adjusting and dreaming

I am writing from the place where I belong: the single wide trailer from which I just spent a painful year away. I am sitting at our kitchen table, wrapped in a blanket because this wonderful house doesn't actually have insulation. Our clanking furnace does it's best, and it is a noble effort indeed, but the parts of the house farthest from it remain chilly nonetheless. Oh well.

Like anyone, I'd love to say I'm a selfless saint and that the return to my lifestyle here is an easy adjustment. Granted, the small discomforts of the house are minimal--just getting used to small spaces and the need for blankets. It is the re-adjustment to the demands on time that are more difficult. I have just spent a year where my time off was, well....mine. Very few demands were placed on it, and I generally resented even those because I was so worn out from my job. Here, however, one must get used to knocks on the door at any time, requests for company or homework help or a grocery trip that are not conveniently organized around when you do and do not feel like it. Much to my chagrin, I feel the selfishness in me resisting, resenting...it is putting up a fight. Prayer and time and conscious choices are what will overcome the selfish one within me, the "old man" that the gospel calls me to trade for a new one, one created in the likeness of the Christ who gave and loved relentlessly and without regard for self-preservation.

I am often amazed when I think back over how the kids have grown--how our littlest one was just 4 when we moved in, and how she recently celebrated her 7th birthday. I am amazed to recall those first days, when most of our friends and family were skeptical, and when even we weren't sure if this experiment would last more than a few months. It has passed the 2 year mark now. What a gift.

Personally, I return with a dream. My year of advocacy for the homeless began to teach me that we really aren't too small to make changes or to have an effective voice. And so my long-lived hope of calling others into the life we are living here seems less far-off and impossible. Rather, I want to be taking small steps in that direction. The grand dream is to begin inviting recent grads to spend a year living in low-income settings and learning about the issues behind non-urban American poverty, and about God's heart for the poor in our back yard. Where to start? I pray for God's direction. And so here I am, writing from the place where I belong, asking that you, too, can pray for how God might have us raise our voices for those whom are seldom heard.

I'm ba-aaack.

Just when it seemed that Ballerina Swan Lake would drift into oblivion, the winds have changed. After my year away working with the homeless, I am recognizing that my heart never left the trailer. So in just over a week I am moving back into the neighborhood, which means this here blog should be updated again. So if anyone is listening, here come the trailer tales.....

breaking the long silence...

AWOL. I know. Sadly, blogging fell victim to the final stretch of completing my Master's degree, which I officially completed last month. Of course, life didn't pause for it all. So much has gone on in our home that it is difficult to sum up. Our dear next door neighbors moved to a place far outside of town. We are so glad that they have a more suitable home, but we miss sharing conversation and meals and laughter. Just tonight, Leah and I walked next door to welcome to the woman who is moving in to the trailer they vacated. Another reminder that low-income housing is home to a pretty big turnover rate.



In August, we explored new territory when we had to file a restraining order against a nieghbor who threatened my life one day. Clearly, the process was a new experience for us, and it was a learning time for sure. I now have a sense of how challenging, stressful, and expensive it can be to get protection when it's needed. I can't imagine what it is like for those who need the protection even more than we do, and yet have not even half our resources. And experiencing far more emotional strain than I anticipated, I can't imagine what it is like for those who have to take out restraining orders on loved ones. The situatio was yet another chance to have our eyes opened to the experiences of those in the low-income setting, where a good deal of such issues occur.


Of course, joy has been the biggest factor. We have celebrated birthdays with cakes and gifts and silly string. We have made volcanoes erupt and water balloons burst, and have journeyed to parks and caves and playgrounds. We have caught some mice (and not caught some others), swatted flies, and wiped up spills. It is life, full and rich.




Sadly, I will soon be leaving the precious trailer we call home, moving on to work with the homeless in a town about 4 hours away. It is an exciting opportunity and a great loss all at once. But my roommates will remain and a dear friend will take my place, so I look forward to visits and letters and updates. For now, I hope to continue to update you here as they update me. I know that may beautiful things lie ahead in that place. Continue to pray for us in the transition, and in the promising days to come!

reality bites

Ok, so only if the neighbor's dog was named Reality, which it isn't. The name is Rex. And Rex bites. Rex bites hard.

Rex is a wee little doggie, guarding the neighbor's yard with his equally wee buddy, Maya. The mutts only come up to about my ankle. Yet two of the three roommates have now recieved brutal bruises and teethmarks, sustained through jeans nonetheless. Leah is sole the hold-out, and she is realizing that she is wise just to shout over the gate rather than enter Rex's turf. Because seriously, Rex bites HARD.

But for some of our neighbors, reality does bite. Kids whose fathers are in prison or have been deported. Women who are raising children alone. Teens who are attempting to become adults with no one offering them guidance. Entire families living in less-than-sanitary conditions, unable to stand up to the landlord because they don't have anyplace to go.

It is this last group that is particularly on our minds this week. Most of you will remember that we moved across the street a couple months ago, leaving behind a dilapidated trailer with a mold issue that had left us coughing for months on end. The place is a health hazard. Yet is has come to our attention in the last week that the landlord had no intentions of doing any work on it before placing another family in there. He simply gave the outside a fresh coat of white paint, while the inside remains as unhealthy as when we left it. Never before has the concept of a "whitewashed tomb" been so real to me, friends. He is shining up the outside, while leaving the inside full of death.

We need wisdom in this situation. We cannot, in good conscience, watch a child be moved into that place. Yet speaking up could be incredibly harmful to our own relationship with our landlord. Even if calls made to groups like Code Enforcement are anonymous, there will be no mistaking who initiated them. Pray for us. The Bible calls us so clearly to speak up on behalf of those who can't speak up for themselves (Prov. 31). Pray that we can do this wisely and well.

