Sunday, June 6, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Worn Bedposts
I slept last night in a bed I have slept in - off and on - for most of my life. It's a twin bed, made of wood whose original finish has long been rubbed and worn down to a well-loved and well-used shine. Covering its mattress is a quilt, made by my mother's mother (Nanny to the grandkids) for me, out of quilt squares my mom stitched when she was 12. There's a matching bed at the other end of the room, with another quilt made of mom's quilt squares, this one made for my sister. Years ago, these twin beds were in a room in Nanny's house, and we slept in them there, under windows looking toward the Pigeon River and the rolling tops of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Abby slept in a portable crib in the room next to mine, underneath a quilt that was made for me when I was born. Throughout this house, there are all kinds of things with deep history, deeper than I know, I'm sure. My parents - well, mostly my mother - have lots and lots of stuff. Most of it, to me, is really just stuff that I hope they'll clean out themselves so I don't have to. Last night, though, sleeping in that old twin bed mattered.
Facing the mortality of my parents doesn't come easy for me. I want them to be around when Abby graduates from diapers and from college. The diaper graduation, we've got a great chance at making. College is another question (and, yes, it's okay with me if she chooses not to go to college). Spring and early summer 2010 haven't brought great news for them. And so I worry. I worry about their house here in central NC with long flights of stairs, I wonder if they're asking all the doctors and specialists the right questions. And I feel frustrated, and helpless, and sad.
Being with them helps. Seeing Abby with them heals. Abby following them around and wanting them to play with her helps them forget for awhile about all the tests, and the waiting, and the unknown future. And the worn bedposts comfort me, remind me of the depth of family at its best, and most life-giving.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Spreadsheets and Tractors
Too much of my time has been spent slogging through Excel spreadsheets the last several weeks. I get why all the data is necessary, and, truth be told, the numbers I search for and record help me tell Homeward Bound's stories. I've learned that this will be a big part of April and May for me in this job - it's grant application and grant reporting season for us. (and, yes, it's really always grant season, but several really big ones happen this time of year) It's been hard for me, though, and not because of the work itself - it's not difficult, just confusing sometimes. What's hard is that it's all piled on top of an already very full plate. Balance eludes me often, and this past month it's completely escaped my feeble grasping.
Today, I got a couple of good reminders that spreadsheets do not, in fact, capture everything. Shannon's been really sick this week, so I've been daycare-driver more than I usually am. Abby is now talking just about all the time. And, I'm learning to understand some of what she's saying. Most of the time she tries over and over to tell me something and ends up shaking her head at my complete incompetence at understanding her. A very important part of the ride to daycare is a stretch of road that is under construction. My initial reaction to this, of course, was irritation at the inconvenience of dump trucks and tractors and orange cones changing the traffic pattern.
Abby, though, is delighted with the construction because of the tractors. This morning, we happened to drive that way at just the moment that 3 tractors were moving around making noise, moving dirt, in general getting in the way of traffic. For Abby, it was her own personal show and she loved every second of it. "Tractor," she shouted, and pointed out the window. "Mama, tractor, tractor!" our little one exclaimed, and then laughed with pure joy. Tractors on an ordinary morning, getting in the way, reminding me that it is often what is right in front of us that's most important: my child's simple, extraordinary joy erupting from the backseat.
And the spreadsheets and reports? They'll get finished. After we find some more tractors tomorrow morning.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Jesus Moves in Next Door
What happens when Jesus moves in next door? Do you throw out the welcome mat? Have him over for dinner? Watch every move he makes in endless awe? Not if you're me. If you're me, you run into the house quickly without saying hello most days. I run for cover, want to hide under the covers and protect my safe little life in our predictable - albeit chaotic - household.
The stories we have of Jesus make it clear that God shows up in the least desirable, the down-and-out...possibly, those who make our lives most uncomfortable. I see it everyday at my job. At my job, not at my house. The last few months I've realized I like it that way. I can see Jesus, hang out for hours, throw out all kinds of welcome mats all day long. Then I get to go home.
