you ever wanted to know about me.

Now tell me, what are some things YOU find odd about me?

Just kidding.

Really.

Photo by Charity Singleton

Maintenance, Repair, and Improvement

Last weekend, I was doing some projects around the house, wondering if I'm ever going to get through the list I made for myself when I bought this place. Granted, it's only been four months since I signed the papers, and since then, we've replaced the garage door, the attic insulation, the roof, the front and back insulated doors, my office door, the shower surround, bathroom sink and vanity, front porch light, and kitchen sink (coming this Saturday!). With a little help from my family, we painted the laundry room and kitchen, replaced most of the locks, and attached house numbers over the garage. In a couple of hours, when I'm done here at the computer, I'm going to finish polyurethaning all the interior doors of the house (I sanded them all down last weekend), and within another month or two, my dad will have replaced all the closet doors. I didn't' realize until this very minute what a big door issue I had! Then, we'll be on to painting, hanging curtains, refinishing furniture, planting a garden, and on and on. The list of things we've done is impressive until I compare it with all that's left to do. Owning a home is a lot of work.

As I was thinking about all these improvements that need to be done to the house, I was also realizing that if I plan to avoid costly repairs, I really need to do a better job at maintenance. I finally flushed Rid-X down into the septic system last week; that's something I need to do monthly. I jotted it down on the calendar. Then I remembered the air filters for the furnace. They went on the calendar too. The carpets should be shampooed once or twice a year, and then there's the weekly cleaning. Where will I find the time for all of this?

The words "maintenance," "repairs" and "improvements" kept swirling through my head as I thougth about all there is to do. One helps to avoid the others; one remedies failures and problems; one makes everything else worth a little more.

Of course, "maintenance," "repair" and "improvement" don't apply just to homeownership.

With plans for sanding doors in my head last Saturday, I laid in bed a little longer than usual, finishing Ruth Haley Barton's book Sacred Rhythms. While coming to the end of Barton's words on spiritual disicplines and formation, I initially had the same panicked response as to the to-do list for my house. There's not enough time. Then I realized the same principles of maintenance, repair, and improvement are at work in our spiritual lives. While Bible reading and prayer may need to be daily disciplines for me, fasting and solitude are more like monthly maintenance. Deep reflection and meditation function in my life as "repairs," usually required if the daily maintenance has been ignored, and spiritual retreats and extended Bible study are occasional improvements to my life. They make everything worth a little more.

In the last few pages of Sacred Rhythms, Barton guides readers toward a "rule of life," or a structure of disciplines by which we seek to live in Christ. "Living into what we want in any are of our life requires some sort of intentional approach," she says. "The desire for a way of life that creates space for God's transforming work is no different. However, if we look closely at the way we live day to day, we may well notice that our approach to spiritual transformation is much more random and haphazard than our approach to finances, home improvements and weight loss!"

As the house goes, so goes the soul. Maintenance, repair, and improvement.

Race Encounters

It's Martin Luther King Jr. Day, as I am sure you know. Throughout the day, I have heard various clips of speeches by Dr. King that I had never heard before. I usually tend to think of the "I Have a Dream" speech and leave it there. But I was thankful that several of the NPR shows dug a little deeper today.

One speech I heard today was one that no one had listened to, at least not for years. Recently, a tape was found of the speech Dr. King made at Temple Israel of Hollywood in 1965. I'm listening to it now as I write. What a treasure. Dr. King talks about the slavery of Israel in Egypt, and the response of the Israelites after they were free. I haven't listened to the whole speech yet, but the similarities are obvious.

I also learned more about the cause that drew Dr. King to Memphis, a garbage collector's strike, and the events that ultimately cost him his life. I don't want to suggest that Dr. King went knowing he would die, but he certainly knew the costs of going to that city and fighting for that cost. Many had cautioned him against going.

As I have been considering this day, which Dr. King's widow, the late Coretta Scott King, said should be a "day on" not a "day off," my mind has landed on a few events from my life that have shaped my "diversity sensibilities," and hopefully are pushing me forward and not backward. Though some of these are deeply personal and a bit embarrassing, I thought I might share them in the interest of bringing the discussions of this day down to the level where most of us live.

-- Jackie Robinson's baseball career, George Washington Carver's experiments with peanuts, Booker T. Washington's higher education, and Harriet Tubman's Underground Railroad were some of my first interactions with race. "Black History Month" was an important event each year at my elementary school, and I chose a different black hero to focus on each February. For our project, we did research, made posters and gave speeches about these important men and women who pushed our country away from the ignorance of slavery, racism, and oppression. Unfortunately, these projects made race more a matter of history than current events, however. I thought very little about race on a day to day basis.

-- My first black friend was a boy in my 2nd grade elementary school. His family was the only black family in our school district, and "Matt" and I had a similar competitive spirit when it came to academics. Not only was he my first black friend, he actually was my only black friend all the way through high school. I haven't seem him for years now, but I just googled him. He's now an engineer with a solid career. Being the only black kid in our class had to have been hard, and yet because of Matt, I shed a lot of the prejudice of my rural community pretty early on.

