Get On the Bus!

     I love kids...especially when I finally join them in their age appropriate wave length and we connect.  Eyes light up, imagination runs rampant, and we become co-conspirators in a huge game that only we two, or three or four...know.  Last night was like this.  It was in the middle of Steve's talk of a verse in Isaiah to our potluck group, about 8 neighbors who ate spaghetti together, carried around Marge's baby and chatted about our favorite topics.  Well, lately, the 3-4 little ones (ages 3-5) have been hungry for action (and noisy!)...slamming doors, each other and "washing" dishes...and each other.  Somehow I got this brain wave to get the 4 kid chairs in a line and play bus.  "Get on board!" I said to them, not too loud so Steve's audience could focus on what he was saying.  Instantly I had three customers, sitting in the chairs behind me.  They looked at me expectantly.   "How about McDonald's?" I asked them.  Sure, they were game and off we rode.  I must have been pretty animated, 2 neighbors watched me with grins and I wondered how I looked bumping around and pressing the "gas pedal" now and then, letting kids off.  Hadn't thought of the adult factor!
     For nearly half an hour we played, then they wanted to be the bus driver, then they put the baby in his carrying seat in front and laughed as they imagined him driving!  I have not had the pleasure of "play" in its purest form, for a long time.  I have actually been in a serious, troubled state...angry at filthy rooms and suites, at poverty mindsets, at uncaring society especially in a season of plenty.  When good times and feelings roll, where you buy and don't count the cost...whether from duty or love, where vacations are gone on and those who can't vacate, stay and struggle in loneliness and often painful circumstances.  I am heavy, I am guilty and limited.  I am human...I want a vacation!  I don't have all the answers!  If I have to change one more bed bug trap, or consider one more tenant we have to evict because of it, I think I'll die!  There are too many tensions, limits, agonizing decisions, people that need care.  And yet, I think I hear His voice calling through it all.  Last night it was a child's voice, "go sit down on the chair, I want to drive you to McDonald's".  I had to laugh, McDonald's?  When all the world is going to pot (lately literally, the smell is all over the place!), this 3 year old wants to drive me to McDonald's?  What a wonder and a delight...I notice the baby is smiling so broadly, I can't help but be caught up in their "in the moment" delight.  And she keeps driving, and the baby keeps smiling, and I lay down my cares for the rest of the evening and join in.
     I just read a small story called "Sharon's Christmas Prayer" by John Shea, in the book "The Holy Longing" (Ronald Rolheiser).  This is what I'm talking about;

She was five,

sure of the facts,

and recited them 

with slow solemnity

convinced every word

was revelation.

She said

they were so poor

they had only peanut butter and jelly sandwiches 

to eat

and they went a long way from home

without getting lost.  The lady rode

a donkey, the man walked, and the baby

was inside the lady.

They had to stay in a stable

with an ox and an ass (hee, hee)

but the Three Rich Men found them

because a star lited the roof

Shepherds came and  you could 

pet the sheep but not feed them.

Then the baby was borned.

And do you know who he was?

Her quarter eyes inflated

to silver dollars.

The baby was God.

And she jumped in the air

whirled round, dove into the sofa

and buried her head under the cushion

which is the only proper response

to the Good News of the Incarnation.

West End Ghetto

     "Oh, I didn't want to live in the West End ghetto.  I'd really like to get a place across Portage....." mused the lady on the other end of the telephone line.  I didn't relate to her the rising anger bubbling in my chest, but tried to sound pleasant, "well, we do have quite the community here."  Disappointed with this prospective tenant, I hung up the phone a little p.o.'ed.  She had agreed to meet with us, as she had wanted a transfer out of her apartment somewhere in Winnipeg to somewhere a little quieter.  We have an open suite, but I started having second thoughts.  Would I want this type of attitude simmering next door?  I thought of Hilda from last week, who is toughing it out at Siloam Mission and would love a chance to have an apartment like ours.

      The West End Ghetto.  I forget that a lot of people in our city have this view of my (our) neighborhood. I've lived my whole married life here, raised my kids here and cannot say enough about the incredible opportunities for community here.  I even recommend people to move into our apartments!  We had a tenant/New Life workday the other weekend and 15 people came to scrub baseboards, clean weeds and garbage and generally chat it up for 3 hours.  It was a blast.  We have tenants like Larry, Diane, Annabella, and Chanda (with 2 young ones in tow) that will pitch in for the benefit of all their block.  That's something, that creates community, dignity, 'we care about our place and our neighbors' kind of feel..  If this is a ghetto, I like it, I wish more neighborhoods were like it.