"How will we know it's you," the disciples ask Jesus in Matthew 25. Jesus' responds with the mission trip slogan many of us know so well: "clothe the naked, feed the sick, visit those in prison..." It's a much-romanticized passage, one that too many of us have used to drop in and do good works -- and then go home.
A young girl lives in the rental property next door to us, she's 8 or 9 years old going on 40. I suspect she's taken care of herself most of her life. I do not know the technical details, but it appears she's a foster kid, being cared for by adults who do not have much of an idea how to take care of themselves. It's abundantly clear that she's been wanting her whole life - wanting for attention, for support, for love. The adults in the household behave much like the adults I see all day long. There's too much drinking, not enough conversation; too much yelling, not enough laughing. And so this young girl does what anyone would do who doesn't get what she needs where she is - she looks elsewhere for the attention she craves, for the love she needs.
She comes to my house, this young girl, or other neighbors' houses until she wears out her welcome. For several weeks, she didn't come over when I was home - I'm pretty good at non-verbal communication, and apparently it was very clear I wasn't interested in her company. But my remarkable wife, and my open-hearted daughter are - thankfully - much better at welcoming Jesus than me. And they're pushing, in their own very able non-verbal ways, to get me to welcome her too.
Turns out that it's not enough to hang out with Jesus at work. God wants more of me than that.
The stories we have of Jesus make it clear that God shows up in the least desirable, the down-and-out...possibly, those who make our lives most uncomfortable. I see it everyday at my job. At my job, not at my house. The last few months I've realized I like it that way. I can see Jesus, hang out for hours, throw out all kinds of welcome mats all day long. Then I get to go home.
"How will we know it's you," the disciples ask Jesus in Matthew 25. Jesus' responds with the mission trip slogan many of us know so well: "clothe the naked, feed the sick, visit those in prison..." It's a much-romanticized passage, one that too many of us have used to drop in and do good works -- and then go home.
A young girl lives in the rental property next door to us, she's 8 or 9 years old going on 40. I suspect she's taken care of herself most of her life. I do not know the technical details, but it appears she's a foster kid, being cared for by adults who do not have much of an idea how to take care of themselves. It's abundantly clear that she's been wanting her whole life - wanting for attention, for support, for love. The adults in the household behave much like the adults I see all day long. There's too much drinking, not enough conversation; too much yelling, not enough laughing. And so this young girl does what anyone would do who doesn't get what she needs where she is - she looks elsewhere for the attention she craves, for the love she needs.
She comes to my house, this young girl, or other neighbors' houses until she wears out her welcome. For several weeks, she didn't come over when I was home - I'm pretty good at non-verbal communication, and apparently it was very clear I wasn't interested in her company. But my remarkable wife, and my open-hearted daughter are - thankfully - much better at welcoming Jesus than me. And they're pushing, in their own very able non-verbal ways, to get me to welcome her too.
Turns out that it's not enough to hang out with Jesus at work. God wants more of me than that.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Number One
Right now, I’m less than one mile from North Carolina’s number one tourist attraction. 18 million visitors a year come through here, many of them probably using the very same motel room I occupy tonight. North Carolina is my favorite place on the planet, I should say that now, before going on more about tourist attractions. My roots are deep here, deep in the western corner of the state where I now live, running through the mountains and down toward upstate South Carolina where my blood is also intermingled with the soil - soil made of several generations of my ancestors. I’ve had the unearned privilege of traveling and even living in many extraordinary places, and I am grateful for each and every one. No matter where I was, though, my internal compass always pointed to North Carolina. It’s home, in a way no other place is able to be.
