Was I Deprived?

 

This is the time of year when all kinds of “back to school” photos and posts converge on social media.  Kids are decked out in new outfits and backpacks, and have hair combed, teeth brushed, and are on their best behavior…at least for however long it takes to take the obligatory photo in front of the house or school.

Moms, and even some Dads if you really want to know, post about shedding some tears at how quickly the kids grow.  They also are thankful that someone else will be looking out for them for awhile during the day.  They welcome them home if they rode the bus or walked, or they make certain they are there in the pickup line when they are dismissed for the day, asking them about their day and all that happened.  It’s really a big deal for both parent and child.

I also see moms, dads, grandparents and others at the Little League games, both baseball and softball, in the later summer months on TV.  They are waving flags, holding signs, cheering on their kid and their team, and doing all they can to sway the game results from their place in the stands.  They are supportive of their kids to the max, and it’s heartening to see.

I realize that the societal environment sixty years ago is not the same as today, but I don’t recall it being that way with me when I was that age.  When I came along…number 3 of 6, going to school was routine.  The first day of school wasn’t much different from all of the other days.  No photos.  No send-offs.  I don’t know if there were tears or not, but I suspect there was more the gratefulness that someone else was watching over me for awhile during the day than there was sadness at how quickly I was growing.

Mom and Dad did attend many of my school activities, including concerts, plays, and other events.  I never was very sports-minded, so didn’t do much of that.  But I did like to sing and later play in the band, both junior high and high school.  We didn’t talk much about the concerts, plays and the like though, either before or after, and they were just sort of like everything else…just sort of the routine.  I think there wasn’t even any comment my Junior year when our choral teacher, who loved musicals, had her show choir (which I was a member of) dance, sing, and act their way through several numbers taken from musical productions.

They attended my Eighth grade graduation, but never brought a camera.  They asked a friend from church if they would snap a photo of me getting my diploma…which the friend did, but since it was an old-style film camera, it was a double exposure and not worth anything.  Nor did they bring a camera to my high school graduation even though I graduated with honors and was a member of the National Honor Society.  There were no graduation parties, dinners, or the like.  Just the acknowledgement that I was going into another phase of life and living.

So, was I a deprived child?  Well, in some ways, one might reasonably hold that opinion.  After all, my folks never made a big deal out of pretty much anything I did.  It was just sort of expected that I do my best, and grind out everything I did as best I could.  There were never any big parties, photographic sessions, or grand to-do’s.  It was just life and living.

On the other hand, I had all I needed…I had food, clothing, shelter, family, friends, an education, religious training, and all the rest.  I had both a mother and a dad.  And even though it was difficult for them to express emotion toward me and the other kids having to do with parental love, acceptance and encouragement, once in awhile the barriers broke down and that came through.

At the time I wondered if they really loved me or just tolerated me because I was their kid.  Looking back, I see their attempts at demonstrating love through their provision and work toward keeping the family unit humming along.  Times were difficult then, and we often were just a few days away from not having basics rather than having.  I’m sure that more than once they retired for the night wondering what the next day would bring…praying that we all would be taken care of somehow.  But they persevered, worked tirelessly for us…that is the family…and showed their love through what they did for us rather than what they said to us.

And as I look back, having known many of their siblings, parents (my grand parents), and other ancestors in each family, I can see where their matter-of-fact ideas of parenting and family came from.  The frontier of the later 1800’s, the flu epidemic of the 1910’s, premature death in the families, WWI, the dust bowl, the Great Depression, WWII, Korea, the mini dust bowl and drought of the 1950’s…these tragic events and others served to mold them into people who were matter-of-fact, working class, persevering people who much of the time, it seems, slogged through their days working and providing as best they knew how, trusting in God for strength and wisdom.

So in total, I see no deprivation.  It was a different time…a different era.  Even though I don’t have a single good photo of any of my first days of school, or either my eighth grade or high school graduation, I see love, manifested in food, clothing, shelter, training, educational opportunity, health, family, and God.  And I am blessed beyond measure.  Sometimes, one needs to look at the half full glass rather than the half empty one and just count his blessings.

