Comfortably Uncomfortable

Brad and I have been working hard to pay down debt and really work on a budget. It's going well and we've tackled a lot that makes each month easier to enjoy. We set aside 10% and put it in our giving fund so that if we find someone or some cause that has a need, no problem, just give! It's great and really freeing...and then it's not.

The more I give, the harder it is to pass someone who needs something and not feel like I could do more. Last Sunday, I was getting a treat. Brad decided to take the boys out for a movie which meant I had at least the next two and a half hours to myself. I sat down and watched mindless TV. I picked the house up a bit and it stayed that way, and I decided to treat myself to a Target run. It was a rainy Sunday and I think everyone had run to Target just to have something to do.

That's when I saw him. Wearing a coat that wasn't keeping off much rain, and sharing a sign that said, "1 wife, 2 kids. No money for the bills." And I started to think, "God, why do you do this to me?" Here I was just trying to have a relaxing, carefree time without my kids and now I've got to decide if I think this man is worthy of my money. We have all been there. What if they just use the cash for booze and cigarettes? Why hasn't this person gone through the vast assortment of helplines our city offers? Why do I have to make this decision?

See, I'm a Christ-follower and these questions always cross my mind but almost in a nano-second the words from Jesus also flood my brain, "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me." And then I look ahead at all the people heading into Target to spend endless dollars on the dollar bin, a Starbucks drink, and many things that were not a need but a want. Heck, that was what I was going in for, just a want, because I can, I have no worries if my bills will get paid this month. And that's when I realized, if the man was still there, I had to just err on the side of love. I didn't have a lot of cash but I had $10. I will admit I spent much more than that in Target and didn't bat an eye.

I've had these same predicaments a lot lately. I see a lot of patients that are homeless and when you hear there stories, there's just so much hurt. Even the ones who do drugs and booze, there's a child of God under all the substances. When we went to San Francisco and the beggars on the street were everywhere, it was almost paralyzing. The least of these keep showing up in my comfortable life and making me uncomfortable. I could choose to ignore them, but I can't. I just don't see anywhere in scripture that makes it clear to leave these people behind. In fact, I think the disciples were probably uncomfortable all the time with this Jesus. He would stop for lepers and prostitutes. He would tell stories about those that society left behind. He's changed me. And as much as I don't like it, handing that man $10 and praying for him as I drove away through the murky afternoon, made me realize that maybe he wasn't going to use that money for good, but maybe Jesus could use that money through him to do something good. That was my prayer.

These next few weeks are particularly hard for me because the American expectation is to spend, spend, spend. I like to do it too because I'm buying for other people and it makes me feel good. But I know that none of my people are truly in need. And when I think of all those that just want a warm place to sleep or socks that cover their feet, I can't help but feel guilty. That's the other emotion that isn't fun to experience. I work hard to have the money I have, but if I tell the truth to myself, I have more than I need and there's a bit more to go around. I'm living a comfortably uncomfortable life. It's the life that devoting myself to Christ has prompted me into. So you can call me naive or think it's stupid for me to give the bum a buck, but I challenge you to take a little and figure out how that little could go a long way. And maybe more of a challenge, look someone in the face and give them a little of your time and money. Tip that waitress a hefty $50 and leave a note saying, "hoping this helps with your holiday!" We do this around Christmas every year and I love watching the reactions! Because when you do onto the least of these and see how proud you've made God, it's hard not to feel the glory of the kingdom here on Earth! Living the comfortably uncomfortable life isn't easy but it's clear that my uncomfortable-ness is nothing compared to the plight of some of my brothers and sisters in this world. So, I'm just getting more comfortable with being uncomfortable!

Stealing Skittles and Keeping Curfew

First let me set the stage of this past weekend. Potty training child #2, the free-thinker, the whimsical, carefree kid who could poop in his pants until age 30 and probably not care. We tried to build it up as this great feat that would be rewarded by precious and indulgent amounts of Skittles. He didn’t care. He’s a bit like that Youtube video about the Honey Badger. What we didn’t factor in was that child #1 couldn’t wrap his head around not getting rewarded for his bathroom accomplishments. The Skittles became a forbidden fruit, only allowed to be eaten if you were new on the underwear scene. And of course, it wasn’t fair!