And it’s because North Carolina is my home that I am unable to sleep tonight until I write this. I hadn’t realized I was going to be sleeping less than a mile from the number one tourist attraction in my state. I came here, to Concord, NC (on the outer edges of Charlotte) to attend a conference for work. It was at the opening lunch that I learned, from the mayor of Concord, just how close I was to this place 18 million people visit each year. How could I have missed being one of those 18 million people? I’ve visited this state – or lived in it – every single year of my life.
Concord Mills is the number one tourist attraction in North Carolina. It’s a gigantic shopping mall, mostly outlet stores. It’s surrounded by just about every chain restaurant you can imagine, a multi-plex cinema, budget motels, luxury hotels, resorts, conference centers, and a very popular NASCAR raceway a mere couple of miles away. I don’t know what came first, but certainly an entire concrete city has built up around this mall.
It says a lot about us as a culture, doesn’t it? Pisgah National Forest, the winding roads that snake out from I-40 revealing beautiful land that’s been farmed for centuries, the white sands of the Outer Banks…not nearly as many people drive towards those places. Number one is a shopping mall. And tonight I added a “+1” to that 18 million. I exercised some restraint, I didn’t go into all the stores or even make it around the whole mall. The Stride Rite outlet pulled me in, yes, but I managed to not buy Abby the two pairs of shoes I really wanted to see her put her little running feet in. And I resisted the Osh-Gosh-My-Gosh store completely. For myself, I tried on a whole lot of clothes, purchased a small fraction of what went into the dressing rooms, and walked away from far more stores than I walked in. Oh – and bought Shannon’s birthday present. But I still went. And bought. Bought in, really. Bought in to the pull of sales and deals and one-day-only specials.
My spending has dramatically changed over the last several years, it’s become far more responsible and broader-minded – largely due to the influence of my wife, who has taught me a whole lot about faithful stewardship of our resources. Our conversations about finances (okay, some of them have been heated arguments) have led me to think more wholly and deeply about what money is in my life, and what the consequences are for how I spend it. More importantly, how I share it and use it for the good of more than me.
Thinking these last couple of days about NC’s number one tourist attraction has caused some of Walter Brueggeman’s writing to haunt me. I preached a sermon a few weeks ago that touched on Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…” Breuggeman says that what this really means is that God is the one compelling loyalty in life. The one, not one of, not equal with others…the one compelling loyalty.
Is that true for me? I want it to be. I see it being true for Jesus. In his ability to persevere with God’s message when people laughed at him, in his compassion for those no one else would talk to, in his capacity for learning from unnamed women who called him out, in his unswerving walk that led to the cross. The one compelling loyalty. The more true it is for me, the more maybe I’ll go to Pisgah, or find one of those winding roads off I-40 or visit the Outer Banks’ white sand. And find a deeper well of compassion – daily – on the streets where I work. Or notice more often my daughter’s sparkling eyes and rapidly expanding vocabulary. And tell my wife how much she teaches me everyday by how she lives.
To know the one compelling loyalty to God that Jesus did. That’s my prayer tonight.
And it’s because North Carolina is my home that I am unable to sleep tonight until I write this. I hadn’t realized I was going to be sleeping less than a mile from the number one tourist attraction in my state. I came here, to Concord, NC (on the outer edges of Charlotte) to attend a conference for work. It was at the opening lunch that I learned, from the mayor of Concord, just how close I was to this place 18 million people visit each year. How could I have missed being one of those 18 million people? I’ve visited this state – or lived in it – every single year of my life.
Concord Mills is the number one tourist attraction in North Carolina. It’s a gigantic shopping mall, mostly outlet stores. It’s surrounded by just about every chain restaurant you can imagine, a multi-plex cinema, budget motels, luxury hotels, resorts, conference centers, and a very popular NASCAR raceway a mere couple of miles away. I don’t know what came first, but certainly an entire concrete city has built up around this mall.