And while you're at it, pray that none of us gets rabies. Because while God has made our own reality beautiful (even when difficult), Rex just plain bites.

the boys are back in town

May until August...wow. It has been an incrediby busy season for girls of the trailer park. We've done more traveling than we anticipated...Alaska, Russia, Michigan, Oklahoma, Indiana, California, and all around Colorado. Travel remains one of the awkward reminders that we still have one foot in the middle class world, where people have both the time and the money to travel frequently. Needless to say, our busy travel schedules have made it difficult to be consistent in just being at home. Pray for us in that: it is the most important thing to us, and also the hardest. Pray as well that God would constantly draw us to being in prayer about our neighborhood. It's easy for us to forget to sit and be still sometimes!

The summer has been an interesting one with kiddos. For the first couple of months, a few kids were gone visiting other family members, so we had only three kids around (most of the time, only one). Recently, however, all have returned and new ones have showed up, and we are back to having a passel of youngin's running up and down the hall, crawling up the walls (literally), and eating burgers on the porch. The kid we lost to DHS so many months ago showed back up at our door a few weeks ago, bringing with him three other rowdy boys. To see his face again and to hear his mom talk about how well things are going has brought such joy to us. It was a gift we didn't see coming at all.

With the summer heat, Thursdays are about barbecues and trips to the park, about water balloons and squirt guns. In the coming months, the plan is to begin having our adults (all of whom have traveled) share about the countries they have visited (or in many cases, have lived in). This week, we kick things off with a dear friend who spent a year living in China. The goal is this: to continue having fun, while sneaking in some opportunities for our kids to learn and to gain a bigger picture of the world they live in. We'll be moving from Eastern Europe, to Africa, to South America and beyond. I'm so excited for this. One of the things I have noticed most about low-income kiddos is that their perspective on the world is very limited. Their horizons are narrow. Yet there is so much for them to explore, and some many places to dream about! We hope that in gaining a broader picture of the world, their hopes for what the future can hold will broaden as well.

I hope to be more consistent here in the days to come. Either way, I say it again: Thank you for being a part of life in the trailer park. It's a beautiful thing!

new digs

This month's rather big news (and the reason I have been too busy to blog): We moved!

Into a trailer across the street. No more than 50 feet away from the old one.

After too many months of breathing mildewy air and coughing non-stop, we finally sought refuge in a cleaner space. The trailer is actually smaller--three people in 500 square feet--but we have a big, covered front porch and the whole place feels like a nicer place to be.

The process of the move allowed us to see something about one of our landlords: he's a slumlord. In fact, so much so that we started writing new lyrics to "Mr. Sandman"....Mr. Slumlord, bring me a dream. He tried to keep us in the old place no matter how unhealthy, and even the new place had some major issues right away. Crossed wiring, a leaky roof, a stove that the utilities guy said was unsafe, and on and on. This process was sobering for me. I grew up in a mindset that gives me the confidence to assert my rights to safe housing. On top of that, I am not behind on rent, so I don't feel like I have to do anything I can to stay in the good graces of my landlord.

What of those who have not learned to stand up for themselves? What of those who are so afraid of finding themselves homeless that they'll put up with just about anything for a little extra time to get the rent in? I fear the things that neighbors are putting up with, and that our landlord is neglecting in the name of saving money. It calls to mind the scriptural charge to speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves. I reminds me that I need to have my eyes open to those around me who are in need of a voice, and who are bent under the burden of oppression in some form or another.

On an exciting note, our small group community has gone above and beyond to help us transition, to move our junk, and to help with clean up. It has been an amazing portrait of the body of Christ in action. To any of you who are reading, Thanks!

the sanctity of scent

When we first moved into the trailer, I remember that one thing stood head and shoulders above the rest when it came to adding difficulty to the adjustment. The ants?A little annoying. The small space? A bit frustrating. The heat? Somewhat aggravating.

The smell? Completely disheartening. It almost put me in tears several times, and not because it was making my eyes water.

I am learning that there is something sacred about smell. It makes sense even when one looks at it scripturally. God refers to Israel's actions and heart as either a pleasing aroma or a stench to him. Disobedience is literally compared to an offensive smell! And indeed, there is something about smell that touches us in a deep place. Ask a missionary what was hard about adjusting to a new place, and more often than not, you will hear about the odor. Observe a mourning family member with their nose buried in the clothing of the lost loved one, holding on to the scent. Watch the way that a particular smell can bring back memories so vividly that one will laugh out loud or melt into tears.

The rising spring temperatures are beginning to bring out the smells that winter had subdued in our home. Walking into the trailer, we are often stunned to feel our senses offended by a foul stench. More than that, we walk out of the trailer knowing that our clothes smell the same way. It is a little awkward. And I can see it on all of our faces: it is disheartening.

In our society, we make quick judgements based on how someone smells. We go so far as to think of someone as lazy, uneducated, or worthless when they walk in smelling badly. Yet here I am, well-adjusted, a leader in many settings, with an almost-completed master's degree, and I smell the same as those among whom I live. It is such a tangible--and uncomfortable--part of living in solidarity. Sometimes I want to just escape it, to run away and live somewhere where my clothes will smell sweet. Yet I realize how shallow that is in the end. Jesus calls us to lay down our lives for him. Period.

Let us be a people, a group of Christ-followers, who give a second thought to our assumptions about those whose odor offends our senses. Perhaps they have a spouse who smokes, and will not quit despite their pleading. Perhaps they work a job that would make most of us cringe, just because they are committed to feeding their families. Perhaps economic circumstances have forced them into housing that, no matter how clean they themselves are, will forever carry the scent of careless previous tenants.

Ultimately, we must face this: the judgment we hand out is a far greater stench to God than anything or anyone that may cross our paths today.