Child #1 has started his sneaky phase recently. He will do something he knows he’s shouldn’t, then quickly tell us he’s sorry before admitting the wrong-doing. I must admit, I’m impress he’s mastered this skill at such an early age. He’s also like an addict when it comes to candy and goes out of his way to get his loot. So it came as no surprise Saturday night as I stepped out of a much needed shower (potty training is not so cleanly) that I heard Brad bellow below, “What were you just eating?!?” I knew it was the Skittles. The kid had eyed them all day, and to be honest, I was surprised it had taken him that long to get them off the counter and into his mouth.

As I came downstairs, I could hear the battles of wills still taking place. Father versus son in a “what is right” and “what is wrong” clash. For a moment, I was glad it wasn’t me this time with the voice elevated and for a moment I also thought the raised voice might be the approach to take with the situation. If this child knew how mad and disappointed I was with him, surely he would understand that next time I would be just as disappointed. But sometimes Grace swoops in and gives you some clarity on the matter at hand.

As I saw my son crying and truly upset because he got caught, my mind quickly fast-forwarded to conversations we have yet to have, to levels of trust we have yet to instill. I saw a 16- or 17-year-old version of this child racing home along the winding roads of Chattanooga at top speed trying to make curfew so he didn’t have to tell us he wasn’t paying attention to time or he wasn’t doing what he was suppose to. I have heard the horror stories where things like this end in tragedy, all for the sake of rules and with no thought to the value of a child being honest. It was that vision that made me realize that more than anything, I want my kids to know that I value the truth. Their admittance to the mistake is what I am asking and the consequences will be dealt out as necessary. But in this moment I wanted him to know that it was his truth that mattered most.

He’s going to make mistakes in this life, I can’t prevent that. But I want to be the one who he comes to to help him problem solve the huge things. I want him to know that when there’s something big, like he’s depressed or he’s questioning his sexuality, that I value knowing that and I want to be a confidante in that moment. I want him to feel like when he’s made a mistake, he will face consequences but I don’t love him any less for it. And this goes for both my boys. #1 and #2 will come from the same starting points but their paths will look so different and there is no cookie-cutter response to any given problem. I also am not delusional enough to believe that I am going to know everything and every struggle my children will face. I just want to keep that pathway available so they never feel that they've got no way to be honest with me. 

Parenting is tough and the decisions we make in these early stages set a foundation for many years to come. I don't take this task likely, but I also don't take myself too seriously because I'm not going to have these graceful moments too often. However, I'll count this one as a gift, as insight, and as an example of the parent I would like to be even when I'm up to my eyeballs in potty-training and Skittles stealing!

Christmas Cookies and Holiday Hearts (and songs on the radio)

That was a title of a Christmas song we sang in elementary school. I can still sing all of the tunes we belted out before our admiring parents and grandparents at the yearly Christmas program at my (gasp!) public school. I love Christmas and all that it symbolizes: the family getting together, exchanging gifts with those you love, celebrating the birth of Christ. Christmas has always been my favorite holiday because it always felt like the world had a little more joy and togetherness. Was that true or was I in a childhood stupor that only let me see the wonders while my parents fretted about all that had to be done? 

I realize Christmas has taken on a whole new meaning these days. I saw decorations in stores in July! And this ploy is only to make money, the absolute contradiction to the true meaning, yet we can’t seem to pull ourselves away from the Black Friday sales or the Amazon deals. There’s nothing stopping us from a simplified Christmas, but we choose to ignore that call from our conscious and keep the blinders on to keep up with the Joneses. I admit I fall right in this whirlwind of "have to get" when really we all know we just ask for the things we want, someone buys those exact things, we ask what they want, and repeat with everyone in your family. Who has time to figure out a gift?!? Brad jokes, "We should all sit down at a table and exchange the amount of money...just pass $25 to the left!" Okay, I'm stopping this train of thought right now. This is a blog post in another blog post. 