It says a lot about us as a culture, doesn’t it? Pisgah National Forest, the winding roads that snake out from I-40 revealing beautiful land that’s been farmed for centuries, the white sands of the Outer Banks…not nearly as many people drive towards those places. Number one is a shopping mall. And tonight I added a “+1” to that 18 million. I exercised some restraint, I didn’t go into all the stores or even make it around the whole mall. The Stride Rite outlet pulled me in, yes, but I managed to not buy Abby the two pairs of shoes I really wanted to see her put her little running feet in. And I resisted the Osh-Gosh-My-Gosh store completely. For myself, I tried on a whole lot of clothes, purchased a small fraction of what went into the dressing rooms, and walked away from far more stores than I walked in. Oh – and bought Shannon’s birthday present. But I still went. And bought. Bought in, really. Bought in to the pull of sales and deals and one-day-only specials.
My spending has dramatically changed over the last several years, it’s become far more responsible and broader-minded – largely due to the influence of my wife, who has taught me a whole lot about faithful stewardship of our resources. Our conversations about finances (okay, some of them have been heated arguments) have led me to think more wholly and deeply about what money is in my life, and what the consequences are for how I spend it. More importantly, how I share it and use it for the good of more than me.
Thinking these last couple of days about NC’s number one tourist attraction has caused some of Walter Brueggeman’s writing to haunt me. I preached a sermon a few weeks ago that touched on Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…” Breuggeman says that what this really means is that God is the one compelling loyalty in life. The one, not one of, not equal with others…the one compelling loyalty.
Is that true for me? I want it to be. I see it being true for Jesus. In his ability to persevere with God’s message when people laughed at him, in his compassion for those no one else would talk to, in his capacity for learning from unnamed women who called him out, in his unswerving walk that led to the cross. The one compelling loyalty. The more true it is for me, the more maybe I’ll go to Pisgah, or find one of those winding roads off I-40 or visit the Outer Banks’ white sand. And find a deeper well of compassion – daily – on the streets where I work. Or notice more often my daughter’s sparkling eyes and rapidly expanding vocabulary. And tell my wife how much she teaches me everyday by how she lives.
To know the one compelling loyalty to God that Jesus did. That’s my prayer tonight.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Lessons in Home Improvement
Step 1:
Pull ugly wall-like substance off walls of original bathroom. (do this only if you have another bathroom to spare) Discover that this is a very time-consuming project. Allow your wife to finish it for you on her day off after she realizes you've done too much demolition to fix it. Assure your loving wife that you can absolutely re-do this mess. Drywall isn't hard, you've been told.
Step 2:
Do research for several months about dry-walling and tile work. Then decide it is far beyond your capabilities to put back together. Assent to some partial help from professionals.
Step 3:
Schedule professionals recommended to you. Wait 5 weeks for their 3-day job to be completed. Pull up old floor so that old hardwoods will be revealed. Notice there is no old hardwood. Call in a colleague's husband for advice. Listen to him when he tells you that you are looking at asbestos tile. Go buy materials to cover old floor. Read instructions about how to install new floor. (also, be glad you live within 2 miles of both Lowe's and Home Depot)
Step 4:
Install 1/2 of new floor. Again, allow your incredibly patient and capable wife to finish the job. Make sure most of the wall painting happens on her day off while you're at work.
Step 5:
Work at your day job all weekend. Come home to beadboard, baseboards, crown molding installed by your wife with lots of help from your daughter.
Step 6:
Do finishing touches on walls with your wife. Be confident you can install the sink with no problem. Try valiantly for the remainder of the day. Then call in professional help.
Step 7:
Be very, very grateful you have a loving and understanding and talented spouse. And keep your day job.
Pull ugly wall-like substance off walls of original bathroom. (do this only if you have another bathroom to spare) Discover that this is a very time-consuming project. Allow your wife to finish it for you on her day off after she realizes you've done too much demolition to fix it. Assure your loving wife that you can absolutely re-do this mess. Drywall isn't hard, you've been told.