     So, if you ever are looking for an apartment in Winnipeg, I'd recommend "The Ruth" here on Maryland, or our other fine block.  If you look elsewhere, you may get a nice looking, quiet place, neighbors that leave you alone but mind that you may miss out on community, neighbors that care, a neat church next door and a purpose behind it all.

     

Hilda

     I needed silence today.  I had opened myself to many groups, conversations and senarios since Friday and it is Monday, and I longed to have a half hour of sweet silence, no one around, to think, to just let my brain be unconnected to my heart for awhile.  Going to our empty church building on Maryland, I found just that.  I lit my "Christ-candle", meditated on the Psalm I've put up on my office wall behind it and chilled.
     After a couple of hours, I was packing up my things to leave.  Outside on the steps a "bag lady" was coming up to our door.  2 plastic bags and a steel pull cart with things packed in it.  She opened the door (darn, I thought it was locked!) and looked in and around till she saw me.  Can't kick her out now, I thought....what a bad thought!  Out loud I said, "Can I help you?".  That began an hour and a half dialogue.
    Her name is Hilda.  She has long, white hair, clear eyes and a cute smile.  She told me she was a tenant of Manitoba Housing for 15 years until she was evicted for being behind on her rent.  Apparently, she had paid rent diligently but on the wrong day, for a long time without being notified that it was actually working against her....I wasn't sure what that all meant, but she has lost her apartment, furniture, and perhaps her job and has gone to Siloam mission to stay nights.  Her mind works like a lawyers' detailed and specific (on many other inner city issues that we covered), and wants to address this and other injustices, but needs stable housing and to continue her job.  I told her to apply to our management company and we'll look into her circumstances and need.  For some reason, I believed her (I've heard other stories of bad management) and hope she gets in our buildings.  Others may write her off, or question her story....I can't yet, until proven guilty.
     I was talking about this with a friend later today, and he laughed...."something doesn't add up here", he said, "I'm not saying she's not telling the truth but there are always two sides to the story.  People down here usually have 2 or 3 lives, and show the one they want, to get what they want."  I gave him that, we've seen it before, but that first meeting, it's almost like you want to give them a chance, to believe them and help them up, help them out. If she applies, she'll meet 2 other New Lifers and we'll chat and decide together to accept her into our buildings, of course there is a process.  I told my friend that.  "Yah, you're right."  And then I reminded him of a guy he believed in, named him a friend and helped out with rides, groceries, meeting our church people and community.  Wayne had an impediment when my friend met him, he couldn't speak well and just barely got across what he needed (food).  So they went to Safeway, they went for burgers and was given a ride home using our van.  Wayne showed up for church that Sunday, saying he was getting an operation on his tongue to be able to free it up to speak better (alot of pointing and gesturing and sounds).  We prayed for him and waited to hear how it went.  Well, with a smile on his face the next Sunday, he spoke well, we could understand him!  His surgery was Tuesday, he was with a speech therapist till Friday, and wow, a modern day miracle!!  He left that day, and we haven't seen him since.  It clicked for a number of people...really, to have that type of surgery and therapy in a week?  Go figure.
     So do we go the distance, or don't we?  I feel there is a thrill, a crazy curiosity that happens in the journey with people.  It doesn't matter if they say they are Christians or not, disability, welfare, or low income workers, their background....it is an initial, "Oh, yah?  Let's hear your story" over a cup of coffee, or standing in a hallway, or outside on a snowy sidewalk.  That's how it starts, if they stay long enough, they will hear my story, or one of my friend's.  Who knows where it will go, but we're in it for the ride.  Jesus, I think, did that too, never shut people out, or analyzed them to death after with his disciples.  That's giving them a chance, and giving their humanity some dignity.  It's almost like calling them out, will you trust us?  Will you one day reveal yourself and not be afraid of being hurt or abused or taken advantage of?  Some would rather not and play the system, others hear the call and step forward....prayer, courage, trust.  I hope Hilda will be one of those that hear that call.