But back to that Christmas music or the start of this Christmas season. I’m a strong proponent for the start of holiday tunes, and let me tell you the reason why. A long time ago when I was a distraught freshman at Duke University, a thousand miles from home, failing my Calculus course with flying colors, feeling like a speck in this great big world, the end of the semester looming and one brave radio station in the Raleigh-Durham area decided to play Christmas music starting November 1^st. I was sad and scared because I really didn’t want to fail Calculus and start my college career with an F on the grade-point average. But then these familiar tunes that brought up my most beloved memories from childhood started playing on the radio and the reminder that this too was going to pass and I would be home enjoying my Christmas with my family gave me some solace to those awful cramming sessions.

Daily, from November 1^st until I took that wretched final in calculus (the very last exam given during the exam week, thanks Duke!), I would get in my car, turn to that radio station and find home again. That was a big deal when you are literally the new kid on campus and are surrounded by geniuses who were basically taking the Calculus course for an easy A.  And when it was finally the week after Thanksgiving, I would still get in my car and listen to Bing Crosby’s White Christmas while traveling into subdivisions looking for Christmas lights.

So to all you nay-sayers who hate that Christmas is just too early, I agree...to a point. Sometimes Christmas music being played is more than just a tactic to ramp up the economy, sometimes it is someone’s saving grace, sometimes it is where that little lost soul feels home again. So don’t look at me funny when I pull up next to you singing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen (Barenaked Ladies version, of course). Just know that my soul is comforted by these songs and memories and it pushes me forward to create memories, not gifts or cheapened versions of the true essence of a manger with a baby who would rock this world’s socks off. It stirs the creative juices of my parenting trying to figure out how to create these memories for my kids. So I’m not judging the Christmas music, I’m singing right along! 

Bad Days

You know that song, the one that I will now have stuck in your head for the rest of the day? “You had a bad day, you’re taking one down, you sing a sad song, just to turn it around…” Yep. That’s the one! Today feels like a bad day. My children didn’t want to get out of bed this morning, or dressed, or eat. And maybe they sensed that this would be a day to just ride it out at home.

It didn’t get better as I drove to work. The rain started before daybreak this morning and people apparently took the opportunity to test out their NASCAR driving skills through slick conditions. As I neared the main road into work, the red tail lights blazed. Stuck. I listened to the radio, figuring that if I was going to sit in a standstill, I was going to live it up! Then I heard the sirens, first an ambulance, then a fire truck, then a rescue squad SUV. Maybe it was the sirens that finally snapped me out of my disgruntled mood. Someone up ahead had a morning that they didn’t intend to have. Someone up ahead could have just experienced a life changing event. Here I was, a bit inconvenienced by this time in traffic but someone else was having a “real” bad day.

It got me thinking. Bad days are like mini trips down the depression path. They can gang up on us and make us feel like we are going through some really crappy stuff, and sometimes we are. But then sometimes we just need some perspective. Today seemed like a bad day to me, but I also learned that a friend from college was going to court to find out if the two sweet babies she and her husband have been raising are going back to their biological family. Another friend was sitting in a hospital not being able to eat, suffering because a medicine that was suppose to help her chronic illness went awry and was causing an acute infection. And then I passed the accident scene that I was slowly creeping toward, and saw the car top sawed off by the jaws of life and 10 paramedics lifting a board to a gurney on the road. Bad day perspective was starting to enlighten me.

My family has been through some bad days lately. It’s not that we should always have this perspective of “someone always has it worse” and if I hear one more person say, “God never gives us more than we can handle.” I’m going to scream. Because the truth is, some people get a whole lot more than they can handle every day. They sometimes get the top layer of junk removed only to have another load dumped on them within a few moments. God gave us hope, perspective, and he also gives us moments to draw joy from. Those are times of grace, those are gifts that we are to unwrap in the hardest times. And hard times are common. We have been studying Ann Voskamp’s 1000 Gifts at church and it takes this stance that we all have some hard life to go through, each in his or her own way, but if we can be thankful and see the small bits of hope in the dark times, it allows us to enjoy the truly good times where we can throw those cares away and just full-out live.