-- There was one particular time, however, when I was the perpetrator of racism, and when I was called on it, it changed my life. I won't go into the details, but I made an insensitive racial joke in front of a few friends, and while some of them laughed, one boy said, "I can't believe you said that. What if Matt had been here?" I was cut to the heart. At that moment, I realized that racism was not a philosophy, it was hatred for real people.

-- When I lived and worked in Atlanta, Ga., I worked with as many black people as white people, and I began to see that racism is not simply a result of innocent ignorance or a matter of not knowing people of another race. It often is a choice to believe lies and to remain ignorant. In the break room, I often ate lunch with a black woman name Francine. I first began to sit with her purposefully because she was black, knowing I needed to intentionally cross barriers. I continued to sit with her because we had a lot in common and I liked being with her. Beyond our interracial eating, though, most of the other employees sat in groups according to their own race.

-- When I was a teaching assistant during my time in graduate school, I taught an English 101 class and often had to talk with both black and white students (there were no students of other races in my classes) about their writing. Though I offered praise and criticism to all the students, I felt a certain awkwardness about relating to my black students. I didn't want to be too hard or too easy on them. I wanted to treat them fairly. But I found myself wondering what "fair" meant. I ultimately realized that "fair" for any of my students meant more than treating them like everyone else. Being fair also meant treating them with respect for who they are.

-- I now have several friends who are black, and occasionally, we have a moment of openness that allows us to talk about racial differences, to acknowledge what's still wrong in our country and in our own lives. I often don't think of these friends according to their color anymore, but I think that approach is too simplistic. To be completely color blind in these relationships may fail to acknowledge areas of life that are challenging or hard for them.

-- Over the past couple of years, I have been listening to a radio show, News and Notes, on our local public radio station that deals exclusively with issues of interest to people of color, primarily blacks and African-Americans. I have to admit that some days it's hard for me to listen, and it's probably because I'm white. (In fact, this show is not created for me, so it's probably ok that my "whiteness" interferes with my listening.) In the past few months, I've been hearing a lot about "white privilege" on this show, and at first, I resisted the implications. Does racism and prejudice against black people imply a certain preference for white people? How would my black friends answer?

As I write these vignettes, I realize that I am not nearly as enlightened in my thinking as I would like to be. I still see the issues too simplistically; I still feel a little more threatened when I see a black man walking in front of my house than when I see a white man; I still make certain assumptions about life, faith, and country that my black friends don't feel they can make. But as a Christian, I also know that Jesus wants me to grow in my love for others, whatever their color, whatever their income, whatever their differences, and I want to take the truth of where I am, and ask Jesus to redeem it for something better.

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day.

Be Still

I'm still thinking about a Sabbath rest, wondering what it means for us today, how we can implement it in our lives.

As I was writing my post Monday, the thought crossed my mind that the way I spent this past Sunday seemed pretty self-indulgent. The words, "The Sabbath is not supposed to be about me" had barely formed in my mind, when I thought of Jesus telling the Pharisees, "The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. So the Son of Man is Lord even of the Sabbath."

Was Sabbath really made for me? Yes. Sabbath is not a burden God has given; it's a blessing. But at the same time, is Jesus the Lord of my Sabbath? And how can these two things both be true?

The answer may lie in the phrase that ran through my head yesterday as I was reading many of your comments: "Be still and know that I am God." That Sabbath was made for me because Jesus is the Lord of it.

My greatest need out of the busyness of my life must surely be a minute to stop and remember God. Perhaps this is all Sabbath is really meant to do.

Sabbath

Yesterday, after the morning at church, and a couple of hours with a friend having a very large cup of coffee, I spent about four hours lying on my sofa. I read a magazine I had been wanting to get to; I flipped through my new 75th Anniversary edition of The Joy of Cooking; I made a few thank you notes out of colored card stock and rubber stamps; and I ate three broken chocolate chip cookies. I had the TV on, and would occasionally pay attention to it, and once or twice I dozed off to sleep. Last night, as I was getting ready for bed, I felt like I had rested.

Yet there still was a nagging thought: is this what Sabbath is like in the 21st century?

Over the past several months, I have read numerous books, articles, and blogs all promoting the idea of Sabbath. I even wrote about it briefly in one of my Advent meditations on my website back in December. I am increasingly drawn to the rhythm of six days of work and the expectation of a day of rest. But I continue to wonder how to really make Sabbath observance a spiritual discipline in my life.

Here's where I always fall short:
1.) Because I need a lot of time alone to feel rejuvenated, the siren call of Sundays is to hunker down under a blanket by myself for hours. Yet I know that Sabbath is also about community.
2.) Which brings up another point. As a single person, how do I spend time resting with others? No one else lives at my house. Going out to eat means doing things like every other day; having a group of people over is just plain work.
3.) I have been leaving my computer off for Sundays, but I have a hard time not turning on the television. Yet, even though I can turn my mind off in front of the TV for some mental R&R, I'm not sure spending hours watching the thing is really the rest I need.
4.) Most of all, how can I maintain my focus on the Lord while I'm transforming into a sloth?
5.) And really practically, should I start my Sabbath on Saturday evening or Sunday morning? And if getting up early for my 8 a.m. Sunday School class doesn't feel very restful, does it mean I should give it up?

