Poverty

Poverty is commonly defined as  the state of being inferior in quality or insufficient in amount,  or according to Corbett and Fikkert, poverty is the result of relationships that do not work, that are not just, that are not for life, that are nor harmonious or enjoyable. Poverty is the absence of shalom in all its meanings.

Often when we think of someone who is poor we assume it begins and ends with money. That lack of money is the reason and the solution to poverty, but it is much more than that. Understanding poverty is not something most people seek out to understand, but understanding it in the depths it goes beyond financial stability or instability is crucial.

I am only in the beginning stages of understanding poverty and the effects and life of it. Often I see people very frustrated with seeing or experiencing the poverty of others and I included have been frustrated in similar ways. Yet, the more I seek to understand and learn the veins and arteries of poverty I am shocked by the binding power and control it has emotionally, relationally, mentally and physically.

Why am I thinking all of this now?

Over the last few weeks I have again met face to face with a very real aspect of poverty. I have been seeking to collect signed forms for our March Break Camp coming up very soon. They are not complicated forms, just the basic information; name, age, health card number, emergency contact and such.  It has been the rare exception to receive back a single form that is filled out in completion. Not only that but, it often involves me handing out over 30 forms in order to get 5 returned from a list of 20 kids.

Why? Why such a struggle to fill out a registration form and to get it in by a dead line?

What I don’t always think about when it comes to poverty is the root reasons for the symptoms that I experience with people. The inability to follow through with plans or to make commitments is just a symptom of greater things such as distrust, fear of the unknown, past hurts, disappointments and protecting one’s self from allowing it to happen again. And this makes sense when we think of poverty the way it was defined by Fikkert and Corbett  in the book “When helping hurts”. It has far less to do with money and far more to do with relationship that we so often frequently think and it begins to make more sense.

The way we view poverty will always effect that way we approach it. Always! If my conclusion is simply thinking of another person as lazy I will inevitable treat them in a way that only pushes them into further poverty of relational distrust and fear. Yes, there are a lot of issues when it comes to poverty to consider, but consider this. If I choose to view each person based on their financial state verses their relational state with themselves, God, nature and others I will treat them in every opposing ways. Money is a big issue, but a greater issue is how people understand God’s view of them, their own opinion, the opinion of others around them and the world they are living in. And if I am able to understand this within myself and in others the way I approach things begins to have the ability to restore these things within myself and in others.

Resources about poverty: (because this stuff isn’t all coming from me).

 “When helping hurts” by Corbett and Fikkert

http://killermartinis.kinja.com/why-i-make-terrible-decisions-or-poverty-thoughts-1450123558

https://missionallendale.wordpress.com/2012/09/05/how-would-you-define-and-solve-poverty/

https://www.chalmers.org/our-work/redefining-poverty/what-is-poverty

Open heart, open home, open life.

One of my struggles since moving away from Warden Woods is finding ways to have my home and life open to the youth I work with apart from the hours when I am "at work".
Previously, living only a ten minute walk away from their front doors allowed for random bump in's as well as being able to regularly invite the youth into my home and thus into my life, apart from the hours I was technically working.
That fine line of being a missionary as well as living a missional life. 
For the past month I have been thinking, writing on my to-do-list and mentioning to Chris my desire to have some of the girls over for an evening. He of course supporting this 100% but finding a time proved to be a challenge.
Priorities, such a complex part of life. How to fit in, schedule and arrange only so many minutes, hours and days within a week.
The balance of getting enough sleep to be able to function well, finding time to be in quiet with God, to getting meals cooked. When to meet up with that friend that just keeps getting bumped to the next week, keeping that one night unplanned to order to have a meal with Chris at a decent hour, all the while trying to fit in these things that I really desire.
Last Friday I was able to have two girls over to my home. They were far to excited, it was as if I lived in a mansion. They chattered away in the back seat the whole way, screaming with excitement when we went on the highway.
Everything was amazing to them, from the mirror in the elevator, to my bathroom. It was such a simple and wonderful evening of creating waffles, spilling flour, stuffing faces with whipping cream and surprisingly playing chess.
As we pack up for the trip back to their homes they began making plans for their next visit.
In the midst of ministry moments like these are the ones that refresh and energize me. My prayer is that through the mess of flour spills, full stomachs and being in one another lives that somehow they would know from my life the surpassing love of Jesus for them!

Confession's of a missionary

That frustrating state of feeling purposeless quickly swept over me Friday morning as I was driving into work. Why did I ever think I could be a missionary in the first place? Who was I kidding,

nothing I do makes a difference anyways. 

What was I even working towards? Day in and day out trying to run a good camp. 

Half the kids don't even like camp.

