Evening in the trailer park. I am chasing a football up and down our dusty street, having been chosen as "monkey in the middle" by the four boys who have joined me outside our trailer. Nearby, the little girl (6 years old) from across the street watches with anticipation and cheers me on. The boys are being obnoxiously loud, and for a moment I consider asking them to tone it down. In the end, I decide it's about time that they were just having fun, not weighed down by discouraging home situations, and I let them go on being as rowdy as they please. After all, it's not even 7:00.
When the mother of one of the boys, a woman whom I worry about, asks me to help jump her car, I knock on the door of another neighbor and ask for his help. He grumbles a little, but promptly (and proudly) pulls out his jumper box and gets the rattling automobile going. He's a man's man, gruff and truck-loving and sporting a worker's tan. What most wouldn't see is that he is also a chef and a trained beautician, which means his wife gets great hair styles each morning, and we get the surplus of whatever he cooks at night. Dang good food, I tell you. While crawling under my truck and offering to fix it, he says with sarcasm, "Remember. I'm not a mechanic. I don't fix cars, I don't do hair, and I don't cook."
Later, with a couple friends joining us, the three of us roommates eat Jim's food and play a board game on the floor. The place still smells, but at least the air is cooler at night. On our fridge, a drawing by the girl next door and a picture of the rambunctious 7 year-old who comes over every afternoon, grinning as he plays a game of Jenga with Leah. This journey is by no means easy. Sometimes the smells are overwhelming, the heat feels oppressive, and my mattress seems especially hard. But it is such a gift, our little home.
More and more, that's what it is. Home.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
as I was saying...
Henri Nouwen magaged to say it much better:
"Let us not underestimate how hard it is to be compassionate. Compassion is hard because it requires the inner disposition to go with others to the place where they are weak, Vulnerable, lonely, and broken. But this is not our spontaneous response to suffering...Our greatest gift [is]our ability to enter into solidarity with those who suffer.
"In order to be of service to others we have to die to them; that is, we have to give up measuring our meaning and value with the yardstick of others. To die to our neighbor means to stop judging them, to stop evaluating them, and thus to become free to be compassionate. Compassion can never coexist with judgement because judgement creates the distance, the distinction, which prevents us from really being with the other.
"Much of our ministry is pervaded with judgements. Often quite unconsciously we classify people as very good, good, neutral, bad, and very bad. These judgements influence deeply the thoughts, words, and actions of our ministry. Before we know it, we fall into the trap of the self-fulfilling prophecy. Those whom we consider lazy, indifferent, hostile, or obnoxious we treat as such, forcing them in this way to live up to our own views. And so, much of our ministry is limited by the snares of our own judgements. These self-created limits prevent us from being available to people and shrivel up our compassion."
(speaking of compassion as the fruit of solitude)
Henri Nouwen, The Way of the Heart
"Let us not underestimate how hard it is to be compassionate. Compassion is hard because it requires the inner disposition to go with others to the place where they are weak, Vulnerable, lonely, and broken. But this is not our spontaneous response to suffering...Our greatest gift [is]our ability to enter into solidarity with those who suffer.
"In order to be of service to others we have to die to them; that is, we have to give up measuring our meaning and value with the yardstick of others. To die to our neighbor means to stop judging them, to stop evaluating them, and thus to become free to be compassionate. Compassion can never coexist with judgement because judgement creates the distance, the distinction, which prevents us from really being with the other.
"Much of our ministry is pervaded with judgements. Often quite unconsciously we classify people as very good, good, neutral, bad, and very bad. These judgements influence deeply the thoughts, words, and actions of our ministry. Before we know it, we fall into the trap of the self-fulfilling prophecy. Those whom we consider lazy, indifferent, hostile, or obnoxious we treat as such, forcing them in this way to live up to our own views. And so, much of our ministry is limited by the snares of our own judgements. These self-created limits prevent us from being available to people and shrivel up our compassion."