Step 2:
Do research for several months about dry-walling and tile work. Then decide it is far beyond your capabilities to put back together. Assent to some partial help from professionals.
Step 3:
Schedule professionals recommended to you. Wait 5 weeks for their 3-day job to be completed. Pull up old floor so that old hardwoods will be revealed. Notice there is no old hardwood. Call in a colleague's husband for advice. Listen to him when he tells you that you are looking at asbestos tile. Go buy materials to cover old floor. Read instructions about how to install new floor. (also, be glad you live within 2 miles of both Lowe's and Home Depot)
Step 4:
Install 1/2 of new floor. Again, allow your incredibly patient and capable wife to finish the job. Make sure most of the wall painting happens on her day off while you're at work.
Step 5:
Work at your day job all weekend. Come home to beadboard, baseboards, crown molding installed by your wife with lots of help from your daughter.
Step 6:
Do finishing touches on walls with your wife. Be confident you can install the sink with no problem. Try valiantly for the remainder of the day. Then call in professional help.
Step 7:
Be very, very grateful you have a loving and understanding and talented spouse. And keep your day job.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Reaching Beyond
Sometimes seems like things happen in a series of snapshots, or at least that’s how it all comes together in my head. The last few days went something like this.
A staff discovers things will never be the same again -- some are relieved, some heart-broken, all at least a little shell-shocked with the news of big changes. The boss manages to make it through the day on the steady and sturdy prayers of loved ones and wonderfully supportive colleagues.
A few hours later, it appears as though another winter storm is indeed going to hit. Less than 24 hours later, it does. Friday afternoon ends in the chaos of snow and sleet and staff members who live miles away getting home before getting stuck and clients rushing to get to the evening shelters to get a spot of the floor so the night is at least a dry one. At some point, there is also the realization by this boss that the entire Saturday crew will not be able to get to work. And probably not Sunday’s regular crew either.
Lots of snow, with a top layer of ice. Might not be a coincidence that my car is one that has all-wheel drive. I drove around West Asheville in my Subaru picking up the other two staff members who were close by, both of whom did not hesitate one second when I asked if they would work through the weekend so we could keep the day center open in the bad weather. There is no better group of human beings in the world than the people I work with – and I don’t say that lightly. They are the most selfless, generous and compassionate people I’ve ever known.
The thread through the chaos of the weekend was the Presbyterians. Seriously. Not that it’s a contest, but they won the award for the widest reaching arms this past weekend. Our emergency shelter for women that rotates churches each week for sleeping space was housed at Grace Covenant Presbyterian last week. The inclement weather plan for the shelter is for the women to move to a church in walking distance to A HOPE so the churches can keep to the nights-only schedule they’ve agreed to for housing these 12 women. They called Thursday and said they would keep them all weekend so they wouldn’t have to move and be out in the bad weather. And they did. First Presbyterian Church has been opening all winter on Saturday afternoons to give street folks a place to be inside with hot coffee, snacks, movies, games and lots of friendly faces. My friend M., the Assoc pastor there, called to tell me that their volunteers were going to spend the night Friday to make sure they could open the church Saturday afternoon – they didn’t want to take a chance on not being able to get back into town. And they did.
Saturday morning, a high school senior walked 25 minutes to volunteer because his parents couldn’t get the car out. Sunday morning, a Mars Hill student who volunteers regularly had her dad drive her into Asheville in his 4-wheel drive because she knew we would be really busy and that extra hands would be very helpful. And our women’s shelter director and her husband drove into town to welcome the women back from Grace Covenant, feed them homemade soup and give them some extra time for laundry and showers.
It was a full, difficult few days. And a big lesson in remembering what it means to reach beyond our own needs. A witness to what can happen when people take seriously what it means to follow Jesus’ commands in Matthew 25. A step toward understanding the life changes we all need to make for everyone to have permanent, safe housing available to them.