Why do I even bother going into the community, knocking on countless doors only to receive a closed door in return.

I say you do all of these things, but they never amount to anything, you knock but you don't even talk to anyone, what good is that? There are so many better missionaries out there, missionaries who actually do stuff that make a difference.

I pulled up to a high school and sat waiting, passing time listening to accounts of other couples who lived radical lives for Jesus. 

That's what a real missionary is, see how much they are loved and how much they do. They don't sit around in their car and say their working. 

She came running out of the school, "Hey Jello, my lunch ends at 1:18, where are we going?"

What do I say to here, I don't feel very talkative. She's enjoying her meal but this is kind of a waste of time, I should be talking about Jesus or something. I'm not doing this thing very well. 

As the interns left to go pick up the kids  I escaped to my kitchen to finish up dinner.

Why do I even bothering cooking all this food, the kids don't even like it most days.

A volunteers arrives and chatters on to me about her day, I listen and fill her in on the plans for camp today. After awhile of silence she excuses herself to go finish up some homework

I can't even communicate, I'm suppose to be leading these people and I can't even probably carry a conversation with a volunteers, they probably think I am the worst supervisor ever.

First kid arrives, my darling 11 year old early bird. I attempt to talk to her asking her about her day as we played with her remote control car.

This is so shallow.

"Jello," she breaks into my thoughts, "can we spend some time together just you and me after camp some day?"

Why would she want to spend time with me. I don't get it. She just wants to spend time with me. That seems to easy.....

I walk into the gym, it's packed full of kids and youth sitting around the table for dinner together. One  little 5 years old's come running up to me, "Jello, hug," as they quickly embraced me and skipped off. And than another and another. Even little Ty comes bouncing over, wraps his little arms around my waist and smiles up at me "Hi Jello". 

I don't understand, I don't deserve this. Why do these kids love me?

The night rolled on, talent show, multiple dances, jello eating contest, hand stand contest, fear of being on stage met with applauded encouragement and laughter. 

Tears shed and more hugs given, apologize made and forgiveness extended before they all rushed out the door and home again. 

Get over yourself Janelle, this isn't about you.

I joined a young volunteer to finished washing up the forks, plates and cups.

I'm so concerned with how I look to others, what I accomplish and what I think a missionary should be, that my gaze is often stuck on myself rather than on Jesus and His mission. 

Thursday Nights

Last night 11 of us crowded around a small table, shared dipping sauces and passed the bag of chips around the circle. Multiple conversations going on all at once and lots of laughter filled the four cornered cement building  where we meet. 

It isn't fancy, it's a little cold and empty at times. The water only runs cold and so we boil water in order to wash dishes at the end of the evening.  There is a continuous rattling noise which causes much concern and fear for the girls coming from an old heater behind a locked door. But given all of these things we are so excited to finally be able to use this old building that has stood empty for so long in the heart of the community. 

As we began the time of bible study my co-leader asked a follow up question from last week's discussion. "Who do you say that I am?" A question Jesus had asked his followers. 

We waited in that uncomfortable long silence desiring for the youth to share were they thought they were at with Jesus, and who He is to them. We had a back up plan in case no one spoke but it wasn't long before the first brave girl spoke up. "Well I am kind of confused about all that Jesus stuff right now and I just don't know, so I come here to learn more". She quickly turned to her friend and put her on the spot. One by one they all took a turn sharing. "I'm not really talking to Him right now, it's hard", another slowly spoke up, " For me He is Christ and I have accepted him, but I want to learn more". A young man spoke up," I talk to Him when I have no one else and I come here to get away from my family, it's like a second home" another, "I know that He is the Christ but I don't think I have fully accepted Him yet, but I want to get there." Honest, real answers. 

I am so proud of this group of youth and their desire to grow, each in there own place making little brave steps in a good direction whether it's after months of isolating herself, coming out for the first time or being brave enough to ask questions, encouraging one another. I am so thankful for the Thursday evenings I get to spend with this group. 

• Please be praying for myself and Jordan my co-leader as we seek to challenge, grow, love, lead and hold accountable this group of youth through our Thursday night gatherings. 
• Please prayer for the youth as they come out, that it continues to be a place where they feel safe and not judged, a place for them to be real and to learn no matter where they are at.
• Please prayer above all that the Spirit would be present and be moving in the hearts of us all as we dive into the word together.