As we were talking about this grace in even the bad days, I realized that when I have been at my worst, I’ve been only able to see the bad stuff and fantasize about someone else’s seemingly perfect life. The bad seemed to generate more bad, and it was always hard to gain any perspective. That’s why it’s so essential to see the amazing little moments that make up this wild, crazy world. God gives us the ability to gain some perspective if we live it daily. If we are in the practice of noticing and being thankful for the little things: our children’s health, our full refrigerators, a warm embrace by someone who loves us just the way we are, we have the secret to defeat a bad day before it becomes a bad week or bad month or bad year. This is so much harder than just succumbing to the crud that can invade the beauty in a moment, but when we can recognize the sweet parts in the insanity, it doesn’t seem quite so ominous. So today, my goal is to armor myself for the bad days that will surely come, to drink in all the sweetness that life gives to me today, so that darkness cannot be around for too long. Grace in the bad days.   

The Red Bricks

I see them as I round the bend of the road, leaving the affluent downtown apartments behind. The large red brick structures peak around the corner. Most pass these by on their way to the “safer” neighborhood jobs. Most dare not make the turn I make every day. But I do, each morning Monday through Thursday. I pull down Grove Street into one of the housing projects of Chattanooga. There are always a few out and about, kids waiting for the buses, mothers there to watch that nothing happens in these early morning groups. I pull in, always check around me, and lock my car doors as I enter our clinic.

I’ve been working in this small clinic in the projects for going on 4 years now. It has been the best job I’ve ever had. It has also given me a completely new view on life. I see patients who have grown up in the projects, 40 year-olds that are grandparents, 20 year-olds who are seeking out disability. I see girls beat up by their boyfriends, and people who haven’t seen a doctor in 10 years but should have started seeing one 11 years ago!

I struggle with wrapping my mind around this type of poverty, this cycle of babies being born to mamas who are babies themselves. I struggle because I have never had to worry as I lay my head down that gun shots will ring out in the night. I’ve never had to worry about being without food or gas or a roof over my head any days of my life thus far. I’ve never had to worry that my husband is going to fly off the handle and his solution to the problem is going to be using a gun on me, or the one whose anger the bullet will penetrate.

It’s hard for me to listen to people fuss about how all these people are lazy, not trying, unworthy of help. People are poor and life is hard, but a job is not always a solution to every problem, and the desire to do better is not lost, but often the means are harder than us rich people realize. I wonder what I would do if my mom wasn’t at home most nights, if I had sole responsibility of myself and siblings at the tender age of 7, if our paycheck was barely going to cover the light bill and there were still 20 days left in the month to cover things like food, transportation, or medical bills. It’s not that easy to “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” when there aren’t any boots around.

I know one can argue, there are programs, and supplements, and this, that, and the other. But the truth is, who tells these people about all this? It’s not like they get a packet in the mail saying “You have nothing. You Qualify for ­­­_______". Do you know how many forms my patients have to fill out to qualify for one free medication? I’ll let you know, your hand would cramp by the end. Add into that a limited ability to read and write, and some of this stuff is down right overwhelming. Not to mention, rules change, people with power stop programs without notice and don’t bother to tell anyone affected by it. I imagine if I were constantly having to be told what to do, how to do it, change my plans, or not have any plans, I would be disgruntled too. Do you like people telling you what to do?

One night, as I was descending from the office door down the red brick steps covered with teenagers (because we have free internet), I noticed a little boy about 5 years old. I smiled and he hid his eyes, like boys of that age do sometimes. As I was nearing him a much older man, in his 40s, called out, “Hey little man! How you be?” The boys head sunk lower and his teenage cousin’s response was, “Man, everyone knows my cousin!” My mind careened through all the reasons this little boy would know these grown men. None of these thoughts were for good reasons. And so my heart breaks a little bit every day, because there is suffering endured by so many that never gets thrown into the equation of poverty. But the miracle in this is that people keep on. There is joy down in these red brick buildings too. My heart fills up again when someone lets out a long sigh of relief when they know that I am here to truly take care of them. It fills when the kids group that meets in our clinic learns about God’s love and how it’s unconditional while everything else in their world is full of conditions.