Back to School

 This is the time of year when all kinds of “back to school” photos and posts converge on social media.  Kids are decked out in new outfits and backpacks, and have hair combed, teeth brushed, and are on their best behavior…at least for however long it takes to take the obligatory photo in front of the house or school.

Moms, and even some Dads if you really want to know, post about shedding some tears at how quickly the kids grow.  They also are thankful that someone else will be looking out for them for awhile during the day.  They welcome them home if they rode the bus or walked, or they make certain they are there in the pickup line when they are dismissed for the day, asking them about their day and all that happened.  It’s really a big deal for both parent and child.

I also see moms, dads, grandparents and others at the Little League games, both baseball and softball, in the later summer months on TV.  They are waving flags, holding signs, cheering on their kid and their team, and doing all they can to sway the game results from their place in the stands.  They are supportive of their kids to the max, and it’s heartening to see.

I don’t recall it being that way with me, however.  When I came along…number 3 of 6, going to school was routine.  The first day of school wasn’t much different from all of the other days.  No photos.  No send-offs.  I don’t know if there were tears or not, but I suspect there was more the gratefulness that someone else was watching over me for awhile during the day than there was sadness at how quickly I was growing.

Mom and Dad did attend many of my school activities, including concerts, plays, and other events.  I never was very sports-minded, so didn’t do that.  But I did like to sing and later play in the band, both junior high and high school.  We didn’t talk much about the concerts, plays and the like though, either before or after, and they were just sort of like everything else…just sort of the routine.  I think there wasn’t even any comment my Junior year when our choral teacher, who loved musicals, had her show choir (which I was a member of) dance, sing, and act their way through several numbers taken from musical productions.

They attended my Eighth grade graduation, but never brought a camera.  They asked a friend from church if they would snap a photo of me getting my diploma…which the friend did, but since it was an old-style film camera, it was a double exposure and not worth anything.  Nor did they bring a camera to my high school graduation even though I graduated with honors and was a member of the National Honor Society.  There were no graduation parties, dinners, or the like.  Just the acknowledgement that I was going into another phase of life and living.

So, was I a deprived child?  Well, in some ways, one might reasonably hold that opinion.  After all, my folks never made a big deal out of pretty much anything I did.  It was just sort of expected that I do my best, and grind out everything else as best I could.  There were never any big parties, photographic sessions, or grand to-do’s.  It was just life and living.

On the other hand, I had all I needed…I had food, clothing, shelter, family, friends, an education, religious training, and all the rest.  I had both a mother and a dad.  And even though it was difficult for them to express emotion toward me and the other kids having to do with parental love, acceptance and encouragement, once in awhile the barriers broke down and that came through.

At the time I wondered if they really loved me or just tolerated me because I was their kid.  Looking back, I see their attempts at demonstrating love through their provision and work toward keeping the family unit humming along.  Times were difficult then, and we often were just a few days away from not having basics rather than having.  I’m sure that more than once they retired for the night wondering what the next day would bring…praying that we all would be taken care of somehow.  But they persevered, worked tirelessly for us…that is the family…and showed their love through what they did for us rather than what they said to us.

And as I look back, having known many of their siblings, parents (my grand parents), and other ancestors in each family, I can see where their matter-of-fact ideas of parenting and family came from.  The frontier of the later 1800’s, the flu epidemic of the 1910’s, premature death in the families, WWI, the dust bowl, the Great Depression, WWII, Korea, the mini dust bowl of the 1950’s…these tragic events and others served to mold them into people who were matter-of-fact, working class, persevering people who much of the time, it seems, slogged through their days working and providing as best they knew how, trusting in God for strength and wisdom.

So in total, I see no deprivation.  Even though I don’t have a single good photo of any of my first days of school, or either my eighth grade or high school graduation, I see love, manifested in food, clothing, shelter, training, educational opportunity, health, family, and God.  And I am blessed beyond measure.

Monday Morning

 

Monday morning as I was driving into work, I had the radio in my pickup on the NPR station as it usually is in the mornings.  Of course, the situation in Afghanistan was on, and there was much consternation, much talk of what will happen now with the Taliban in control, and much ado about the international response, the swiftness of the takeover, and all of the other that goes along with this tragic situation.

I had been following the news most of late Sunday afternoon and evening, so I already knew much of what they were discussing Monday morning.  The news was not good, and I was already in a sort of depressed state from the news on Sunday…so hearing a repeat of it all on the radio just reinforced my depressive mood Monday morning.

Before I go on, you need to know that what I am about to say in no way is intended to diminish or dismiss the tragic and horrific events of these years of war, nor any of the disastrous, dreadful, and heart-rending events to come.  People have died horrible deaths, and people will continue to tragically lose their lives.  Families, towns, and indeed whole societies will be uprooted.  Women and girls will be especially vulnerable, and the nation and the society will be chaotic at best for some time to come.

Those who serve in various national militaries have given their lives, health, and well-being for what appears to be an abject failure diplomatically, militarily, and societally.  The lives and families of these men and women who have served and are serving are forever changed.  People have loved ones and family who are trapped in the country with no way out.  I’m sure basic necessities either are or soon will be in short supply or non-existent.

Most of us have no comprehension of the terror, stress, and fear that many people in that nation are experiencing right now.  Too many of us offer our opinions on what we believe should have been done or should be doing now…those opinions are made in ignorance without much factual basis and have little to no value.  We are not privy to the intelligence briefings, the diplomatic efforts, the clandestine meetings between opposing factions, the surveillance data, the discussions in the Oval Office, and all of the other.  We don’t relate.  We don’t experience.  We don’t know.

Well, I say all of that to say, as I get back to my point, that I grew very weary that morning of hearing the news about Afghanistan and decided I needed an attitude adjustment before I got into the office.  I knew I’d be pretty much worthless if I didn’t do something.  So I punched the CD button on my radio and the CD that was already loaded started playing.  Carrie Underwood’s hymns CD was playing, and I heard words that gave me some perspective as I drove to the office.

“Blessed assurance; Jesus is mine.  Heir of salvation, purchase of God.  Great is Thy faithfulness.  Great is Thy faithfulness.  Morning by morning new mercies I see.  Because He lives, I can face tomorrow.  Because He lives, all fear is gone.  Because I know He holds the future.  Come home.  Come home.  Ye who are weary, come home.”

These words changed my reality from one of the here and now to one that encompasses the eons from beginning to end.  God is bigger than Afghanistan.  God is bigger than the Taliban.  God is bigger than the awful events that war inevitably brings.  There so much more to life and living than opining in ignorance on what should have been done in Afghanistan.  For the Christian, there is still hope.  There is still God who loves.  There is still contentment in whatever situation one may find himself.  There is still a peace that passes all understanding.  And for the Christian, life is worth the living just because He lives.

 

May God bless you today and give you peace.

One...Human...Being...At...A...Time

 

I had just gotten to work yesterday when the buzzer at the office door sounded.  I opened the intercom and asked if I could help.  The woman said she’d like to visit with a pastor.  I told her I would be there in just a minute, put away what I was doing, and went to the door.  I recognized the woman as someone we had helped a couple of years ago with a utility bill, although I couldn’t recall any details, and certainly couldn’t remember her name.  I never meet with a woman in the office when I’m the only one there, but since another minister was present in the office area, I asked her to come in and we went into my office to visit.

 She was in need of another utility bill to be paid.  Since we had helped her last time, she obtained work, bought a house with the help of her father co-signing the loan, and was getting back on track.  She had a temporary setback at work, losing one of her clients…she’s a home care aide…and for now was only working about 25 hours a week.  She anticipated being back to full time shortly, however.