Rude

The difficult wrestle of self

Self-interest, self- centered

Self- protect, self- controlled

Self-worship, self-lordship

Against all else

No one else matters, no one else cares

No one else controls

No one else has a say

Against authority

They have no say over me

Their opinions determine who I am

Yet have no control over me

Against the King of Kings

He can only be King

As long as He  doesn’t conflict

With what I want

with what I say

Bound tight in these lines

Wrestling for freedom

Only ending more entangled

Burdened by the weight

Sinking deeper as if being crushed

Yet claiming to be standing taller

In control of what I preserve

Of what my mind says

No one can tell me what to do

I listen to no one but myself

Than why dear girl does my voice matter

why little one do you do as I say

 why do you respect me of all people

the only form of authority that holds any weight

She stopped as if caught in a puzzle

And stuttered in what seemed like amazement

I really don't know why I listen to you

Sweet girl don’t you see the ropes entangling you

The lies,

That you have behavior issues

That you are rude

That you are hard, or strong

And that you’ll never amount to much

She nodes in agreement

I am those things she says in controlled pride

I am rude

No sweet girl, you are not rude

Rude is somebody else

They seem to have your name mistaken

 you are dear sweet girl

She laughs out loud

No, I am rude she states

You.......act......rude...

I say slowly

You....are.....not...rude..

Fine, she said with a toss of her head

I, act, rude, she responded mockingly

Do you know what acting is I ask

To pretend

Right, you pretend to be rude

Why would I do that

Because it’s safer,

Safer to be known as rude

To have everyone see you as what you want to be seen as

Rude, tough, strong

I am not tough, she says softly

I know sweet girl, I know

Can these dry bones live?

"Can these dry bones live, Ezekiel"?
I'm sure Ezekiel must have felt a moment of panic as he attempted to answer correctly.
"Only you know Lord".
Seem safe enough, right.
But then it gets interesting, doesn't it.

God instructs Ezekiel to prophecy, to prophecy of the bones coming together, for flesh to cover the bones and than at last he is to prophecy the wind rushing through and breathing life into what was once dead to live.

I wonder how Ezekiel was feeling after all of this? I wonder what went through his mind, his heart. Was he afraid, inspired, I wonder of the impact this had on his life personally.

Recently, I heard a sermon of this passage and for the past week it repeatable runs through my mind and I imagine being asked this question by God as I encounter the "normal" brokenness of this life. "Can this youth ________ live again?"............"can this team of people you love that has faced lose, who are tired and weak, truly find abundant life in Me?"........"can my Spirit truly breath into dead people, life"?

It's the center of the gospel and the pinnacle on which my faith and life anchors on. Do I believe that, truly only God knows but that He is able to breath life over what was once dead to make it live, alive, fully, vibrantly, in Him.

Ezekiel 37:1-14

Hurt, broken and beyond beautiful!

She hit it floor as the leaders separated the girls, and she sank low on the floor sobbing angry and hurt hot tears. A leader knelt down beside her trying to comfort her, but instead baby girl cried out, “You don’t care, you don’t care at all you didn’t do anything”.  I rushed over and as a knelt down to the floor could hear heavy angry breathing between her sobs.  “Kiki” I whispered, “come with me, we can talk about it. She lashed out through her tears, “No”! Quickly one of her peers come over and coxed her to go with her into a different room to cool down.

Walking into the room I could hear her peer telling her not to worry about the other girls, that she didn’t need them and was cool without them. I sat and listened as this 14 years old took responsibility over this 11 year old. After a while I interrupted, “Kiki, can I talk to you alone”? She nodded without eye contact. As the peer left, I bent close and asked if I could give her a hug. She feel and sank into my body and hug me tight, as her sobs turned to uncontrolled crying. “I’m sorry baby girl,” I whispered as I held her tight.

As we began to talk I quickly realized that so much of what had happened rooted back in to this little girls identity. I again interrupted her explaining the situation and told her how beautiful, cool, smart, adventurous, creative and loved her was. As I reminded her of how much Jesus loves her and all the things He thinks about her the tears slowly started running down a what had become soft and broken face free from anger. I reminder her about how Jesus never retaliated or acted out in revenge because He didn’t have to prove himself, and how because of His life and death we don’t have to prove our worth and ourselves to others either.  As she listened the tears dripped down her face and she leaned forward into my arms “I love you Jello”.

As I tried to hold back my own tears I asked if she was able to receive an apology from the other girl, she said she was. This surprised me, so I asked her if she was going to be able to also over her forgiveness, again she said yes. Surprised even more, I looked her in the eye and asked her how, how could she forgive this girl for what she did?  I was discouraged, discouraged that the last day of camp before Christmas was ending with a fight between my girls, discouraged that there was so much unrest at camp, I was tired and feeling frustrated in ministry. But she stopped and looked be straight in the eye and said, “I don’t want to Jello, but I can because Jesus forgave me”.  I quickly became a weeping mess myself as we cried together  because of the hurt and the brokenness, and because of the beautiful and reality of what Jesus and for the fruition of it coming to live in this little girl.