God Bless Haiti...

The images of the devastation seem to keep coming, each one worse than the one before. The children, the women, the young men screaming in pain..bodies in the streets, people begging for water--and fighting for food. A country with no infrastructure before the earthquake, now, seemingly without hope of ever having any type of infrastructure--even to get the supplies or food, water, medicine, shelter--to the millions in danger of dying.
I, like so many others, are conscious of their plight--and, think about them as I go through my day. In my impatience with the rain showers all week, I think of those who have no shelter from the elements who are old, sick, dying--and the rain doesn't seem to be such an inconvenience.
God loves Haiti, God loves the Haitian people. God will rescue them, God will save them. God will prompt those with gifts, skills, tools, time and energy to go and help--to feed, clothe, care, heal..the God who shakes the earth can now take care of the aftermath of the shaking--this my Hope, God Bless Haiti is my prayer.

Practical Ways to Love Your Neighbor...

If the "greatest commandment" is to Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and the second is like this..to Love your neighbor has yourself..." then, how do I practically do that second part?
What does Loving My Neighbor look like in MY neighborhood today?
Here are some practical (and somewhat random) ways:
1. Fix up and maintain your house so that you ADD to your property value, and RAISE the property value of your neighbors. Love them with a fresh coat of paint, good, pretty landscaping, onon-obtrusive plantings, complementary colors. Give your house curb appeal, but don't make your neighbor's houses look bad in the process.
2. Keep your music and other noise level down. It's hard to love your neighbor when you're keeping them awake. More true in apartments and condos than houses. Parties and group gatherings at your house send a message (and if your neighbors aren't invited, that doesn't look good)-your small goup parking and noise may be counter-productive to the message you want to send to your neighbors.
3. Mind your pets. Keep the poo and pee off of your neighbor's lawns and yards. Spay and neuter your cats and dogs. Keep the barking and cat-fighting at a minimum.
4. Share the goods! When you buy in bulk at Costco or Sam's Club, ask your neighbors what they need and then share your bounty (literally) with them. Develop a coupon sharing process, discount books, online deals--if you don't need diapers, share the coupons with neighbors who do.
5. Curb your children. If your kids are out of control, why would your neighbors want to be around you? If THEIR kids are out of control, the way that you respond to them is speaking volumes. Know their names, their grades, their hobbies, and contribute to the positive activities in their life. (I've helped build a skateboard ramp, tossed balls back in their yards, helped name dinosaurs, and helped stock a neighborhood library with games, books and toys).
6. Spend time talking to your neighbors. Open your house to hosting neighborhood watch meetings, and other neighborhood groups (if you don't have Neighborhood Watch--Start one!) Give yourself time and space to talk to your neighbors almost every day.
7. Host your neighbors IN your home, on your porch, at your table, at game night, TV parties, movie nights, Bible Studies, potlucks, birthday/anniversary parties. Let your neighbors see you with your friends and family--and let them KNOW you (then, you can KNOW them!)
8. Develop a "neighborhood resource list" of professionals, organizations, helpful services, City departments, that you can call and offer as help. Include AA, plumbers, electricians, garbage pickup, sewage, utilities, crisis hotlines, local law enforcement (that you know by name), City Council staff for your district..YOU should be the person who knows how to find help!
9. Celebrate Holidays AT HOME. Be the best house on the block for Halloween candy, Valentines hearts, fly your flag on Flag Day and 4th of July, Memorial Day, Veteran's Day. Let your neighbors know that you are alive, aware and engaged.
10. Engage. Do NOT isolate yourself from your neighbors, especially if your neighbors are a different color, faith, age, economic status, sexual orientation, language, political party or nationality than you and your family. (except Texans--it's ok to avoid them:)
You can't love 'em if your don't know 'em--and your can't know 'em if you don't OPEN your heart, your gate and your doors...

3 Decades...

On Dec. 16, 1979, I knelt on the steps of First Baptist Church, Garland, Texas, and felt hands being laid on me--the hands of pastors, deacons, teachers and the small hands of children. Roger McDonald and John Kramp had spoken words and I was commissioned to TEACH, and this was my ordination. From there, I spent time with my family, and then went and stood in a classroom at Southwestern to teach a class, "Introducation to Children's Ministry."
And that's where I've been for the past 30 years--in the classroom. I have taught--and been taught at Southwestern, Biola, Golden Gate, Occidental, Simpson, Univ. of Inner Mongolia, Fresno Pacific and CSU-Fresno. My life and career has been spent between the university and the church. This life of professor/minister. The 2 roles, for me, are the same. You listen. You teach. You listen again. You assign. You review. You listen. You lead.
Tonight, I will go to Bakersfield, and I will teach. Again.
I do not know how much longer I will be able to teach, but, I want to do this for as long as I can, as best I can. I am grateful, and I am blessed.

Potluck with the Neighbors...getting over myself

Tonight I hosted a neighborhood potluck. Apparently, this potluck has been happening several times each month for 15 years, but, this was the first one that I have hosted--or attended. I like the people, alot, some of these people are good friends, but, most of them I only know by name and by sight--and I recognize that we live in the same Downtown neighborhood--but, I'm not sure that I really know them.
But, here they were, about 25 neighbors, sitting in my living room, dining room and hanging out in the kitchen. It was good--and, because we share a common faith in Christ, we prayed for our neighbors and our neighborhood. We prayed for families, for kids, for decisions, for houses, for projects--but, we sat together and voiced prayers for people who are NOT far away, not on another continent, but, right next door-literally. It was good, and it was right.
No, I am not a fan of the "relocator" moniker--I think it doesn't adequately describe who we are, or what we do. It's too much about real estate and location, imho, but it is the term that brought this group of neighbors to bring salad, rice, brownies and chocolates to my table--and, it's the phrase that INITIALLY helped us voice our prayers together.
I'm not crazy about it, but, I think this will not be my last neighborhood potluck.

the screams...

I live in an amazing place-I love living here, I love the house, the landscape, the proximity to things that are happening, the short commutes to work, the lack of traffic like that in LA and SF-the variety of ethnic food that is available, and the sounds of "living" close to other people who are different in background from me..
BUT, the screaming.
Living between a battered women's shelter, a daycare, a community center, a law office and a large extended family--I hear screaming almost every day. Sometimes, I can tell that the screams are happy-a game of chase, some kids playing monsters or ninjas, balloons, joy; but, more often, the screams sound terrifying. I do not fault the kids at the shelter for screaming. I assume that is what they have always known, that they have heard so much screaming that it's the only way that they know to get attention and to communicate-I hear that. I can usually tell when a new woman has come to the shelter by the unfamiliar screams of her kids. The boys seem to scream as much as the girls. I hear the crying and the screaming from the mothers themselves, too. The 6am cell phone conversations from the playground, which are supposed to be private, but, I hear the cussing, and yelling, and the pain of relationships that have lost hope. My heart breaks for both parties on the line, and I have come to even pity the abuser-and the abused. But, the kids hear the voices and the tone of voices, and they repeat the screaming. I watched a 5 year old boy use a plastic bat to beat a plastic snowman today--as he screamed vulgarities as loud as he could: and I knew that this is all that he could do, all that he had to voice, all that he had to offer--for now.
I hear the screams from the daycare-typical screams of 2,3,4 year olds-and some of the same terror in some of their voices--I know when a mother is leaving usually, because the calls for "momma" or "nooooooo" are as loud as if they were in my own house.
Maybe I hear the screams because my own home is so quiet. The cats barely utter a word. The music is quiet, the rooms are filled with art and books and quiet conversation. Sometimes I want the kids next door to come and experience the quiet--to understand that there are ways to communicate without volume.
Does my life scream anything?

Please postpone Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is September 11. It happens every year, and each year, I yearn for it to be easier, for the memories to be less vivid, for the pain to be less....real. I don't want to remember, I don't want to relive, I don't want it to be Sept. 11. The pain in my stomach seems to encircle my heart, and pound in my head, and come out in my eyes. As much as I reject them, the memories of the day swirl in me. The morning drive to the airport, the humidity in the air. The delays, the change of plans. The change of planes. The announcement of "a national emergency." The voice of Sue--who says that Jennifer says there is trouble. "Where are you?" "on a plane." "dear God, this can't be happening."
The landing in El Paso. The sight of tanks and army personnel on the field. The quiet of the terminal. The silence and tears around the bar TV's. The hush. Hearing women cry out loud.
The panic. "No rental cars." No more flights. We don't know, sir, we don't know anything.
Should I pray? Pray out loud?
Our father....
The Lord is our strength, and our salvation.

The bus to the Motel 6. Far away from the airport. No, I have no money--no, these boys have no ID, no money. We just need a room--we'll figure out how to pay you.
Room 314. My laptop--cutting in and out. CNN, Fox, ABC--all the same images over and over and over and over.
Matt calls. "are you watching TV?" yes. Turn it off. Now, really, turn it off.
No.
Dear God, NO.
That...is...was...
Mark Bingham?
My Mark Bingham? But, I just saw him... just said "see ya later" he just grabbed my arm and said "with you."
There must be some mistake. Of course, not everyone died--they couldn't. Who else?
Todd Beamer?
Jeremy Glick?
Nicole Miller?
No tears. None.
Disbelief.
I don't know when I've eaten. I don't know when I've been to the bathroom. I don't know when I've slept.
Sue, on the phone. Come home. Get back. I'll stay on the phone.
My mother is safe. My brother is safe. My nephews are safe. For now. The atomic plant is near their houses. A target. I have never had those thoughts, that fear before. I do now.
I wanted to go to a church and pray. I called the baptist church that I had worked with, had done an assessment...and, I should have known by the assessment, the answering machine gave me the service times, told me that Awanas were starting, told me that the wednesday night meal required reservations. That would not be a place to go and pray. They were probably in a bunker, too.
From the motel patio, I heard songs in Spanish, and crying, wailing, praying. I was silent.

I walked three blocks to Applebees. Maybe if I ate, I would feel...something.
This could not be real. As I walked in, a Mexican family was surrounding a child. The pinata was there, but, unbroken. The faces were covered with tears, and fear. And, they began to sing "Happy Birthday." The entire restaurant--filled with displaced air travelers--began to sing "Happy Birthday!" As if to say damn it, YOU WILL have a HAPPY birthday! On this day of unbearable sadness--this child WILL have a happy birthday. We sang as if it were a battle cry. A fight song. A rally. Total strangers hugged the birthday girl, hugged each other, and the waiters offered free margaritas. I thought I should, but, then, I could not imagine anything to celebrate at that moment. Nothing. Mark was dead.
I lay on the bed. An entire day. I could not move.
Then, I heard the voice again. Come home.
I began to call to find a rental car. American Express travel, and Mary said that there was one car in Las Cruces, New Mexico. I am in El Paso.
The man from San Diego shared the cab with me to the bus station. We took the bus, the silent, smelly, hot bus to Las Cruces. I walked to the Avis office. I did not say anything. The man asked if I was the person that Mary had called about. I nodded. He gave me a hug. He said, "I'm sorry." He gave me the keys, and told me to leave the car at any Avis at an airport. I did not sign a contract.
I began to drive across the desert. The sun was streaking across the mountains. The redness of the hills, the rainbows, the sun beaming directly into the car. The radio--playing endless patriotic music...and Amazing Grace...and How Great Thou Art. The voices, the names, the search, the anguish. 16 hours in a non-rented rental car. Calling everyone I knew on my phone. Telling them I loved them. Asking if they are OK. Everyone says they are OK. Everyone is not OK.
I arrive at my little house on Maroa, and my neighbors come out to my driveway, and, they cry, and they hug me, and they welcome me home. Paula says," we knew you were on the east coast..we knew you were coming home on Tuesday morning. We thought..."
And, she cried. Her husband, Matt, hugged me, and cried. Their son, little Matt, hugged me tightly. I told them that my friend was dead. They said, "we know."
And, so, tonight... the 10th of September, I do not want to go to sleep: because, if I sleep, I will wake, and it will be September 11, and for the 8th year, I will remember, and relive, and be saddened all over again. But, I will not be afraid, and I will not be alone.
Sue will be on the phone, Jonathan will send me a text, saying that he is thinking of me today, because he knows that it is hard. And, it is. God, it is hard.
I will think of Alice, and how she lost her only son, her dearly, very loved, lovely son. I will think of Lisa, and how she lost Todd, and how the kids lost their dad.
I will think about the other Don Simmons. The one who was killed in the Pentagon. The man, a civilian, with whom I shared a name, who died at his desk. I will remember reading my own name in the list of victims.
So, I would like to postpone tomorrow, or, even more, I would cancel tomorrow, but, I will be forced to remember it again--on Sunday, when I will have to take off my shoes to board another airplane, and stand in a line, and throw away my water. I will hurt again, but, I will not cry.

Changing the Language--It Matters!

One of the comments that I heard repeated often when I was teaching in Inner Mongolia, ROC, was "when the Chinese wanted to take over Mongolia, and make it Chinese, they outlawed the language of Mongolia, and made Mandarin the official language." In culture after culture, when cultural change was desired, a change in language was necessary. In the US, some would argue that immigrants can never fully embrace the United States culture without speaking English (which is problematic, since the actual "original languageS of the United States were Cherokee, Choctaw, Iroquois, Seminole, Miwok...). But, I digress: I would like to see the culture change to elminate the use of the following words:
1. Nonprofit. First, most people spell it with a HYPHEN, which, it does NOT have. Nonprofit is the term used to describe what an organization does NOT do, not what an organization DOES. It's like calling a hospital a Nondisease facility, instead of a hospital. Or, calling a school a Non-ignorance facility. It just doesn't work that way. I would suggest (along with an army of other professionals in the field...) that we substitute the term COMMUNITY-BENEFIT organization. CBO for short, which could be confused with Community-Based organization, which is OK, too--but, Community Benefit Organization tells the story much better, and even draws curiosity, which is not a bad thing. The IRS coined the phrase nonprofit, and, it's been assumed by the sector, but, since when does the IRS get to create language? Should they not be doing audits, collecting taxes or something?
Word 2: VOLUNTEER. Yep, I hate the word. I try not to use it. It is usually defined as a person who performs a service or a task without getting paid for the performance of the service or task. But, there are many "paid volunteers," such as VISTA, Americorps, RSVP, etc. In the church, the term doesn't make any sense at all. We would do better to refer to people as paid or unpaid, but, that leads one to think that the compensation is the only thing that matters in the equation. In church, people who serve should be referred to as ministers, aka servants. Pay is not the issue: calling and gifting IS. Churches do a theological and Biblical disservice to people who serve without pay in $$ by calling them the V. word. Jesus did NOT seek volunteers, he called people that he knew were gifted, created specifically for the service, and who really had not choice but to follow. It's true still: those who serve in community-based organizations and churches are not volunteers, as is commonly used, but, are the designated, the called, and you could not PAY them enough--ever, to do what they do. Pay is NOT a matter of justice, and paying them for doing repetitive work, or work that other staff do not want to do is a misuse of the gifts of those who show up and are willing to serve. No organization has EVER gotten better service from a person because they paid them$--but, quite the contrary. Bill Hybels is incorrect in his assumption that "volunteers should be paid to do the repetitive work..." But, then again, Bill Hybels and WillowCreek is about 15 years (maybe 20+) behind in their thinking about unpaid service, equipping and engaging people to do amazing service. In the recent "Defining Moments" on "volunteerism" the only thing that was defining was that Charlene and Vernon Armitage knew a heck of alot more about engaging people in service--to the church AND the community, that Hybels has ever known. In this area, he's out of touch with the research, language and current best practices of engaging people. Of course, I have not found him (or others like him) to be open to learning about the profession or the sector, because they assume that since they have been able to build a big church, they must be doing it right. I'm not confused by the "crowd syndrome." Volunteer needs to go away as a noun--but, we need to understand the term better as a verb.
Word 3: Recruit. We recruit to have people do things that they would not choose to do on their own. The military recruits. Athletic teams recruit. The church and community benefit organizations should stop recruiting and learn to do what Jesus did: INVITE and ENGAGE.
There is something wrong with the recruitment mindset: it says that the task is more important that the person. It says "I've got to get this done, and it doesn't matter WHO does it, or what happens to them in the process: the TASK matter! Recruitment is about getting things done. Inviting is about getting People done.
Today, I was thinking that if we believe that Jesus recruited, he did it more like a coach, and not like a colonel. He identified who he wanted, he saw them trained, he knew what was in them, THEN, he approached them and invited them: like Pat Hill watches a high school player, goes to his games, talks to his parents, THEN, makes an offer--
a colonel (or a military recruiter) takes whoever walks in--THEN puts them through the paces, basic training, and if they don't cut it, they are done...and find a job elsewhere. Not what I see as a grace-filled way to engage people. But, then again: what is the end goal? The task, or the person?
When I refer to female students at Fresno State, I am careful to refer to them as women, not as girls. How I use the language shapes how I view them. They are women, and that matters.
I do not teach "colored" students, Orientals, or other ethnic terms: how I define people shapes my view of them, and the view of themselves.
Community Benefit organizations.
Unpaid staff.
Invite/Engage.
Older adult.
Women.
"I once called you slaves, but now I call you Friends..." Jesus.