Tag: Faith

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Perk and Joe

When I was in the hospital a few weeks ago the nurse blew up a plastic glove, drew a carton face on it and handed it over to my two-year old Kolby who promptly named it “Perk.”

I like this name –Perk.

It’s chipper and cheery –rather an invigorating moniker. It reminds me of strong coffee and laughter and liveliness. In a sterile hospital ER, Perk just might be the perfect name for a balloon friend.

Perk had big eyes with long lashes and a five finger-hawk for hair. She was a bit edgy, unpredictable –as far as balloons go and slightly mysterious. In all the craziness of EKG’s and CT Scans, Perk and her friend Joe made my day a little brighter.

Joe was daddy’s creation. The first balloon/glove creature met an untimely pop, so Tim decided to pirate a hospital glove and make his own version.

(I love how both the balloons have coffee references –it’s like these people know me)

Joe turned out to be a survivor. After three weeks, he is still going strong although I do expect to come home one day and find nothing but fizzled plastic and a choking hazard lying where he used to be.

I will always treasure Perk and Joe because they brought me comfort on a scary blue day.

I love balloons!

Their sole purpose on this planet is to garner a smile (please don’t bring up landfills here and rain on my freaking parade).

Balloons are for celebrations and surprises and I don’t know what to say so get yo’ butt better soon!

They are a bundle of “I’m sorrys” in shiny cellophane, vibrant airbags of kisses, and a thousand floating prayers with curly strings.

Balloons mean something.

I imagine Jesus has a few balloons in the back pocket of his purple robe. He probably pulls them out and creates ridiculous balloon animals like rhinos and octopi. I bet he plays around and prototypes new animal creations before dropping them on a remote island to mess with Darwinian scientists.

And sometimes, he helps a little two-year girl in a hospital name her balloon friend Perk to cheer up her mommy.

Jesus is cool like that…

Who can you give a balloon to today?

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Growing up Faith

As we sat down to dinner Monday night of last week, my daughter Faith was on pins and needles.  She wiggled; she squirmed and at one point actually ran out of the room to scream into a pillow.  Her anxiety hinged on the release of the cast list for the upcoming production of the Wizard of Oz. 

“Sometime after seven,” she kept repeating like a robot.  Every second past the hour ticked by in pure agony.

After the meal was cleared, I heard the little ding on my iPhone indicating an email had come in.  I perused the cast list with anticipation, wanting to get first dibs before I shared the good news.  I glanced down and looked for my daughter’s name.  It wasn’t at the top, or the middle and then I started to panic. 

I scrolled and scrolled and somewhere near the bottom Faith’s name showed up as Snowflake and Popular Girl –both non-speaking roles I had never heard of.

What the BAD WORD?

I was more than confused –I was bewildered. I hadn’t been at the audition but I heard through the grapevine Faith had given a solid performance and sang beautifully.  With shuffling feet of regret I took the phone over to Faith and let her read it. 

Her smile was wide and her giggles ecstatic until she couldn’t find her name. 

Dismay spread over Faith’s lovely face.  Tears filled her almond-shaped blue eyes.  She looked up at me and her body started to shake with sobs. 

“Why mommy? Why didn’t I get a good part?” she wailed.

Faith ran up the stairs and slammed the door to her room.  I could hear her heart-wrenching cries and it ripped deep into my gut.  I felt so helpless.  Tim and Kyle and I looked at each other sadly but there were no words to make it better.

I ran upstairs and knocked on her door, slowly moving into the hot pink Roxy themed room she shares with her baby sister.  Faith was hiding under the covers crying with fluffy bunny, teddy bear and a Hello Kitty pillow covering her.  She unearthed her blotchy face and begged to quit the production. 

 
 

After a long drawn out conversation, Faith finally agreed to not make any big decisions until the morning.

Then we rallied.  I made her hot chocolate with a giant mound of whip cream and garnished with a warm Easter Bunny sugar cookie.  Tim ran to the store and came back with a cherry/lemonade Slurpee.

(When in doubt –always go with sugar to cheer up the child)

Eventually the tears stopped and Faith ate her treats quietly and went to bed.