Yes and No

      So I bet you're wondering, "How was the funeral?" as many have asked me already, after Friday.
How is any funeral?  I've been to two of them the past 2 months...I could compare and contrast.  One, welfare paid for the cremation and we saw an urn up at front, the second welfare paid for a full casket, it looked like a paper box from the dollar store with plastic handles on the sides, only bigger.  Of course pictures for both, childhood to adult.  But the one had no God-content, no singing, no higher hopes, no promise of a better day...the guy said at the end, "I guess we all aren't perfect!".  He was refering to his brother who died of a heart attack, he drank to much and had a poor relationships with everybody.  The other, the singing was defeaning!  The memories potent and rich!  We (the 100 there) laughed and cried, endured the cold wind at the cemetary and enjoyed chatting over great sandwiches and coffee.  It was more of a celebration, see how God embodied her and touched others!  The other, a bit empty, forlorn and sad.
     I'm not saying one person was more important then the other.  They both were on disability, had abusive backgrounds, tried to live somewhat happy and productive lives.  What happened that one was surrounded by celebration, the other with emptiness and sadness?  I'm not saying that one had Jesus and the other didn't, although, the stat's would say there tends to be a more hopeful life when one is Jesus-ward.  They were both God's kids, and were invited into His redemptive Kingdom numerous times.  One accepted it with joy, the other rejected it, I'm not sure why.
     Lately, through my spiritual direction studies and just general musing, I've been wondering about the human heart and it's faith journey.  If you'd see your life as a journey on a map, where were the cross-roads or the forks in the road?  Why did you make certain decisions?  To continue in a relationship or not, to have kids, or accept that job or take that trip?  Where has it taken you, are you happy with the outcome?  Or shocked and afraid and uncertain?  When Christine said "yes" inside to committing to Albert (marriage) and a faith community like New Life, it started her on a road of maturity and spiritual growth like she hadn't known before.  And she was thankful.  And had support when she needed it.  And we came together to celebrate her when she closed her eyes and went home.  When Ralph said "no", his path to fill his cup spiralled into alcohol, women, lonliness, mistrust, despair.  He was found in his rocking chair, a few days after he died.  No one would've looked for him, unless he was due at a family wedding that weekend.  He had burnt all his bridges, his anger and attitude drove people away.  And yet some came to his funeral, not out of duty or love, but out of respect.  He lived in their house, they would not hold his sins against him.  I find that deeply moving.
     Whatever my neighbors path in life, says Vanier;

"He calls me to give hope, first to the small and the weak, to those who are broken by life and by oppression.  He calls me to share my bread with them, to shelter them, to loose the yoke of their sufferings and open them towards liberty and confidence.  He calls me to live with them, to make known to them the love of the Father.  He alls me to hold out my hand to the self-satisfied,  the comfortable.  He wants them in the Kingdom.  It is not a question of attacking them, but of calling them."

     Can we not take our neighbor a little more to heart, to deeper waters in prayer, concern and relationship?  Can we be sensitive enough to offer hope in a cross-roads, or a pathway they seem to be in?  It might make a difference between the "yes" and the "no".  One life-giving, the other painful and life-draining.  It matters, they matter.

She Is Not My Enemy

     Mid-week and being stretched thin means that I am lacking on the creative side.  My friend's funeral continues to be planned, the moon-walk towards Friday puts a little edge on my nerves.  The viewing, internment, the reception planned and organized, down to the color of the flowers.  She would love this, if she were coming in on her own funeral, she'd be proud of those ironing their one and only suit, dress or "dress pants" to where that afternoon.  She would smile at the pictures displayed, her childhood, her wedding (which I was reminded I was one of the four bridesmaids), coffee houses, holding her master angler fish, relaxing with her husband.  

     Not surprisingly, there isn't alot of photos after her health started to deteriorate.  Hip problems, knees and calves and the loss of her job at McDonald's (where the staff loved and treasured her), because she couldn't stand for hours anymore.  She learned to sit, to wait for help, to invite children to sit with her, her movement was slow and labored and finally almost too painful to continue going down the stairs of her apartment to a waiting vehicle or to go to church.

     The saving fact of her life was knowing that she was loved, by her husband, her Christian community, by Christ.  So many like her are forgotten, told they are unloved, useless, boring or a deteriment to family and society.  A God-child, pushed aside because they are not educated in the right college (or any college), live in the right neighborhood, have read the latest books or gone to the block buster hit at Silver City.  

     After potluck one night, I was walking Cyclone around the block, getting some fresh air, thinking.  As I walked through our neighborhood park, someone called out, "Hey! How are you doing?".  I looked closer in the dark, and it was our young friend, her two children and boyfriend sitting on the park bench.  "Hey! How are you?"  She said, "Fine....actually not good, I just spent the last night in jail. I got into a fight, defending myself and stabbed someone."  "Oh...what happened to the kids?  Who took care of them?" I asked (here I try not to look and act all shocked...wasn't sure if this was the whole story!)  "My boyfriend here".  And she introduced him to me and told him I was the God-person of the neighborhood.   I told her we are all God-people.  She said, "then why isn't he listening to me?"  

     What a question!  "Why isn't he listening to me?"  I was all ready to give her a quick answer, but I knew it wasn't that easy.  How about, "you don't knife people, God may listen to a non-violent person" but I know that isn't true.  How about, "Go to church on Sunday, He will tell you through the preacher what to do".  Nope, not helpful and not always true.  I listened to her, I pray for her (she knows that) and God listens.  Since I've decided to be next to her chatting away, Jesus is sitting beside her too, He talks her language, He lives in her neighborhood.  He is not her enemy, he will be one day, her Everything.