Each night, I leave this red brick jungle and I say a prayer. I pray that tonight no violence will erupt. I pray that little children’s bellies are full. I pray that my older patients can sit on their porches without being harassed, and I pray that there are people in places that I don’t know about working to change a very broken and abused system. I’ve learned in a few short years that survival of the fittest may mean trying to get money any way you can, government or otherwise. I’ve learned that you are treated much differently when you don’t have money, a name, or a job (and maybe even worse when you do have a job because try surviving on minimum wage and getting decent healthcare with no benefits).

Each night, after I leave and pray and drive to pick up my children from their expensive daycare and drive to my safe neighborhood, I worry that I might be part of the problem. I consume and take for granted lots of luxuries that are a given part of my life and may not be a given for someone else’s. I take for granted driving to the store, buying groceries that I want, having the ability to constantly communicate with anyone I desire via Ipad, Iphone, or internet. But I’m becoming more aware. I realize I don’t have to travel to another nation to see poverty and injustice, because it is sitting outside my office door. I still feel a bit immobile or paralyzed in all of this, but as I’m becoming more entrenched in the culture and community, I become more impassioned. I know God has called me to the red bricks because He’s here…it’s just hard to see him always. He’s in the least of these and there are a lot who fit that description. I cannot turn my back on a person just because I feel that they are squandering resources or living life poorly. I cannot make that judgment, because I wouldn’t want that judgment made of me.

So next time you find yourself driving next to the old brick buildings on “that” side of town, send up a prayer, search your own heart a little bit to see behind the bricks into the lives of those who suffer greater things than you can ever imagine, who don’t have the stability to know what tomorrow will hold, who just want to have someone tell them, “I’m on your side, I’m here for you.” You don’t need to be anyone special to care, you just have to leave the boxes we’ve constructed out of our ideals, luxuries, and attitudes and recognize that we are all in this together.  

Why I'm throwing the "Old Ball and Chain" Out!

Today we are in Nashville for the wedding of two close friends. I love going to weddings because it is always a time when I think about my own marriage. Upfront I want you to know that I have a great marriage.  Brad and I put a lot of work in upfront, with pre-marital counseling and living away from our family the first few years of marriage, to get to this point. We became a married couple before we became parents, which worked well for us because we needed to know each other’s strengths and weaknesses before we took on parenthood.  But like everything else in life, it’s not perfect. We get ridiculous every now and again. My big, loud mouth likes to be heard and mainly that leaves me unable to listen over my own dull roar. Then there are days that I get overwhelmed and feel underappreciated as I clean the kitchen, bathroom, and living room for what seems like the 50^th time this week all for it to look like Sherman’s March had occurred shortly after I left the area.  These times are not the majority, but I wonder sometimes if my friends think they are.  You see, like many people, I join in the banter, or maybe I should call it bashing, of my spouse when I’m out with friends and acquaintances.

Brad is a pretty amazing guy. In fact, there are several days where I sit and think, “God, I’m lucky because a lot of people search for their perfect match and I’ve found mine!” But when I’m around my friends, especially if it is just women, the “ball and chain” mentality seems to emerge. I start complaining about how he’s this or that and why hasn’t he mastered the art of mind-reading so he can do all the things I’m secretly trying to convey to him through ESP. Then the explosion of other wives and girlfriends tends to chime in too. It’s easy to point out our significant other’s flaws. It’s easy to nitpick about all the things that don’t get done, but it is so much harder to stay positive, to illuminate the amazing person, dad, and husband that he is.

Now don’t get me wrong, there are times when sometimes I need to vent about my angst that the car keys are yet again upstairs in his pants pocket whilst I’m running late for work. But there are so many opportunities to speak to the love, dedication, and work that Brad puts into our marriage, but they go unsaid. It’s discouraging to me the mockery we make of marriage. We think we can berate it, make it a big joke, and that it’s socially acceptable because everyone else is doing it. Meanwhile, these little jabs and pokes by our sharp tongues are slowly breaking our unions apart.