Many of the books I've read about Sabbath broach these subjects, but never to the level that helps me overcome them. I was wondering if any of you have Sabbath rituals that draw you into a day of rest. Do share.

Place as a Theological Concept

Yesterday, I wrote about the sense of place I am developing in my new home, imagining myself creating a future and a past here. But as I thought about the idea more overnight and today, and then when I read one of the comments from yesterday's post, I realized this idea needs more attention.

As a believer, if this world is not my home, what am I doing getting all cozy here?

I won't even try to cover all the nuances of this question in one post, but here is a place to get us started. From Acts 17:26: "From one man he made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live."

If nothing else, we can rest in the knowledge that God has placed us where we live according to his sovereign will. Surely we can grow comfortable with that idea.

Any thoughts?

A Sense of Place

I've been living in my new house a little more than three months now, and I am fascinated by the change that is taking place. I've lived in a lot of places, and called many a set of walls "home," to be sure. But it's been a while, probably since I was a teenager, since I've actually begun to identify with a piece of property. At last I am feeling a sense of place.

I've read a lot of books in my day in which the setting becomes as much a character as the people in the books. Jan Karon's Mitford Series, comes to mind. Also, the Laura Ingall's Wilder books, or more recently, The Time Traveler's Wife, in which the acute description of place seems to compensate for the lack of chronological integrity. In all of these books, the place was central to the story. Put the characters somewhere else, and you have a different tale, indeed.

I think I sense the same thing happening to me. As I invest myself into this little lot, into the walls and floor, the attic and crawl space, I am becoming a different character. If I were somehow extracted from my property right now, never to return, its impact in my life would eventually diminish. But over time, as I continue to pour myself into this place, moving will no longer be a matter of geography, but identity.

Wendell Berry writes about this sense of place as a redemptive quality in humans, one that may eventually help regain our affection for the earth. In his essay, "The Unsettling of America," he says, "There are few of us whose families have not at some time been moved to see its vision and to attempt to enact its possibility. I am talking about the idea that as many as possible should share in the ownership of the land and thus be bound to it by economic interest, by the investment of love and work, by family loyalty, by memory and tradition."

Three months in one place is hardly worth speaking in terms of family loyalty and tradition, but I feel more rooted than I have in a long time. Ownership has caused me to care more about my neighborhood, to desire more for my neighbors. Ownership has caused me to think more about the soil and pay more attention to the rain. And by ownership, I mean stewardship, really. I know this house is a gift from God, but he's entrusting it to me. And that feels important somehow.

This girl for this land at this time. A sense of place.

Upside Down

Today over lunch, I read the first half of the Sermon on the Mount. I love the imagery and the poetry of this message of Jesus. His tone is so loving and edgy, and when I find that my faith feels complicated and boring, I usually retreat to these passages.

Today, I couldn't help but think of the people who heard this sermon for the first time. How did they handle the news that they needed to give up their cloaks and slice off their hands? I read the sermon from this side of the cross; I know that Jesus really is Messiah, and he really does conquer death. I believe in him. What about these first listeners?

More than anything, the Sermon on the Mount strikes me as upside down living. Jesus basically takes every human instinct and desire and turns them upside down, redeems them.

Maybe that's why these words speak to me the most when my own life is a little topsy turvy.

"Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don't get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes." -- Matthew 6:34 from The Message

Nothing New

Can you see it? The tiny little sprout poking its head through the dirt? This Narcissus seedling in the corner of my living room has become a metaphor for this week. At the beginning of a new year, everything's back on the table, the possibilities are palpable.

As a person who loves change, the New Year's zeitgeist almost makes me shiver. All that potential for doing new things or doing old things in a new way is like candy. I've already envisioned a schedule for writing, a list of articles to submit, an organized schedule for blogging, a new system for paying my bills and maintaining a budget, a motivating system for eating well and exercising, a plan getting to know my neighbors and reaching out to the women in my bible study. This year I'll write more, volunteer more, paint more, serve more, exercise more, read my Bible more, eat less, watch TV less, worry less, buy less. Every thing is going to change for me in the New Year!

Or is it? Maybe all this New Year's hype is a ruse, a cleverly disguised plan by fitness centers and self help gurus to sell gym memberships and fix-it books. Can our lives really change with the turning of a calendar page?

This year, my new year's resolution is to NOT make any new year's resolutions. When I wait for January 1 to make changes in my life, I end up putting off the things I really need to do differently now. And when I get caught up in the newness of things once a year, I get off track, taking on new projects or emphasizing areas of my life that need to fade more into the background.

Here's what I am learning. The Lord is already at work in my life, and the paths he's leading me on are good ones, ones that have lessons for me to learn and people for me to love. I don't need to make a lot of big changes in my life nearly as much as I need to hunker down and be faithful to do what God has called me to.

Newness and change is alluring. But this year, the Lord's calling me to stay right where I am. It's not that he doesn't want me to grow, and there are certainly aspects of my personality and disposition that need to change. But these are things God has to do. And he's doing them through the monotonous and difficult things He's already given me to do.