(speaking of compassion as the fruit of solitude)
Henri Nouwen, The Way of the Heart
Saturday, August 18, 2007
taking out the trash talk
I've been thinking about the term "trailer trash". I'm ashamed to say it, but I have met some folks over the last couple weeks that I might have labeled as such in the past. They are people I have mocked in my mind (or perhaps out loud). I have been meeting people who are the "them" whom I have seen, for most of my life, as separate from "us". One always feels safer when she can justify mocking those who sit on the other side of a gap. Let's be honest: even when we don't say it, we find ourselves viewing some people as lesser, as "other".
Truly living out ministry over this next years means that I have to close that gap in my mind. I have to let God rewire my vision, to see through his eyes rather than through the lens of my culture. I have to learn to look past everything that is absolutely prototypical of "trailer trash" and see a neighbor instead; just like my neighbors have to look past things that might look different or irritating about me. In fact, it's not just enough to consider someone my neighbor--the call of the Word is higher: "in humility consider others better than yourselves."
As I read Proverbs this year, I am reminded again and again that God is all about the heart. His approval has nothing to do with socio-economic status. He puts it this way: "better a little with righteousness than much gain with injustice" (Proverbs 16:8). The righteous, whether they are men of great means or little wealth, are those he loves. The wicked and unjust, whether they are mighty or oppressed, are those he detests (15:9).
Destests. That's a heavy word. As he once told a prophet who was hunting for a handsome new king, the Lord does not look at the outward appearance, but at the heart (1 Samuel 16:7). God looks on a greedy, judgement-filled heart with the same disdain we generally direct at those on the other side of the socio-economic gap. And he looks at the righteous heart with the same approval we freely offer to those who are most like us.
If that's the case, then trailer parks are probably not much different than any other place; some trash, and some treasure. If the heart is the standard, then there is probably just as much corporate trash as anything else. Trailer trash, middle-class trash, upper-crust trash...or treasures in all three places. It's a matter of character, a matter of a heart that loves, or does not love, like Jesus does.
If I'm honest, a look at my own reactions to those around me makes it quite clear that I have some trash to take out in my own heart.
Truly living out ministry over this next years means that I have to close that gap in my mind. I have to let God rewire my vision, to see through his eyes rather than through the lens of my culture. I have to learn to look past everything that is absolutely prototypical of "trailer trash" and see a neighbor instead; just like my neighbors have to look past things that might look different or irritating about me. In fact, it's not just enough to consider someone my neighbor--the call of the Word is higher: "in humility consider others better than yourselves."
As I read Proverbs this year, I am reminded again and again that God is all about the heart. His approval has nothing to do with socio-economic status. He puts it this way: "better a little with righteousness than much gain with injustice" (Proverbs 16:8). The righteous, whether they are men of great means or little wealth, are those he loves. The wicked and unjust, whether they are mighty or oppressed, are those he detests (15:9).
Destests. That's a heavy word. As he once told a prophet who was hunting for a handsome new king, the Lord does not look at the outward appearance, but at the heart (1 Samuel 16:7). God looks on a greedy, judgement-filled heart with the same disdain we generally direct at those on the other side of the socio-economic gap. And he looks at the righteous heart with the same approval we freely offer to those who are most like us.
If that's the case, then trailer parks are probably not much different than any other place; some trash, and some treasure. If the heart is the standard, then there is probably just as much corporate trash as anything else. Trailer trash, middle-class trash, upper-crust trash...or treasures in all three places. It's a matter of character, a matter of a heart that loves, or does not love, like Jesus does.
If I'm honest, a look at my own reactions to those around me makes it quite clear that I have some trash to take out in my own heart.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
ajustments: part 1
Shortly before moving in, I mentioned to Kim that we should be placing bets on certain probables: how long before the first ant infestation, the first major leak, the first mouse...
The ant infestation took about two days. In fact, when I opened my computer earlier today, the little guys came crawling out from it's technological innards. They are on our counter and in our cupboards. They are crawling around the sink and across the floor. We put out ant traps, so now we just try to laugh and hope for the best. That, and store our more tantalizing food in double ziplock bags.