 We visited a bit, caught up on things, and as she met our guidelines, I agreed to help her with her bill.  She also mentioned needing gas in her vehicle to get to and from the work she had.  So after arranging for the utility payment, we met at the nearby QuickTrip and I began to fill her tank.

 While I was doing that, I noticed an older woman walking in the parking lot.  Mary was her name.  Mary is homeless, and a frequent visitor to the church office.  She usually asks for water, some food, and so on, is friendly, and we consider her to be one of our “outdoor friends”.  She is, she says, my age, but looks much older.  Her lifestyle has taken a toll on her physical appearance.

 She told me that someone had stolen some of her belongings the night before, but she was doing OK.  She had a QuickTrip coffee cup and told me that yesterday’s coffee was in it.  We visited a bit and I gave her a couple of dollars for fresh coffee, gave her a brief hug, and sent her on her way.  She went on a few yards and sat in the shade with three men younger than she, which is where she was when I left the premises.  I don’t know if she got coffee or not.  It doesn’t matter.  What mattered was our visit and connection in the QuickTrip parking area.

 Also while I was filling the woman’s tank, Nathan, another frequent visitor to the office, happened to drive up in his vehicle.  Nathan isn’t homeless, but has been on the brink of falling into that pit for several years.  Each time, though, he manages to stay just above water.  He’s old enough now to receive Social Security, which is what is keeping him from living on the streets.  His check, though, often goes for things other than food, clothing, and housing,  Even though he tries hard to make things work, he sometimes succumbs to behavior that isn’t the best for him.  I finished filling the woman’s tank and turned my attention to Nathan.

 Even though life hasn’t been good for Nathan and given that he was showing more wear and tear than normal for a man in his mid-60’s, I was surprised at Nathan’s appearance.  He was coughing, appeared somewhat gaunt & thin, and was having some difficulty breathing.  Maintaining my distance, I offered to fill his tank as well, and asked him how he was.  He admitted to having some health issues, said he was tested for COVID a couple of weeks ago, and the test came back negative.  We visited a little more while his tank was filling, and I urged him to go get checked out again, and even if the COVID test was negative, to have a provider see him for his cough and trouble breathing.  He said he would…I finished filling his tank…and he left.

 Having finished my business there, I left as well, thinking about my interactions with all three of these people.  Mary, in all probability, will be perpetually homeless, and will most likely die on the street, possibly due to injuries suffered in an attack of some kind.  Nathan, if he doesn’t quickly get his body back on track, is traveling toward some kind of disability such as COPD, cancer, or liver disease.  He may already be suffering from something like that and just doesn’t know it.  His family, what I know if it, is not especially helpful to him.

 The woman who initially came to the office is literally one minor setback away from losing the battle to stay afloat, especially if additional work does not come her way.  She is overweight, doesn’t walk well, and even though she has what I consider to be a good attitude and desire to get ahead, probably will not be able to do so without making substantial changes in her life and living arrangements.  Her son and daughter live with her and help out some with the bills, but they aren’t earning much either, and together the three of them have more need than they have resources.

 The overriding question I asked myself as I drove back to the church building was, “How in heaven’s name are we supposed to help these people with what they really need?”  In the first place, I don’t even know what they really need.  In the second place, if I did know, I wouldn’t know where to send them or what to do to help them fill that need.  And in the third place, the cost of meeting the need would be more than we as a church or individuals could ever bear.

 All of this gets back to the original question of how are we supposed to help.  And I concluded by thinking that what we as a church did for these people…the gasoline, the utility help, the coffee money, and perhaps most importantly, listening to them & validating their dignity and worth as persons…that’s what we can do.  And so we do it and do it to the best of our ability, in the name of Jesus Christ, with a generous heart and compassionate attitude.  We do what we can with what we have…one…human…being…at…a…time. 

You and I can’t fix the world.  Bill Gates, Warren Buffet, Jeff Bezos, and Elon Musk can’t together fix the world.  But we can do what we can do…one person at a time using what God has given us.

 May the blessings you receive from God be multiplied as you in turn give to others.