Vanier says in another part of his section of his writing, "Two Worlds"; 

"The poor man is a danger to the rich man.  The black man (or asian, native) is a danger to the white man enfolded in his pride and sense of superiority.  The handicapped and the weak are a danger to the able-bodied.  The person in need is a danger to the one who has the goods of this world.  So too the rich man is the enemy of the poor man.  Yet Jesus said, "Love your enemy".  We must cross over to the other world and look at Him and touch Him.

But Jesus
I can't love my enemy
I must defend myself from him

He is a danger to me
his way of life throws mine 
into question

So I attack
it's my defence

Or I ignore her 
I refuse to listen or go near
Aggression rises 
in me

Or I flee
I refuse to meet
the enemy

And yet

"Love your enemy, make peace"

For Christine

     I walked to church this morning in a strange frame of mind.  I was swirling with ideas, a kind of anger, that was trying to pinpoint the often lethargic or dismissive attitude we have towards to poor, the prisoner, the mentally ill, those who just can't hold a job and end up on welfare or disablity.  A friend had been sharing that for him, he often has to choose between rent and food.  Many of those in his boarding house have to make that choice too.  Yet he is so generous, so kind to kids, he will spend his last tooney on a neighborhood kid to buy a Slurpee or a pair of suspenders at a thrift store to hold up the pants of a guy he knows who doesn't have a belt.  Anyways, I wanted to challenge our church this morning, in sharing time, and read a portion of Jean Vanier's chapter called "Two Worlds" which I had in my bag along with me.  I never got the chance.
     Up ahead, there was an ambulance and fire truck in front of our low-income housing building (we own the two beside our little store front church).  I have been working for New Life Ministries and in these buildings since April as pest control co-ordinator and tenant relations.  "Which tenant was it that was in trouble?"  I wondered.  I ran in looking for the parametics and my heart sunk when I saw them in front of our friends place.  My 2 church friends were in the hallway, they said Christine was in trouble....had fell, and stopped breathing.  We prayed and I made my way inside their apartment.  Albert (her husband) was in distress, Christine was surrounded by the medical team, I couldn't believe it.  My Sunday morning church was turning into a crisis situation..  They tried to revive her, took her to the hospital where she died and we were left, after the sermon, stunned...Albert came back and stood grieving while a line-up of friends formed to give him hugs, share the tears and leave with pale shocked faces.
     Christine will never be back to church, she will never hold another baby or brighten the eyes of our kids with her smile and questions.  She will not have to go for her hip surgery, or worry about her weight, or sneak another cookie at potluck when Albert isn't looking.  She won't have to dream about her crazy childhood, abuse as a young woman but she will hold her own child in her arms....the one that was still born so many years ago.
     This couple has faced so much together, they decided to stick it out, to fish together, love their extended families, share the same things at sharing time at church and hold out a hand to those in the apartment block.  She is not famous, and didn't know her Bible very well...but she knew love and how to dish it out.

What I was going to read this morning, expresses how I have changed by knowing Christine and the many Christines and Alberts in our neighborhood....read it slowly and see if you have room to change too:

"But if I get too near this woman
       if I listen to her
      if I begin to know the names of her children
                                                         her past
                                                         her life
                         If I identify with her
I can't go on eating as I used to
I can't accept the luxury and the waste

If I truly love
if I feel concerned
my life must change

My life must change
the life I have built for myself
must be destroyed
must be completely changed

the time I get up and go to bed
the friends I like to talk with
                           go out with
                          eat with in smart restaurants
the books I read
the money I have to spend

If I enter the world of touch
               the world of tender compassion
               the world of the prisoner, the handicapped, the hungry
my whole way of life in danger of falling apart
I am in danger of entering a world of insecurity

If I become truly open
                           open to the sufferings of others
my life will change
I will change
It's too much
I'm afraid.

Back Again

Have you ever gone back to see your blog postings after a year and a half away?  I just did and had a very internal chuckle at the new format...that you can actually see how many views there have been every month.  Couldn't see that before, but now you can!  I have had zippo motivation to write in my blog for that long, yet people are reading it anyway...my "old" stuff that is.  I'm a pretty good writer, I don't know why I don't pitch the time in except being crazy busy half the time, and the other half, reading with my cat sitting on my stomach/chest area, talking to my kids or husband or sleeping.

So I'm turning a new leaf, I enjoy writing to myself and for those hundreds of readers (or the few, which one of them is my mom whom I love).  I need to refresh my outlook on living and breathing in the West End of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada and the cool, refreshing, wierd stuff that happens here.  And occasionally chuckle at the many people who read it.

So with new gusto and vigour, I'm back again.