advent: now what?

where to turn?
this cold night gives way
to another day of "what now?"

old, raggedy, damp house
trying to bring kids to a
better address--all they get is sick

but, really now,
so what?
don't nobody "get it," hardly

feeling surrounded by
"the surround" of
continual stress about "what now?"

baby working in dim light
over sheets, pages of
homework--do I have a home?

what is my work?
feeling sold out to
"what's the use?"

and now, Christmas done
come again
to what end--disappointed kids?

folks singing carols in church
where I ain't
really welcome, not really, right?

somehow, though, I see
my babies in
that one baby

now what,
for us and
him?

Waiting

advent 2015

No time to celebrate

Last Friday, I attended the funeral service of a 13-year-old child who was shot in the head earlier in the week.  I didn't know the young man, but his grandfather is a dear friend. 

It seems the boy, who recently had moved to the Lake Highlands area with his family, went back to his old neighborhood to see some friends.  Somehow he got tangled in a gangland style drug deal that went very wrong.  He lost his life because of a bad decision and some bad timing. 

The funeral slammed me emotionally.  The boy had adjusted well to his new school.  He made friends quickly.  His grades were all good.  He joined the football team, and was a key player.  As I viewed  his small body, I saw he was wearing his football jersey and a pair of  wide receiver or defensive back gloves.  They were pink, just like the gloves one of my grandsons asked me to get him for Christmas. 

The funeral went about like all funerals among poor folks.  The pastors assured us that this was a time for "celebration," faith and thanksgiving. 

Really? 

Seriously?

Now, I think I get the intent.  I served as a pastor for almost 25 years.  At times of grave loss, as this one, we want to lift up and not cast down.  We want to encourage and not add to the burden of loss.  I get that, believe me.

But, maybe that typical approach is no longer adequate or even appropriate with the lives of so many children on the line today. 

Maybe it's time for a pastor to stand up and say, "Enough!  Enough, Lord, enough!"

I mean, I wanted to stand up and shout, "We ain't gonna take this any more!" 

Where is the leader who will dismiss the service after inviting everyone to gather in the fellowship hall for first of weekly community organizing meetings? 

We've got work to do, folks!  Our babies are being snuffed out while we sing  more of the same old songs, and speak of God as if God needs our defense.  Maybe God does.  I certainly have a question or two of my own. 

But, this is not about us or our faith or our traditions.  This is no platform for a "spiritual performance." This is a place of tragedy reserved for pure, hard grief. 

This is about life and death and justice and fairness and, and beautiful children being killed while we take our ease in thoughts of life after this one. 

Sorry, but no one has dismissed us from our primary assignment:  bringing the will of heaven to the earth, and that doesn't include 2-hour services that celebrate the death of a child. 

There is nothing to celebrate in the death of a bright, beautiful, bewildered young boy like we laid to rest last Friday. 

There is, however, much to ponder. 

This kid was set up by a childhood dominated by poverty, confusion and little hope.  Even when he broke out of a part of his trap, he didn't have all that he needed to make it.  He was so young.  But he had found something on the street that he didn't find in his options in the community as it existed for him.  He certainly didn't find what he needed in the church.  The holes destroyed him. 

It's past time for adults to get together and force the change we need.  That means parents, pastors, school leaders, politicians, policy makers, academics, business leaders and community gate keepers.  It is time to make some changes.  Everything comes into sharper focus when you are gazing in the casket of a 13-year-old child.  Everything, including public policy and community reform.

The young man has gone on.  His life is in the hands of God. 

But our work is here and it is now.  Forgive me, but I don't think we have the time right now to think much more about heaven and the "other side."  Not with so much "hell" all around us, including other babies that likely will be sacrificed while we carry on with business as usual.

Celebrate the death of a 13-year-old baby? 

Forgive me, but I just can't get there. 

Hope's power

We've observed for a long time that if people have hope, life improves, no matter what the circumstance.

Working with children across the years, we've noted that if a child possesses some reasonable measure of hope about life and the future, that child will learn to read at or above grade level.

Along these lines, my associate here at CitySquare, Obinna Jon Ubabuco refered me to the following essay from The Economist.  As always, I'd love to know your reactions.

Hope springs a trap


An absence of optimism plays a large role in keeping people trapped in poverty
May 12th 2012

THE idea that an infusion of hope can make a big difference to the lives of wretchedly poor people sounds like something dreamed up by a well-meaning activist or a tub-thumping politician. Yet this was the central thrust of a lecture at Harvard University on May 3rd by Esther Duflo, an economist at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology known for her data-driven analysis of poverty. Ms Duflo argued that the effects of some anti-poverty programmes go beyond the direct impact of the resources they provide. These programmes also make it possible for the very poor to hope for more than mere survival.

She and her colleagues evaluated a programme in the Indian state of West Bengal, where Bandhan, an Indian microfinance institution, worked with people who lived in extreme penury. They were reckoned to be unable to handle the demands of repaying a loan. Instead, Bandhan gave each of them a small productive asset—a cow, a couple of goats or some chickens. It also provided a small stipend to reduce the temptation to eat or sell the asset immediately, as well as weekly training sessions to teach them how to tend to animals and manage their households. Bandhan hoped that there would be a small increase in income from selling the products of the farm animals provided, and that people would become more adept at managing their own finances.

The results were far more dramatic. Well after the financial help and hand-holding had stopped, the families of those who had been randomly chosen for the Bandhan programme were eating 15% more, earning 20% more each month and skipping fewer meals than people in a comparison group. They were also saving a lot. The effects were so large and persistent that they could not be attributed to the direct effects of the grants: people could not have sold enough milk, eggs or meat to explain the income gains. Nor were they simply selling the assets (although some did).

So what could explain these outcomes?

Read the entire essay here. 

Kids and trees. . .

What is it about kids and trees? 

You know, climbing trees almost instinctively? 

And, what is it about little brothers trying to come behind big brothers no matter what the subject or assignment?

What is it about kids anyway? 

Sadly, some inner city neighborhoods make it very difficult for children to play outside or to climb in the trees. 

Homes stand abandoned.

Community code standards regulating health and safety go unenforced.

Criminal activity seems out of control. 

In some cases regular, dependable nutrition presents very real health challenges to children and their parents. 

Still, kids try to climb trees!  Little brothers and sisters try their best to keep up with their older siblings. 

I have this theory that the more kids you observe climbing trees the healthier the neighborhood! 

[Pictured here at the top, Owen and little brother, Henry!  Amazing boys, if I do say so myself!]

Santa 1952

A tribute to a dog. . .

Prepare to shed a tear here!

This video sent me off down a long memory lane with my own children and, now, my grandchildren.  It also set me to thinking about pets and children from extremely low-income families.  There are a number of dogs in our building here in Downtown Dallas, home to over 250 low-income folks. 

Watch.  Consider.  Enjoy!



[Note: I posted this before learning of the passing of our family's beloved Griffey on Friday. He was an amazing dog. R.I.P., Griffey. We'll never forget you. With much love, Granddad]

Humor me. . .

Humor me, I'm an aging grandfather! Pictured below you'll find real treasure. 

Gracie cheers on one of her school's football clubs.

Owen mixes it up on the soccer field.

Henry clowns and makes everyone smile.

Wyatt scores a touchdown after a long run during a flag football game.

Pure treasure, I tell you, pure treasure!

God, bless the children; these and all the rest.  Priceless, priceless. 

Little girl's truth

Just tonight I watched her walk, hand-in-hand with her mother up the crowded downtown city street.  Traffic rushed past without notice.  Her spindly legs seemed barely able to support her small frame.  So fragile, I waited for the wind to whisk her away.  She must have been all of 6-years-old ... faded cotton dress ... ragged little tennis shoes ... a pair of much too large glasses.  A huge Barbie Doll backpack with the look of having arrived from some "in-touch" charity drive was draped across her small shoulders and somehow did not fall to the ground.  Her mother appeared homeless or at least lost on the streets.  Maybe they were headed to the bus station or possibly to one of the family shelters. 

I couldn't tell. 

But I saw her.

I really saw her. 

She begins her life far behind the curve set by kids like my grandchildren. 

This little girl has little chance in this country of ever "making it." 

Will she finish high school?  What are her chances for college? 

When will she become a mother herself? 

I wondered about her current health and her health care options. 

Where would she sleep tonight? 

Would she ever be truly safe? 

Where were the boundaries of her world when it comes to love, affection, opportunity? 

Did she know her daddy?  Did he know her?  I didn't like the obvious answers that came to me instinctively.

For some reason as I watched this unremarkable pair walk the street, I thought of the church and its members and its leaders--me.  I thought of a thousand books I'd read dealing with some grand thought or seemingly priceless theological or psychological nuance that was meant to "help me" do better, feel better, get on better.  I thought of all the Sunday School classes and all the sermons and all the seminars and all the praise and worship times and sessions and trainings.  I remembered countless learning opportunities. 

I considered all of my "advantage".  And I realized in that one defining moment on that downtown block as I drove home after a day in my pampered world that all of it was rubbish, worthless, foolish, a horrible waste--an illusion and worse, a delusion.  For all the claims, most of the essential, highly regarded stuff of my world is simply not true.

That one little first grade girl and her life and her mom--that is true and more, the life I caught a glimpse of today is the only truth that really matters.

The game is far, far from fair and just and livable.  And, of course, I know it is much, much worse elsewhere even in my city, not to mention the vast, teeming Third World.

This fact causes me problems with "business as usual" faith, serious problems. 

One thing I do know:  all my advantage with its vast world of words and ideas has done nothing to prepare me for handling the ultimate, undeniable truth delivered to my heart this evening by one tiny little creature stumbling along down a very busy, unknowing city street.

[I wrote this reflection several years ago.]

Homework and hope

My friend and Harvard educated business mastermind, Brant Bryan sent me this "stat of the day" from the Harvard Business Review.  I find it most interesting.

Students Do Less Homework When the Jobless Rate Rises


An uptick in the jobless rate from 5% to 6% decreases the amount of time high-school students choose to spend on homework by about 19 minutes per week, says Steven McMullen of Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Michigan. That's because a higher unemployment rate diminishes expected labor-market returns, thus reducing the value of human-capital investment. For similar reasons, a $1 rise in the minimum wage in a state increases students' homework time by about 21 minutes per week, McMullen says.

Source: How do Students Respond to Labor Market and Education Incentives? An Analysis of Homework Time

Food on the Move

We received the drawing above from a child involved in our "Food on the Move" initiative this summer.  You'll also see a thank you letter from this child's mother. 

Partnering with the Texas Department of Agriculture through our Nurture, Knowledge and Nutrition (N,K,N) team, our AmeriCorps team and our for-profit allies at PepsiCo, we delivered thousands of meals to eligible children living all across Dallas. 

Theresa Cissell, Program Specialist for our AmeriCorps team sent the drawing and the letter my way with the following commentary:

I thought you might enjoy the letter (an accompanying drawing) we got from one of the parents at a Food on the Move site. I think it shows that this program is about more than lunches!
 
Here are some stats for the summer that I sent to the amazing AmeriCorps members that made it through the summer, and with smiles on their faces.


We started the summer with 53 dedicated AmeriCorps members & 9 mobile routes.


You made it through 40 days of triple digit temperatures & 23,943 hours of service.

And together, this is what you achieved:  1,136 children received the Presidential Active Lifestyle Award & 279,551 meals were served to kids.

The Food on the Move effort does not take into account the meals delivered through N,K,N to well over 100 program sites across Dallas.  We'll have those numbers to add to this report later.  Combined we served well over 500,000 meals to low-income children during the summer school break.
Great work in the midst of recording breaking summer in terms of both temperature and community service!

It's all about perspective!

Sometimes we just need a new way to frame things! 

Check this out. 

Reflect.

Get back to me!

Dance!

We spend lots of time encouraging people who've forgotten how or never knew how to just dance! Go on, just dance! Don't sit it out!

A very special Christmas story

Marian Wright Edelman is President of the Children's Defense Fund whose Leave No Child Behind® mission is to ensure every child a Healthy Start, a Head Start, a Fair Start, a Safe Start and a Moral Start in life and successful passage to adulthood with the help of caring families and communities.


Mrs. Edelman's Child Watch Column also appears each week on The Huffington Post and Change.org.

I "lifted" the following story from Edelman's column.  She reports on a very special Christmas Eve sermon delivered at the Riverside Church in New Yorik City by her friend William Sloan Coffin, Jr.  Her Christmas story provides all the direction we need to craft a better community as we begin our first steps toward next Christmas, don't you think? 
______________________________

. . . it was Christmas Eve and the pews at New York City’s Riverside Church were packed. The Christmas pageant was underway and had come to the point at which the innkeeper was to turn away Mary and Joseph with the resounding line, “There’s no room at the inn!” The innkeeper was played by Tim, an earnest youth of the congregation who had Down Syndrome. Only one line to remember: “There’s no room at the inn!” He had practiced it again and again with his parents and the pageant director and seemed to have mastered it.


So Tim stood at the altar, bathrobe costume firmly belted over his broad stomach, as Mary and Joseph made their way down the center aisle. They approached him, said their lines as rehearsed, and waited for his reply. Tim’s parents, the pageant director, and the whole congregation almost leaned forward as if willing him to remember his line.

“There’s no room at the inn!” Tim boomed out, just as rehearsed. But then, as Mary and Joseph turned on cue to travel further, Tim suddenly yelled “Wait!” They turned back, startled, and looked at him in surprise.

“You can stay at my house!” he called.

Well, Tim had so effectively preached the Christmas Eve message at Riverside Church that Bill Coffin strode to the pulpit, said “Amen,” and sat down. It was the best sermon he never preached.

When will we individually and collectively as congregations, as communities, and as a nation resolve to stop saying to our children, “There’s no room at the inn”? When will we, like Tim, start saying, “You can stay at my house”? As the recession’s dangerous effects linger, when will we say to poor, hungry, and homeless children, “Wait! We’ll make a place for you at America’s table”? How long until we say to children whose parents are working hard every day trying to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads, “We will help you escape poverty”? “We’ll catch you in our safety net until your family is able to provide for you again”?

Waiting for Superman: a film to see

Worry and children

Cormac McCarthy's 2007 Pulitzer Prize winning novel, The Road, tells a dark and dreadful story about a man and his young son.  The pair find themselves on the road, literally, making their way across a hostile, unforgiving landscape burned out presumably by a catastrophic event of universal proportions. 

Darkness prevails in every moment, around every turn in the story, save for the love of the man for his son and that of the son for his father.  Their relationship, based on the fact that they "carry the light," provides the only relief from the prevailing dreadfulness. 

The passage below provides important insight into the place of worry and anxiety in the lives of children, no matter how small, young or seemingly unaware of difficult surrounding circumstances. 

This narrative sadly reminded me of so many children in the inner city.  It follows an encounter the man and the boy experienced with a thief who made off with all their belongings.  After catching the thief and taking their possessions back, the man sent the now naked thief away.  The young boy now worries about the fate of the thief.  The conversation between the man and  his son begins. . .

He's not gone, the boy said.  He looked  up.  His face streaked with soot.  He's not.

What do you want to do?

Just help him, Papa.  Just help him.

The man looked back up the road.

He was just hungry, Papa.  He's going to die.

He's going to die anyway.

He's so scared, Papa.

The man squatted and looked at him.  I'm scared, he said.  Do you understand?  I'm scared.

The boy didn't answer.  He just sat there with his head bowed, sobbing.

You're not the one who has to worry about everything. 

The boy said something but he couldn't understand him.  What? he said.

He looked up, his wet and grimy face.  Yes I am, he said.  I am the one. 

The anxiety, the fear of our children must assume a place among our most pressing concerns as we do our work.

What do you think?