I’m lucky because I get called out on the meanness (very politely) when we are out and I say something that just rips at his spirit. I didn’t realize how easy it was to “ball and chain” my marriage, when it is so many more things. Men don’t get off the hook here either.  I’ve heard plenty about So and So’s wife nagging them to death, making their life miserable, and shopping too much. And that’s how we portray our beloved to the world! Yikes! Is it a wonder that we don’t respect marriage so much anymore? We barely respect each other!

Marriage is hard enough. Some days we don’t say nice things to each other at all. Sometimes the irritation blinds me to the wonderful things I have. Sometimes the kids have driven me crazier than normal and I cannot be around another living being because my soul has been sucked away for the day. But that day is not to be categorized into the back of my head to be brought back up during several more occasions or to get a good laugh at my husband’s expense.

I am the queen of put-downs and as I said, I get called out on it. I do it mainly in groups, trying to impress, and Brad has definitely said, “You said, X, Y, Z and that isn’t okay.” I’m really trying. I’m not very good at it yet. It’s so easy to make a joke or put someone else down for my own gratification. OMG! Am I a bully? This is another whole blog post waiting to happen. What I am, is lucky enough to have a marriage where I can be told this and not hold it against him. Because I still struggle with this, I try to be more sensitive to this in groups and situations. I still share in the snowball of husband-bashing occasionally, but I’m really try to stop and say something positive, to stand up for my side-kick through life.

The truth is, our marriage is fortified when we brag on each other in public. Just like we show our kids a united front, we have to show each other that we are in this together.  I know I like getting complimented, recognized and loved on, and so does my husband. It means even more if I’m willing to share that with the rest of the world. And really, the reaction, the edification that matters is his, not my friends’, not my family’s. So when he’s caught me bragging on him a bit I see a gleam in his eyes, his chest swells a little, and his posture changes. And I wonder for a split second if he can read my mind. If we have finally reached a point where I can just look at him and he knows I love him and his thoughts have become my thoughts. But then I see the t-shirts are still on the bedroom floor and I realize maybe I just need to ask him to pick them up!  

Summer Camp...Revisited

I loved going to summer camps. I would make these friends that were from another city or state and they were just awesome! It was not uncommon, back in the day, to cry about how much we would miss each other and spend the next few weeks after camp writing letters to each other, only to lose touch and return to the friendships that were most convenient in our towns and classrooms. But then you'd see that campmate again the next summer and it was like no time had passed and the boy-chasing and gossiping would resume in no time.

This past week I have been at a continuing education conference. I came childless, husbandless, and really planning to just attend the lectures and veg out at night with no one to take care of but myself. But a wonderful thing happened, and a thing that so often fails to happen as we age out of the "summer camp days" and into the "real adult world days," I made a friend! We are in the same profession, have kids around the same age, work in the same town and just had never crossed paths. We had time to have lunches and dinners together. We got to know a lot about our kids, husbands, how we made it to this point in life. It has been wonderful!

What I realized is how infrequently this happens at this stage in my life. Sure I meet new people and at what seems to be a snail's pace, we may get to know each other or start to decipher if we fit in each others' busy schedules. Gone are the days where you get to bunk together and share meals and laughs and tell scary stories before lights out. It was so easy to make friends when you were contained in these little summer microcosms. This same quick introduction into friendship happened in college and PA school when it was clear we were all in the same boat of the unknown. But as a working adult, these new friendships are few and far between.

I realize that, although I came looking for solace and downtime and just a chance to watch whatever I freakin' wanted to on TV, sharing a moment with another person is so much more fun and fulfilling. I would've been bored out of my mind by day 2, but instead I had a dinner buddy, a shopping partner and a wine sampling compadre. And the great thing is, I still feel rejuvenated. I got a girls' weekend out of my trip and a friend that I can actually look forward to getting together with when I return home.

I know my summer camp days, the way I knew them to be, are gone. And I know that in today's world of busy-ness, it's easy to shut off the cordialness towards other human beings. But it makes me wonder if I'd never said hello or struck up a conversation if I would've had so much fun this week? I'm glad I didn't have a chance to find that out!