In the morning I hesitantly walked in to her room and she turned and gave me a big confidant smile.  “Mom, I’ve decided to go to rehearsal today.  I’m going to talk to the director about their decision-making process and I’ll do my part to make the show better even if my role is smaller this time.”

I looked around to make sure I had the same kid.  No pre-teen diva in this room.  And then I choked up.

Maturity had descended into our midst.

I started hopping up and down, now energized and exuberant.  “Faith, do you know I am more proud of you than if you have gotten to play Dorothy? You are showing strength of character!  You are amazing!”

Faith’s face lit up like sunshine and she laughed and threw her arms around me. 

I sent her off to school smiling, even though I knew she would have a tough day telling her friends, struggling with emotions and dealing with the inevitable waves of disappointment.

But for a child who has always struggled with self-soothing this time Faith surprised us all.

And even though the play isn’t for a few months, I’m stocking away some funds now for opening night where I plan on having the biggest stinking bouquet known to mankind.

 

Because my Snowflake has STAR written all over her!

 

Flower: Source: google.com via Jess on Pinterest 

 

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Running, Falling and the Important Job of Mommy

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I have a dream. It’s reminecent of the Chariots of Fire triumphal entry. It’s of me crossing the finish line of a half-marathon. My three kiddos and hubby are waiting for me, arms raised and cheering as I sprint the thirteen miles like a bounding pup.

For a non-running type of person, this is about as big as my dream gets.

But even though I’m trying to reach my running goal by unofficially training with a few miles logged each week, my body is defiantly giving me the finger on this one. It’s not that I’m too achy, or injured or even a wuss -which I often am. The truth is I’m a little bit afraid.

Ok, I’m actually terrified to run.

On Sunday morning after a great workout, where I pushed myself and conquered a monster hill with the fifty lb stroller, I collapsed in the shower while holding the baby. One second I was on my feet and the next a freight train hit my head and I lost consciousness. I was aware of falling; of holding Kolby with a vice grip and then I heard in a far off place the thud of her bottom hitting the shower floor. I came to in a heap on my knees slumping over a hysterically crying Kolby.

Panic set in and all I could think about was watching Faith perform at church. It was Faith’s big day helping to lead worship in big church. No seizure or stupid loss of consciousness was going to stop me from watching my middle baby perform.

After drying off and getting us both dressed, I stumbled outside in shock and demanded my neighbors drive the baby and I to church. And then, only AFTER her performance did I let my husband take me to seek medical treatment.

(Thinking about that later, I can see how this might be a little irrational)

Despite the awfulness of it all, the baby (THANK GOD!) was unharmed and besides a few bruises on my knees and right forearm, which took the brunt of the blow, we are ok. After a slew of tests and a CT scan, my brain appears to be mostly normal –except for my usual social awkwardness, although I am on to some more rounds of tests with a cardiologist.

The doctor suggested I might want to add some water into my weekend regimen of coffee, tea, red wine, coffee, coffee and strenuous workout.

This makes sense unless you are a mother of three. I like water, I really do. I just forget to actually drink it.

When I called my mom from the hospital, her first response was hilarious. “Sam, you’ve finally done it.”

Me -“What did I do?”

Mom- “You’ve done too much.”

Me -‘Valid point mom. I’ll work on it.”

Now that I’m home and recovering, I realize the biggest problem (besides not having another episode) is that I’m slightly scarred (emotionally) from the experience.

I realized I have a tremendous fear of leaving my kids motherless. I mean let’s be honest here, who could love them like I do? Who would sing I love you forever to Kolby or get the knots out of Faith’s tangled locks or encourage my strapping son to dominate the football field with one look and our special sign?

Mommy is a very important job.

It was hard to get back in the shower today. I was scared. It was also hard to drive alone. I feel like a first timer quaking in my flip-flops at doing the most normal of things. And I didn’t want Tim to leave for work even though I knew he had to go.

Today I will be doing a lot of things with trepidation. And maybe, if I can work up the courage, I might take a walk.

And tomorrow or the next day, I’ll get back in the saddle, tighten my laces and try to run again and reach my dream.

I’ll just do it afraid.

And I’ll think about hearing “Go Mommy” at the finish line.

______________________________________________________________________________

On a side note, Tim received this e-mail last night from a lady I talked to in the waiting room at the hospital. It was so touching and a gentle reminder, no matter where we go or who we meet, God is always with us.

FYI…I’m Courtney in the scenario below. And Mary, I think you are cool not creepy!

Hi Tim,

This email is pretty random but I was so happy to have been able to track you down through Mariners Church.
We’ve actually never met but yesterday my mom and I sat beside you, your girls, and beautiful wife in the E.R. at Hoag…for a long long time. After you left, your wife and I began to chat a bit. (I believe her name is Courtney but forgive me if I’m wrong. Ever since we left Hoag last evening, I have had Courtney on my heart so strongly. I have been praying for her that her tests results came back with nothing abnormal, and yesterday’s episode proves to be a one time glitch.
It was so nice to pass the time with you guys. After spending just a short period of time with you, I felt pretty certain you were Christians. I love how the Lord’s shows himself in and through the lives of people we come in contact throughout our days. The family of Christ is an amazing thing!
I hope I’m not creeping you out by pretty much stalking you on google but I just really wanted to check and see how Courtney is doing.
I hope you and your family have an amazing Holy week, and celebration of our Risen King!
Love in Jesus
Mary

“Live the life God created you to live.”

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The First Tutu

There is something magical about a tutu.  It’s the fairy tale, twirly princess, cotton candy dream all rolled up into one.  It’s the artistry of Degas, childhood innocence and whimsy in a poufy skirt. 

Add in a two-year old girl with blond curls, sturdy toddler legs and a laugh like the tinkle of angels’ wings –and the essence of the tutu becomes iconic.

My two-year old Kolby has yet to show interest in the Disney princess or flowing gowns.  She prances right past the Cinderella section straight to the stuffed animals and cuddly monsters.

Until today –today was an EPIC girly moment.

Kolby ran to her closet and reached for a lovely ballerina frock her sister wore around age three.  Little hands tugged on the dress.

“Please mommy, I wear this one?” my baby pleaded.

In an instant I had the gown over her head and Elmo t-shirt.  I pinned up the long straps in the back and she stepped into the leotard.  I glanced down at her cherubic face and my heart exploded into spasms of mommy ecstasy.

Kolby carefully stepped down the stairway and made her grand entrance before her awaiting father.  Visions of prom and bridal gowns danced in my head.

She twirled around with a huge smile and exclaimed, “I’m so pretty daddy.”

Daddy agreed with gusto.

Tim and I laughed with glee as my eyes filled with tears while we snapped her photo –and for a brief moment time stopped.

My baby was glorious! 

I’ve thought about it all morning and I can’t get the picture of her out of my head –maybe because it’s more than just a precious little girl, a tutu and a pretty princess day.

I think Kolby captured the heart’s desire of every woman from age two to eighty. 

“Am I lovely?  Do you cherish me?  Am I worth fighting for?”

Questions we strive to find the answers for in all the wrong places.

My heart aches for the journey Kolby has just begun.

But today, for this moment, Kolby found the answer in her daddy’s eyes.

I think I might a need tutu too!

 

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Recalibrating God’s Plan

People keep asking my husband and me if we are knocked up yet.  I’d bemoan the lack of modern civility but since I did post our intent to procreate to the entire internet universe –I might have to own this one and take the hit. 

So, in all honesty I’m a little conflicted now about birthing another child. 

After our recent miscarriage and the most difficult season of parenting I have ever experienced, another baby –even a blond chubby cheeked cutie –represents a future teenager.  And it’s enough for me to hide any atrophied eggs at age thirty-nine I have left when my husband gets that gleam in his eye.

We sensed God telling us to try for another munchkin and we obediently tried.  It didn’t work.  So my thinking is maybe the whole scenario might simply be about listening to God and following his direction.  PERIOD.  And maybe this is where it ends. 

Maybe tragedy can also be MERCY and maybe it doesn’t have to make sense.

Might I need a new equation?

God+ direction=obedience

(Results not guaranteed)

Sometimes the Christian life doesn’t lead to happily ever after and little bow tied Jabez-y blessings.

What if God is more interested in my knowing him and following him than the places and circumstances he leads me to? 

They say life is about the journey and not the destination.  I think it’s about staying on the heels of the trail guide no matter where he takes you.

I think Jesus is more interested in us saying YES to him when he calls, but it doesn’t guarantee what we say yes to will ever come to fruition.  

And isn’t this the mystery, frustration and beauty of the Christian life?

 

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What Not to Name Your Kid

My middle child’s name is Faith. I thought I gave her this moniker because it affirmed God’s grace and our double fisted faith for her safety during an arduous pregnancy.

But God has a sense of humor.

I’ve now realized naming your kid Faith is like praying for patience. You never pray for patience because then God will give you opportunities –terrible, brain numbing opportunities to develop your patience.

Holy Cow! I am so dumb!

I inserted some sort of weird blessing/prophecy on my kid –and now I am getting the chance to get faith like Abraham as my daughter hits puberty.

Like this weekend for example when I headed into the land of Canaan –I mean the Mission Viejo Mall.

We ventured over to Macy’s after church to pick up an Easter dress for Faith. It had to be Macy’s because I have a gift certificate from my parent’s for Christmas and I’m strapped enough to tap into all available resources. I know, I know…what I sacrifice for my kids.

Faith picked out a few dresses and went to try them on. Tim, Kyle, Kolby and I waited outside the dressing room to view the frocks on display as Faith came prancing out.

First dress –It was ok, nothing to write home about.

Second dress –Youza! It was a beautiful color –a sky blue number, silky, and way too grown up. It was seductively subtle, a little too short with tiny spaghetti straps and just a smidgen too low in the chest.

My daughter is already beautiful but in this dress she was dangerous.

And here is where I screwed up.

Faith-“Mom, what do you think?”

Me- “It’s really pretty.” (Rewind and take this back you idiot)

Tim- “It’s too sexy. No way. She is almost eleven not twenty. Not an option.”

Me- “You’re right. Sorry sweetie.”

Faith- “Waaahhhhhhh! Then she ran into the dressing room and sobbed for ten minutes. “You said it was pretty! It’s all Tim’s fault.”

When in doubt, always blame the step-dad.

Me- “No Faith, it’s my decision. It’s a lovely dress but it’s a very sexy dress and not the best one for you.”

Repeat tears and howling wails for another twenty minutes.

I storm out of dressing room with my eye twitching.

During this time I go and purchase a pair of jeans with my son. When I come back Faith is moping and half-heartedly looking for another dress with Tim.

The boys go home and Faith and I continue to look. Finally, about three hours into the shopping nightmare she tries on a gorgeous and modest dress we both like.

Despite it being more money than I want to spend, I buy the darn thing and escape home.

Next time I will bring:

  1. Imitrix for the migraine headache I will leave with.
  2. Anxiety medicine
  3. A Flask
  4. A team of prayer warriors who have previously fasted and have experience with pre-teen demons.

(I’m kidding about the first two)

Upon arriving home, Faith runs up to her room, puts on her new dress and models it for the family.

She twirls in front of us like a lovely princess.

The Compromise...Lovely Faith

Faith- “Isn’t it the most beautiful dress you have ever seen?”

I am staggering, on the edge of tears, frustrated and overwhelmed, “Sure sweetie,” I choke out.

Can someone tell me how to defend my daughter’s honor without going freaking CRAZY?

What I want to say is, “Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Have the confidence to rock your inner beauty. Don’t buy into the world’s lies that sexy defines your worth.”

But it never comes out the way I want and it gets all stuck in my throat. I don’t sound like cool mom I sound like lame mom. And even though I think we have these awesome mother-daughter chats –nothing sticks. She ignores me and forges her own way. I wonder where she got this stubborn trait?

So my friends…this is how I develop faith. I am tested beyond all sanity.

Want to know the really scary part? Kolby’s middle name is Grace.

I can’t wait to develop this muscle.

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Sharing, Closet Space and How to Prepare for Marriage

Give me a drawer for my unborn baby now!

When Tim and I wed the kids and I moved temporarily into his bachelor pad condo with the view of the waves.  At the time, we were looking for a home to buy and figured it would only take a few months to navigate the home buying process. 

We were wrong.

We packed up all the kids’ toys –the Barbie Guitar, the Lego’s and the Nintendo.  All we brought was our clothes, a few books and the lizard –Sean.

But our three-month tour turned into a two-year stay.

