There's nothing like counting blessings to erase any lingering feeling of lack. Notice I said "feeling of lack" since I'm not anywhere near those unfortunate ones who actually experience material lack.
Take last night, for example. We met old friends for dinner in one of our favorite towns, Lawrence, KS, home of the Jayhawks, a fabulous basketball team, and a full-of-surprises football team. My alma mater. But beyond that, this little city is full of sparkle, full of a determined "can-do" spirit, with a decidedly liberal bent.
The friends we met were of that bent too. They showed off their new Hybrid Camry and talked about their recent trips to Latvia, Paris and Machu Picchu. I showed off my new winter boots (not Uggs but just as warm) and we talked about how the world could change for the better now that Obama is poised to take the helm.
We ate at a moderately priced restaurant in the heart of the city, and by 6:30 it was full. No poverty to be found here, nor, indeed, anywhere among my friends. We are all solidly middle class and most of us are entrepreneurial enough to be independent of worry about jobs. Of course the flip side is that we don't have (and never did have) corporate health insurance or 401(k) plans. Bailouts bring no great reprieve since we have no mortgages to worry about and are debt free. Watching old movies on TV brings as much joy as seeing the latest one, but it's still nice to have the funds to do both.
Most of all, I'm grateful for the people who love me and who I love, those whom the Beatles wrote about long ago: "I get by with a little help from my friends."
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Another Thanksgiving
So how was it? Did it disappoint you? Surprise you? Live up to your expectations? Did you tell yourself you had no expectations as a way of getting ready for whatever came up? And how did that go? Was it what you had in mind all along?
Funny about these holiday gatherings. There are those of us who are fortunate enough to have family with us that we enjoy being with (count me among them!) and then there are those whose families are broken, dysfunctional, or just plain absent. Sometimes Thanksgiving leaves us with a bigger hole in the heart than before.
When I was a child, we had many family gatherings, especially at Thanksgiving and Christmas. My favorite memories were of all of us gathered around the piano singing with gusto while Mother's tumbling notes tried to keep up and often failed. It didn't matter. We were family and we were where we belonged.
Sometimes Dad accompanied her on his trombone, using his old felt hat for a mute. I loved hearing him play "Sugar Blues" and imagined myself - then a child of 8, 9, 10, 11 - sitting in a smoky nightclub listening to jazz greats like Louis Armstrong.
The mystique of music was our holiday mainstay. On Christmas Eve we gathered again around the piano to sing familiar carols from the old Cokesbury Hymnal. "O Little Town of Bethlehem" and "O Come All Ye Faithful," one of my favorites because Dad and Granddad always sang the bass notes. Then came "O Holy Night," another favorite, with Aunt Iva Jeanne's beautiful soprano sending the rest of us to hushed tones of accompaniment. We all came back to belt out "Joy to the World" and ended with a peaceful "Silent Night."
Altogether we probably spent less than half an hour around the piano, but it was always the highlight of the evening. Afterward, the adults would drift back to their eggnog and conversations, we children having nothing to look forward to now but the impossible task of getting to sleep so that morning would come and we could open the gifts we had poked, pinched and shaken. We were too old to believe in Santa anymore, so our gifts now were all wrapped, but the excitement was still there. And though I don't recall a single gift I received in those late elementary school years, I recall going to bed with my stomach in a knot of anticipation.
But back to Thanksgiving - although we didn't have gifts, it was a time of great thanks, feelings of glowing well-being. That same knot of anticipation was there before dinner, knowing the feast that awaited us would be delicious, sweet, sugary.
This year, I felt the old magic again. My sister and her husband drove in from Memphis and we spent the day before Thanksgiving buying fresh vegetables, assembling ingredients and making two fresh Karo pecan pies - the pecans coming from my nephew's back yard - and doing what we used to do. Except, of course, that we had no piano to gather around, no mother to play for us, no gravelly bass voices to fill the air. Someday we may play the old cassette tapes we made, and see if we can make out the individual voices.
For now, it was enough to be surrounded by family and by people of good will - 22 of us in all - as we circled the table, said a prayer, filled our plates. Enough? More than enough -- overflowing.
Funny about these holiday gatherings. There are those of us who are fortunate enough to have family with us that we enjoy being with (count me among them!) and then there are those whose families are broken, dysfunctional, or just plain absent. Sometimes Thanksgiving leaves us with a bigger hole in the heart than before.
When I was a child, we had many family gatherings, especially at Thanksgiving and Christmas. My favorite memories were of all of us gathered around the piano singing with gusto while Mother's tumbling notes tried to keep up and often failed. It didn't matter. We were family and we were where we belonged.
Sometimes Dad accompanied her on his trombone, using his old felt hat for a mute. I loved hearing him play "Sugar Blues" and imagined myself - then a child of 8, 9, 10, 11 - sitting in a smoky nightclub listening to jazz greats like Louis Armstrong.
The mystique of music was our holiday mainstay. On Christmas Eve we gathered again around the piano to sing familiar carols from the old Cokesbury Hymnal. "O Little Town of Bethlehem" and "O Come All Ye Faithful," one of my favorites because Dad and Granddad always sang the bass notes. Then came "O Holy Night," another favorite, with Aunt Iva Jeanne's beautiful soprano sending the rest of us to hushed tones of accompaniment. We all came back to belt out "Joy to the World" and ended with a peaceful "Silent Night."
Altogether we probably spent less than half an hour around the piano, but it was always the highlight of the evening. Afterward, the adults would drift back to their eggnog and conversations, we children having nothing to look forward to now but the impossible task of getting to sleep so that morning would come and we could open the gifts we had poked, pinched and shaken. We were too old to believe in Santa anymore, so our gifts now were all wrapped, but the excitement was still there. And though I don't recall a single gift I received in those late elementary school years, I recall going to bed with my stomach in a knot of anticipation.
But back to Thanksgiving - although we didn't have gifts, it was a time of great thanks, feelings of glowing well-being. That same knot of anticipation was there before dinner, knowing the feast that awaited us would be delicious, sweet, sugary.
This year, I felt the old magic again. My sister and her husband drove in from Memphis and we spent the day before Thanksgiving buying fresh vegetables, assembling ingredients and making two fresh Karo pecan pies - the pecans coming from my nephew's back yard - and doing what we used to do. Except, of course, that we had no piano to gather around, no mother to play for us, no gravelly bass voices to fill the air. Someday we may play the old cassette tapes we made, and see if we can make out the individual voices.
For now, it was enough to be surrounded by family and by people of good will - 22 of us in all - as we circled the table, said a prayer, filled our plates. Enough? More than enough -- overflowing.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
One Step on the Journey
This blog is devoted to thoughts on poverty. As I sit savoring the election of Barack Obama as the 44th President of the United States, I'm thinking about what it means for the poverty that's present in our land. What will it mean for the young African American male who's struggling to stay clear of drugs and create a good life for himself, fully participating in our economy? What will it mean for the young white woman who's employed but barely making it in supporting herself and her children?
For their part, I hope they will feel a new sense of pride, a new will to accomplish their dreams.
Are we -- you and I -- ready to do our part?
Our part is harder. We have to find ways to support their efforts that are beyond handouts, that are truly empowering, that will change the very structure of this top-down culture so that real opportunities not only exist - but abound.
We're talking change here, change that has been a long time coming.
Generations of poverty thinking need to change.
Generations of we can't -we're afraid to - we're not ready- it won't work -- all those negative messages we feed ourselves constantly -- that's poverty thinking. That's the real poverty that throws up a Berlin wall of impossibility. And we all know that when that wall started coming down, it came down. And got replaced with something greater.
I hope we can tear down that mythical but solid wall and get to work building abundance.
For their part, I hope they will feel a new sense of pride, a new will to accomplish their dreams.
Are we -- you and I -- ready to do our part?
Our part is harder. We have to find ways to support their efforts that are beyond handouts, that are truly empowering, that will change the very structure of this top-down culture so that real opportunities not only exist - but abound.
We're talking change here, change that has been a long time coming.
Generations of poverty thinking need to change.
Generations of we can't -we're afraid to - we're not ready- it won't work -- all those negative messages we feed ourselves constantly -- that's poverty thinking. That's the real poverty that throws up a Berlin wall of impossibility. And we all know that when that wall started coming down, it came down. And got replaced with something greater.
I hope we can tear down that mythical but solid wall and get to work building abundance.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
More Thoughts on Poverty
"You can never really be poor," a friend told me years ago. "You have too many innate resources - intelligence, know-how, an active network of friends, the ability to get a decent job, etc."
We were having this discussion because some of my friends had chosen "voluntary poverty," i.e. living on income below poverty level, as a way of resisting payment of taxes that would support a military machine they could not in good conscience support. I admired what they did and wondered about doing it myself.
When I looked at how my voluntarily poor friends were actually living, I had to agree that they weren't like other involuntarily poor people I knew. For one thing, they made sure they shopped for groceries on sale days when they could get bargains and still maintain a healthy diet. For another, they had plenty of friends who admired what they were doing and therefore offered them free movie and concert tickets, lots of household extras, and even in one case housing. One of them worked at a restaurant and got free leftovers. They never lacked what I would call an abundance of material goods.
Real poverty is eating cornflakes with water because you can't afford milk, even the powdered kind.
Real poverty is having to sit for hours to receive any "free" medical services - which were inadequate at best.
Real poverty is having to choose whether you pay the light bill or the heating bill - or a little on both so you won't have to worry about being cut off.
Eugene once told me that his father made him eat cornflakes with roaches in them because that was the only thing in the house to eat.
Stefanie told me the only time she stole anything was from a grocery store: she had to have something to feed her kids, so she stole a can of soup.
That's why I give to Harvesters, the Community Food Network. Food is basic. And there are still people in this world who through no fault of their own can't feed their kids.
We were having this discussion because some of my friends had chosen "voluntary poverty," i.e. living on income below poverty level, as a way of resisting payment of taxes that would support a military machine they could not in good conscience support. I admired what they did and wondered about doing it myself.
When I looked at how my voluntarily poor friends were actually living, I had to agree that they weren't like other involuntarily poor people I knew. For one thing, they made sure they shopped for groceries on sale days when they could get bargains and still maintain a healthy diet. For another, they had plenty of friends who admired what they were doing and therefore offered them free movie and concert tickets, lots of household extras, and even in one case housing. One of them worked at a restaurant and got free leftovers. They never lacked what I would call an abundance of material goods.
Real poverty is eating cornflakes with water because you can't afford milk, even the powdered kind.
Real poverty is having to sit for hours to receive any "free" medical services - which were inadequate at best.
Real poverty is having to choose whether you pay the light bill or the heating bill - or a little on both so you won't have to worry about being cut off.
Eugene once told me that his father made him eat cornflakes with roaches in them because that was the only thing in the house to eat.
Stefanie told me the only time she stole anything was from a grocery store: she had to have something to feed her kids, so she stole a can of soup.
That's why I give to Harvesters, the Community Food Network. Food is basic. And there are still people in this world who through no fault of their own can't feed their kids.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
On the cusp of a crumbling economy, on the cusp of an election in which people wonder whether it will matter who wins, on the cusp of this mid-October daywith its first crisp leaf fall, I've fallen prey to, succumbed to, writing this blog. What motivated me? