The Margins

When talking with various people about our church, our conviction regarding being a “parish” church is often the greatest stumbling block for folks. Especially here in the land of car and commute, making claims on where one lives and how that relates to where one worships can seem offensive to many.

This past week I repeatedly saw a man lingering on and around my neighbor’s property across the street. At different times in past weeks I have seen the same man on the porch trying the door handles of the four apartment entrances; another time he was crouched behind a pillar on the same porch looking through papers; still another time, he was down the driveway checking out the latch on the fence that protects the cars and toys kept in the back and looking around. I have called dispatch twice. Both times, he wasn’t doing enough to warrant a patrol car being sent out. Two apartments in this building are occupied by members of our church; the other two by good friends.

The other night I had fed my kids and we were beginning our evening clean-up in the living room when I caught a glimpse of him again. This time he was on the non-driveway side of the building looking up into the living room window of one of the first floor apartments where two single women in our church live. I grabbed my phone immediately and dialed 911. I probably would have just called dispatch but I could not find my cell phone and that is where I have that number stored. The 911 operator said that they would send someone over immediately after I described what I was seeing, as well as the pattern of this man’s behavior on the property. It was a few minutes before six o’clock, and I knew that our dear friend who lives in that apartment would be coming home from work (on foot) any minute. I also knew that her roommate had just left for a trip to Hawaii and that our friend would be coming home to an empty apartment.

I could not call my friend who at that moment could have been on her way home to what may have been a dangerous situation. She is from Texas and has kept her cell phone number from home and because I did not have my cell (and since we don’t have long distance on our land line), I knew I would be unable to reach her. So I called Doug at work and told him to call her immediately. After hanging up with him, I called my sister who lives a few blocks away and asked her to give me the phone number for the tutoring center where our friend works. I got the number, called, but no one answered, so I was left hoping that Doug had reached her.

This friend does not have a car, so I called my sister back and asked her to call our other friend who lives across the street to see if he could drive down to the tutoring center and pick her up so that she would not have to walk home (she does not have a car). Again, his number is a long distance call and I both did not have the number (in the missing cell with the rest) nor the capacity to call it. So, while still wondering if Doug had reached Lauren or if Anna had managed to get a hold of Elliot, I saw my sister’s husband arrive across the street. He had Lauren in his car and was dropping her off. Elliot was on the front porch waiting for her. By this time the police had already arrived and were driving around looking for the guy who had since left the property.

Later that night I was struck by how crucial our physical proximity to one another is (I was also struck by how utterly dependent I am upon my cell phone), and what an incredible difference it makes to me to have neighbors and friends who are a phone call, a house, or a block away. I think I forget how remarkable it is to have a life where the members of your faith community all live on the handful of streets that surround you. It really is an amazing way to approach a corporate life and witness together.

Oh, and the police did catch up with the guy. He gave them some story about how he had had a fight with his girlfriend and was there at the apartment looking for his friend. Right. The story makes no sense, and I had to laugh a bit when I heard this as it is honestly the “dog ate my homework” answer guys give on the street. I can think of two or three times at our block club meetings where our Senior Lead Officer has followed up on some criminal behavior we have reported only to come back to our meeting with the explanation that “the guy had a fight with his girlfriend and blah blah blah…” Apparently it is an answer that the cops willingly accept.

There is this parenting phenomenon that I am finding particularly frustrating of late. In our daily life at home, there are days when we are largely housebound, due to a number of factors. Recently those factors have included being sick, Elijah’s nap schedule, my work schedule, etc. On those days, when the kids are getting a little crazy by mid-afternoon, I feel very guilty that they have not had any outdoor play and I completely understand why they are behaving the way they are. That is when being urban and yard-less can feel especially tough.

Then there are other days where I bend over backwards and practically kill myself trying to be the uber-fun mom who takes her kids on outings and plans out exciting things for us to do together. On these days, as exhausting and difficult as managing the three outside of the home can be (think potty-training, nursing, and simply herding the three bodies plus all the junk that goes with them), I know that it is so good for them and they will be happier for it (as will I!).

But then this thing happens where, in spite of my valiant efforts at being the supermom who does the fun outings, they throw tantrums or refuse to walk from the van to the front door, or they scream instead of nap, and end up as cranky and crazy by dinner hour as they would on any housebound day. And I end up deflated, defeated, and ready to turn in my parenting card. Why do I even try to be fun, I ask myself?

I think this parallels how I can feel about my life with God at times. There are those spiritual stretches where I am aware of my neglect, be it of prayer or joy or worship, and it is no surprise when my life begins to feel so crazy and hard. Then there are those other times, the ones where I am reading my Bible and praying and singing and serving and doing all the things that should make everything good. But everything is not.

And I am reminded that just like life with my kids, life with God is ultimately about a relationship, and relationships are just about the most volatile, unpredictable, messy things I know. And relationships are not mathematical equations where if you input something on one side, you are guaranteed a predictable sum on the other. That is why the most Godly family you know can suffer so immensely. That is why in spite of every good spiritual practice, you can feel dead and dry inside. That is why our life with God is not about getting what we deserve.

And that is grace.

I missed watching the Oscars last night due to a dinner fiasco, surprise dinner guests, two especially crazy children who did everything they could to avoid going to bed, and Doug’s use of our living room as his homework room where he is furiously working to finish a paper for his Fuller class. I like seeing all the dresses and hearing the speeches and I was looking forward to Jon Stewart’s commentary, but alas it was not to be. But speaking of Hollywood and film, PBS has a great interview with Dick Staub on the topic of God and Hollywood that I recommend. It can be watched or read here.

Brad Boydston pointed me to this article in the Atlantic on the future of suburbs, titled: “The Next Slum”. Definitely worth the read.

So I am wondering how Mercy really feels about having a baby brother right now…

What if truth spoken without love
Is the greatest lie of all?
What if certainty offered hatefully
Is quicksand after all?

Did Jesus once dismiss the Bible quoter
As the very devil himself?
Suppose our hearts can twist
Saving truth into a damning words
Even as they leave our mouths.

What if truth spoken without love
is the greatest lie of all?

From John Frye (via Scot McKnight)

Back in my undergrad days in Chicago, I was given an award from an organization called Chicago Public Allies. The award was called Tomorrow’s Leaders Today, and we were recognized during a nice reception at the Harold Washington Library downtown. I remember “Michelle from Public Allies” well, however it was not until this week’s Newsweek came out that I realized that the woman I remember was Barack Obama’s wife. I don’t remember meeting Barack (though I assume he would have been there as a board member for the organization), but I thought it was interesting that my path crossed theirs in that way many years ago.

We arrived back in Los Angeles late last night after a hefty dose of travel challenges. Denver is not the most hospitable airport, we discovered. They are the only airport we know of that refuses to bring the little Smart Cart around security for us to continue using on the other side. So there we sat, a tangled mess of children and carseats with no human means for getting to our gate. A kind supervisor eventually took pity on us and radioed ahead to United to request assistance to our gate. When the gentleman with the extra-wide wheelchair arrived, he promptly refused to push the wheelchair with the carseats in it. Even after the TSA agent assured him that she had just spoken with United about the request and that they had sent him to help us.

He would not budge, so Mercy ended up riding in the giant wheelchair, in all her footed-dog-jammie glory, while Doug carried two carseats and the wheelchair attendant carried another. I could have forgiven his grumpiness and his reluctance to help us. It was much harder to forgive him for taking us as far as the eating/shopping area in the middle of the terminal, asking us which gate was ours, and when we told him, telling us that he was going the other direction while dropping our carseat, ejecting our daughter from the wheelchair, and taking off.

I don’t know how we made it to our gate. Mercy stumbled along (it was two hours past her bed time at this point) while Doug miraculously walked with carseats balancing off of every part of his body. And when we finally arrived, we were greeted with the news that our flight had since changed gates and we were now flying out of a gate on the absolute opposite end of where we stood in that terminal. At this point, Doug and I were covered in sweat and Mercy was growing delirious and our flight was scheduled to begin boarding. I am sure that more than a few travelers told their loved ones about the crazy woman pushing a double stroller at high speeds through the terminal, calling out to the little blonde girl running beside her to keep running because the T-rex was right behind them and they were almost to the Great Valley where they would be safe.

When we boarded, Doug went on first to install the carseats, and I stood by the entrance to the plane with the three kids waiting to gate-check the double stroller. The looks we got from the other passengers were priceless. At one point someone referred to us as a herd. A herd.

We did ultimately encounter grace that night in the form of the sweet young man seated next to Doug. I honestly do not know how we could have gotten off that plane without his help. He packed up and carried the diaper bag backpack (and Mercy for a little while), and he accompanied us all the way to baggage, helping us load kids and carseats into our van while telling his friends repeatedly via cell phone that they would just have to circle one more time because there was a family he needed to help. What a contrast from the wheelchair dumping we had received a few hours earlier from someone being paid for their time.

Our stay in Denver was thoroughly enjoyable. It was great to be with Doug’s extended family and to see Mercy and Aaron delight in their cousins, aunts and uncles, and great Grandma. Other highlights included Doug singing a solo at his Grandma’s church, me being the only customer in a Starbucks not wearing a cowboy hat, a trip to the Denver Children’s Museum with one of my best friends, and a surprise date night with my husband courtesy of that same friend. I also had the pleasure of meeting Sally Morganthaler who was co-teaching the Fuller DMIN class that Doug was in Denver to facilitate. She was warm and kind and I was grateful for the chance to meet someone I have appreciated and admired from a distance.

As crazy as it was to travel as a “herd”, it was certainly worth all of the effort, and I am grateful to Fuller for helping make this trip a reality for our family. Watching friends lose loved ones last week has reminded me of how very important it is to do what it takes to connect with those we love.

We arrived safely in Denver yesterday and are enjoying time with Doug’s extended family. This morning as I came down the stairs with the baby in my arms, Aunt Kristin said: “Here, let me have that baby. Why don’t you go back up to bed.” I don’t think I even said anything as I turned and walked right back up those stairs! Later this morning I played outside with the kids in Aunt Kristin’s “park” (backyard), and I alternated between pushing Aaron (AKA Jay Jay the Jet Plane) on an airplane swing and crouching down with Mercy in the snow with her miniature dinosaurs playing Land Before Time.

Travelling for the first time by plane with all three little ones was certainly an adventure! I thought getting through security was a challenge before. It is almost an outright impossibility now. But the day was filled with the most gracious people who were put in our path. The gentleman behind me in the security line was cheerful, kind, and encouraging. At 5am. In LAX. Behind US! I usually avoid eye contact or apologize profusely or tell people to go in front of us. He wasn’t interested in any of those things. He chatted it up with me, smiled at Elijah, and never fidgeted with impatience.

Then there was the flight attendant who, the moment I stepped inside the airplane offered to hold the baby for me while I herded the rest of the kids down the aisle to where Doug was installing their carseats. She held him up until the moment she absolutely had to do other parts of her job, and I was able to get us all situated without even worrying about what to do with him. All of the flight attendants adored Elijah, and they spent the flight teasing him about looking like Donald Trump (he has this weird hair thing going–part mohwak, part bad combover, and the Donald reference is right-on I’m afraid!).

There were also the two guys lucky enough to be seated on the aisle seats in the two rows we occupied. They were both sweet about the babies, totally warm and kind to us, and I realized how I basically prepare myself emotionally for people to be annoyed and rude. It is no small thing, then, when people’s reactions are quite the opposite. The only difficulty on the flight was when the woman in front of me (also travelling with a small child next to her) decided to recline her seat completely into my lap. Where I was holding my baby. Who is not small. I was a bit incredulous that she could be either that clueless or that inconsiderate. I am still not sure which was the case.

One of my favorite moments yesterday was as we were leaving the Denver airport, we drove by a statue of a giant blue horse (symbolic of the Broncos, I assume). Our whole trip this winter, we would watch out our windows for horses, and we each had a color that was “ours” that we would look for. Mine were the brown horses, Mercy’s were the white, Doug’s the black, etc. Well, Aaron was set on his horses being blue. So needless to say, we rarely saw any horses for Aaron (there were some horses wearing blue horse blankets once, but I am pretty sure that was the only time he got see “his horses” the entire trip!). So as we were driving, there in all it’s glory was a giant, blue horse right outside Aaron’s window. He had such a look of satisfaction on his face, like he knew if he just kept looking he would finally find them. Priceless.

I have been invited to contribute as a guest-blogger on Jason Clark’s website. My first post went up yesterday–check it out!