Balance eludes me, still. Working a 70 hour week was good for the shelter. It wasn’t good for my family. I suspect that struggle will not go away for me, particularly on weeks like this one where events beyond my control necessitate long working days. I like to think I’m working toward a foothold in some kind of foundation, though. Work-related, the new world coming at A HOPE will be more balanced for everyone involved and, I firmly believe, equip us to more adequately assist our clients in making strong and healthy lifestyle changes. My loving wife got into my calendar and scheduled workouts for me. I’ve made inquiries about starting to work with a spiritual director. Only steps, I know. But steps nonetheless. Steps that I hope will move me closer to balance, and closer to learning to reach beyond what I know to where God calls.
A staff discovers things will never be the same again -- some are relieved, some heart-broken, all at least a little shell-shocked with the news of big changes. The boss manages to make it through the day on the steady and sturdy prayers of loved ones and wonderfully supportive colleagues.
A few hours later, it appears as though another winter storm is indeed going to hit. Less than 24 hours later, it does. Friday afternoon ends in the chaos of snow and sleet and staff members who live miles away getting home before getting stuck and clients rushing to get to the evening shelters to get a spot of the floor so the night is at least a dry one. At some point, there is also the realization by this boss that the entire Saturday crew will not be able to get to work. And probably not Sunday’s regular crew either.
Lots of snow, with a top layer of ice. Might not be a coincidence that my car is one that has all-wheel drive. I drove around West Asheville in my Subaru picking up the other two staff members who were close by, both of whom did not hesitate one second when I asked if they would work through the weekend so we could keep the day center open in the bad weather. There is no better group of human beings in the world than the people I work with – and I don’t say that lightly. They are the most selfless, generous and compassionate people I’ve ever known.
The thread through the chaos of the weekend was the Presbyterians. Seriously. Not that it’s a contest, but they won the award for the widest reaching arms this past weekend. Our emergency shelter for women that rotates churches each week for sleeping space was housed at Grace Covenant Presbyterian last week. The inclement weather plan for the shelter is for the women to move to a church in walking distance to A HOPE so the churches can keep to the nights-only schedule they’ve agreed to for housing these 12 women. They called Thursday and said they would keep them all weekend so they wouldn’t have to move and be out in the bad weather. And they did. First Presbyterian Church has been opening all winter on Saturday afternoons to give street folks a place to be inside with hot coffee, snacks, movies, games and lots of friendly faces. My friend M., the Assoc pastor there, called to tell me that their volunteers were going to spend the night Friday to make sure they could open the church Saturday afternoon – they didn’t want to take a chance on not being able to get back into town. And they did.
Saturday morning, a high school senior walked 25 minutes to volunteer because his parents couldn’t get the car out. Sunday morning, a Mars Hill student who volunteers regularly had her dad drive her into Asheville in his 4-wheel drive because she knew we would be really busy and that extra hands would be very helpful. And our women’s shelter director and her husband drove into town to welcome the women back from Grace Covenant, feed them homemade soup and give them some extra time for laundry and showers.
It was a full, difficult few days. And a big lesson in remembering what it means to reach beyond our own needs. A witness to what can happen when people take seriously what it means to follow Jesus’ commands in Matthew 25. A step toward understanding the life changes we all need to make for everyone to have permanent, safe housing available to them.
Balance eludes me, still. Working a 70 hour week was good for the shelter. It wasn’t good for my family. I suspect that struggle will not go away for me, particularly on weeks like this one where events beyond my control necessitate long working days. I like to think I’m working toward a foothold in some kind of foundation, though. Work-related, the new world coming at A HOPE will be more balanced for everyone involved and, I firmly believe, equip us to more adequately assist our clients in making strong and healthy lifestyle changes. My loving wife got into my calendar and scheduled workouts for me. I’ve made inquiries about starting to work with a spiritual director. Only steps, I know. But steps nonetheless. Steps that I hope will move me closer to balance, and closer to learning to reach beyond what I know to where God calls.
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