The leak...well, yesterday it rained. Correction: it poured. I stood inside the trailer and watched the deluge pummel the dirt road leading around our trailer park, turning dust into mud and potholes into puddles (lakes?). Walking down our short hallway, I noticed that the rain was pouring somewhere else: down the inside of our back door. (Isn't rain supposed to pour down the outside of back doors?) Not far from the back door (because, in a trailer, nothing is far from anything), water was pooling at the base of one of our windows. This particular window, you see, is made of some flimsy plastic that has warped away from the weather stripping. Excellent.
As for the mouse, we have yet to see one, but a glance under the bathroom sink reveals a nicely gnawed hole through the particle board. I'm sure our paths will cross eventually.
Yes, life in the trailer park is an ever interesting adjustment. Broken ovens, holes in the floor hidden by thin carpet, an all-too tenacious stench, and a floor so slanted that one can place a ball on one end of our bunk beds (which ended up being too small for our mattresses) and watch it quickly roll to the other end. In these first weeks, each days is made up of a million different moments of shifting paradigms, opportunities to surrender our right to comfort. Each such surrender is followed by the realization that there will always be one remaining gap between me and my neighbors: I choose to give up comforts, while many of them have never been given the chance to embrace them. May I never grow so cocky as to think I can fully understand.
Still, don't get me wrong. In the quiet moments, when we are sitting on the floor (our furniture consists of a step ladder and an old office chair) with windows open to the cool evening air...in these moments I am just so thankful: thankful for the kids we've met, for the family across the street, for the ways that we are learning to live more simply. It is a dream realized, a journey we are excited to take together, living in community.
Even if it means that community includes a bazillion tiny ants.
The ant infestation took about two days. In fact, when I opened my computer earlier today, the little guys came crawling out from it's technological innards. They are on our counter and in our cupboards. They are crawling around the sink and across the floor. We put out ant traps, so now we just try to laugh and hope for the best. That, and store our more tantalizing food in double ziplock bags.
The leak...well, yesterday it rained. Correction: it poured. I stood inside the trailer and watched the deluge pummel the dirt road leading around our trailer park, turning dust into mud and potholes into puddles (lakes?). Walking down our short hallway, I noticed that the rain was pouring somewhere else: down the inside of our back door. (Isn't rain supposed to pour down the outside of back doors?) Not far from the back door (because, in a trailer, nothing is far from anything), water was pooling at the base of one of our windows. This particular window, you see, is made of some flimsy plastic that has warped away from the weather stripping. Excellent.
As for the mouse, we have yet to see one, but a glance under the bathroom sink reveals a nicely gnawed hole through the particle board. I'm sure our paths will cross eventually.
Yes, life in the trailer park is an ever interesting adjustment. Broken ovens, holes in the floor hidden by thin carpet, an all-too tenacious stench, and a floor so slanted that one can place a ball on one end of our bunk beds (which ended up being too small for our mattresses) and watch it quickly roll to the other end. In these first weeks, each days is made up of a million different moments of shifting paradigms, opportunities to surrender our right to comfort. Each such surrender is followed by the realization that there will always be one remaining gap between me and my neighbors: I choose to give up comforts, while many of them have never been given the chance to embrace them. May I never grow so cocky as to think I can fully understand.
Still, don't get me wrong. In the quiet moments, when we are sitting on the floor (our furniture consists of a step ladder and an old office chair) with windows open to the cool evening air...in these moments I am just so thankful: thankful for the kids we've met, for the family across the street, for the ways that we are learning to live more simply. It is a dream realized, a journey we are excited to take together, living in community.
Even if it means that community includes a bazillion tiny ants.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
beginnings
It's official: we have moved into a trailer park. Most people thing it's crazy, but for us it's a bit of a dream. We have before us the opportunity to minister to a demographic that holds a special place in God's heart, and we get to do it by sharing living space. We desire to see the "us and them" mentality disappear from our thinking. We desire to learn something of simplicity, both in possessions and in heart. We desire to become even better acquainted with God's heart.
It seems that God has chosen a unique furnace of refinement for us in this season: a dingy, single-wide trailer on the west side of the city.
Let the adventure begin.
It seems that God has chosen a unique furnace of refinement for us in this season: a dingy, single-wide trailer on the west side of the city.
Let the adventure begin.
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