Now Tim had a pretty nice shack for a single dude.  The condo had two large bedrooms and an enormous living space all remodeled and state of the art.  There should have been enough room.  But Tim had been single for thirty-six years and all of a sudden he had to make room in his life and his heart for three more (four with the lizard).

Initially, he cleared out a few shelves for me.  After I whined pitifully, he gave the kids a broom closet (less than three feet across and about two feet deep), a dresser to share and then finally cleared out another half-closet for his new bride.  He continued to occupy the walk-in closet, three dressers and the hall closet.

I tried not to make a fuss and make do with this simple and pared down living style.  I don’t have a ton of clothes because I tend to spend my money on the kids and books anyway, and I knew how hard it was for Tim to go from single (AKA self-absorbed) to married and sharing everything.

 But when I got pregnant with Kolby everything changed.

We were still tied-up in a never-ending escrow –eight long months from beginning to end –and didn’t know if we were going to bring the baby home to our new house or squeeze her into the condo.  My nesting instincts were kicking in to high gear and that’s when I went ballistic.

“I don’t even have a drawer for the baby’s clothes!  Wahhhhhhhhhhhh!  

A torrent of tears erupted and two years of frustration poured out of Tim’s sweet little wife.  I threw a pillow at him and some baby socks and wailed like an abandoned child at the mall.

Tim learned a good lesson that illustrious day.

  1. Learning to share starts before you get married.
  2. Living alone is not the best way to prepare for marriage.
  3. Never deny a woman closet space even if she says its fine –inside she is pissed.
  4. When starting out a new marriage, if at all possible, it’s best to move into a neutral space.  The truth is, the kids and I felt like visitors and Tim felt invaded.  A neutral space right off the bat would have alleviated much of the turmoil.

Tim sent me this article by Mark Driscoll and it made me laugh because we experienced some of this in our relationship and its good advice.  “5 Ways to Move from Selfish to Servant as a Single.”

(FYI…It’s not an endorsement.   I agree with about 79% of his stuff and the rest I abhor, so basically I’m conflicted about the dude)

I would add a few things…

Four (More) Ways to Move from Selfish to Servant as a Single (to Prepare for Marriage)

1. Get a roommate

My husband feels strongly about this one.  Tim always had a roommate until the last few months before our marriage and even then it was hard for him.  Guys-specifically get weird living alone.  In a vacuum of no accountability men will act like boys(X-box, porn, endless sports).  Women collect cats.  And you don’t have to share.  Living with people is important for mental health, accountability as a Christian and future interactions with a spouse.

2. Volunteer with small children or teens. 

It will give you perspective on irrational human beings and you will be better prepared for parenting and marriage.

3. Stop hoarding

 Pare down your wardrobe.  Instead of collecting things to gather dust –collect experiences and friendships.  Give away unnecessary stuff to people who need it and will use it.

4. Learn time management now

Even as a single mom with two munchkins I had more time than as a married mother of three.  Every relationship takes time and energy.  If you are struggling to balance time as a single person it will only get worse when you get married. 

 

Do you have any more tips to move from selfish to servant to prepare for marriage?

 

 

 

 

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Teens, Jell-o, and Why Animals Eat Their Young

 

I always thought this quote was terrible –“Mothers of Teenagers Know Why Animals Eat Their Young” and yet now I can honestly chuckle and relate.  OK, I’ve never really thought about eating my kids but military school and/or a nunnery might be an option.

It cracks me up when parents of toddlers and small children insinuate because I have two older children –ten and thirteen along with my two-year old, that parenting must be easier.  I nod my head, hold my tongue and silently think, “Oh boy, you are going to eat those words someday oh parenting Yoda of a one-year-old.”

I’m not sure which part is easy?  I don’t even get the benefits of my kids dressing themselves.  I still have to check every article of clothing my daughter wears out of the house lest a hoochie mama try to slip by.  Then there is my son who tries to pull his pants halfway down his behind and wears jeans so tight skinny could be defined as the new loose. 

I get wrinkles from being up with a cranky toddler all night and then face a daily mental battle from my tween and teen.  Sick babies might be a pain in the you know what but they don’t even come close to the never-ending onslaught of brain cell destruction that parenting older children requires.  I feel like I need a graduate degree in reverse psychology and teen Latin (AKA kid speak) to get by.

How do I get my kids to not do stupid stuff when we all did stupid stuff at that age? 

I cringe when my kid’s start probing into my past.  “Mom, were you pure?  Did you French kiss?  Did you pray every day? How old were you when you first had sex, smoked, and stole your parent’s car for a joy ride on Balboa Island?” (Thanks dad for sharing that information with them)

Ummmmmm?  Is this a multiple choice question?  WWJD doesn’t seem to be cutting it anymore and I can’t repeat the acronym I am really thinking…

Sometimes at night, I hold little Kolby close and breathe in her innocence and thank God she is two.  I smile in delight at her temper tantrums and bossiness and adorable pouty face when she sits in time-out.  And I sing praises every morning because I can still dress her in whatever I want and put girly bows in her baby curls. 

Mostly, I thank God she likes Mommy better than all her friends.  Yeah for me! I appreciate this all the more because I know these moments expire around eleven -give or take a few months.

It’s difficult as a pastor’s wife.  People expect me to do it right and have all the answers.  The truth is, the only thing I have figured out is a reliance on the one who does –Jesus. 

I’m the one in church raising her two wimpy arms high in worship, not because I am spiritual, but because I am begging and pleading for direction.

I literally prostrated myself on the ground of the floor in my closet a few weeks weeping and crying out to for God to guide my family through these difficult years of high school and Jr. High.  Even though I have amazing kids whom I lavishly love and adore, navigating emotions and hormones and temptations is like nailing Jell-O to a tree –pointless and frustrating.

I guess if I am honest, I can thank God for these awkward puberty years too, because it certainly draws me closer to him. 

On my knees close.  Kissing the ground close.  Flat on my face close.

I sure miss the days when a crisis could be resolved with a Hello Kitty band-aid and a kiss.

Do you have teens?  Can you relate?

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Heads, Tails or Fleece?

Got Fleece?

Some decisions are too big to flip a coin over and so we pray and plead and ask the big guy for a sign.  But in marriage this gets a little murkier when one person clearly hears God and yet their spouse remains unsure.

So is the case in the Keller relationship.  We have a big whopper of a choice to make but there has been disparity between the two of us as to when to pull the trigger.  I’d tell you what this big superdeeduper decision is but then I might lose my special agent status and possibly compromise national security. 

Anyway, God was clear with me on the details but fuzzier with my hubby Tim.

We faced one another sitting Indian style on our bed one night (certainly the best way to compromise) discussing the pros and cons of our issue and Tim suggested we ask for  fleece from God. 

Now fleece harkens back to the tale of Gideon in the Bible, who asked for a sign from God after an angel appeared asking him to lead the Israelites in battle against the gnarly Midianites who were terrorizing the Israelite people and forcing them to hide in caves after overrunning their country.

Gideon was understandably freaked out at the angel’s suggestion.   He promised to obey the command: but before commencing the battle he oh so casually requested a sign from God that the Israelites were certain to win the battle.  The sign Gideon asked for was this –that when he laid a fleece of wool on the ground, if the victory was with Israel, then the fleece would be wet and the ground dry.

He placed the wool on the ground, and taking it up the next morning found it wet, although the ground was dry. So he knew God was saying “get your sword out dude.”

But Gideon was still uncertain. He pleaded with God for a second sign. This time the ground was to be wet and the fleece of wool dry. God, who is infinitely more patient than me gave him the desired sign and then Gideon humbly obeyed and went out and kicked some Midianite butt.

Now Tim –just like Gideon –was requesting fleece.  It would appear he was simply asking for a sign, but I know my husband and in the back of my mind, I thought, “OK GOD, YOU HAVE TO PROVIDE FLEECE.”

Maybe a stinky sheep wool sweater or a wet stuffed Easter lamb on the lawn would suffice?  I know how literal my husband is and all the various ways God was clearly speaking to me weren’t making an impact on him.

So I’m on the freeway a few days later and I glance up at this white van in front of me and the license plate reads, “GOT FLEECE?”

It was my Evan Almighty moment!  My burning bush, my donkey talking! YESSSSSS!

Shaking and laughing, I risked peril and near death to reach for my iPhone and snap a few pictures to prove the sign to my husband.

Tim studied the pictures intently that evening and agreed this was indeed a sign.  He gave me that wise pastor look, “Sam, clearly God has spoken through a van on the 5 freeway.”

But then Tim (being Tim) smiled at me and said tongue in cheek, “Ok, now we wait for a second sign.”

Jinkies!  I know my husband is willing to follow whatever God calls him to do, I mean the man left his six-figure corporate income to go into ministry.  But come on…recognize the awesomeness of the van!

But then I am reminded how in marriage we don’t always see eye to eye and his quest for clarity might be a gift from God to balance out my more spontaneous nature.

Ok Jesus, got anymore dry fleece?

 

 

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The Homeless and the Role of the Church

“Excuse me, are you in charge?” I asked the elegant woman who was setting up a serving table of hot pasta and bread.  A long line of people snaked around the corner and were already pushing and shoving, impatiently waiting to be fed. 

I smiled and stuck out my hand which she ignored.

“Why?  What do you want?” she responded snappishly.                                                                         

“It’s our first time here.  We’re from Mariners Church in Mission Viejo and we brought some food and clothes too and we don’t want to get in your way.”

The lady rolled her eyes at me and turned her back.  “Do whatever you want,” she barked.”

I was confused.  I had just arrived at the park near the courthouse in Santa Ana notorious for its large homeless population.  Why did this churchy lady who was supposed to be helping the poor act like I was a dog pooping in her yard? 

It wasn’t about a lack of need.  The need was OVERWHELMING.  There were about two hundred people in the small park meandering around.

My group chose another spot on the opposite side of the lawn and set up our tables.  Within seconds another fifty people were crowding around us.  I asked my Marine friends to stand guard while we tried to find a modicum of organization amidst the chaos. 

All of a sudden a frustrated homeless man started shouting there were scammers crowding to the front of the line.  He yelled out “They ‘aint homeless!  You come here to feed us cuz we got no homes and they take all our food and go home to their houses.  They are cheating.  They’re going to steal the clothes you brought for us and sell them at garage sales AT THEIR HOMES.”

Certain faces in the crowd –certain VERY clean faces stared at the ground in shame.

We did our best.  We tried to bring the folks with tickets from the police for sleeping outside to the front of the line and help them out first.  People argued and shoved and I tried to be stalwart when my heart-felt like a squishy noodle.

A little later some of the homeless girls I was chatting with pointed to a woman with four nicely dressed children taking off with about six bags of our clothes. They claimed she was a known garage sale scavenger and in her arms was my prized collection of baby clothes. 

NOOOOOO!

They were Kolby’s first sleepers and handmade diaper cloths and I actually cried while packing the bags –trying so hard to trust God and to let go of stuff. 

And now here was this lady –this garage sale troll stealing my baby clothes from the people in need to sell them for profit. 

So I confronted her.  She played dumb and pretended to not speak English and I stood there feeling pissed off and helpless. 

Do I take my clothes back or do I trust God for justice?

And so I let them go but my spirit started churning.

When I got home I debriefed with my husband and he explained the reason why the other church didn’t want us at the park was because they make the homeless sit through a gospel session before they are allowed to eat.  And here we were just giving away food and clothes for free.

How dare we intrude with no agenda?  No Jesus shoved down their throats.  We had the audacity to just hang out and meet a microcosm of the need at hand.

It makes me sick to my stomach and yet…

I want to go back with a desperation I don’t understand.  I am dying to return to this septic tank of poverty where people are robbed and beaten up for the clothes we just gave them.  Where the homeless are force-fed Jesus by stupid and obtuse churches.  Where predators exploit the poor and use the system to get free inventory for their garage sale business.  And people without homes are treated like criminals and ticketed while the corrupt steal from them daily.

I want to go back to see Gloria who was so sick she could barely stand and to hang out with Princess who fled an abusive husband and to connect with Joe, the sweet filthy man who did everything he could to take care of his friend before helping himself. 

Joe pointed up to the sky as I left and then pointed to me.  I smiled weakly, not really feeling very Christ-like.  I was furious and resentful at the unfairness of life.

And in this awful place where I wonder where God is…maybe Joe reminded me. 

Sometimes it’s just about showing up.

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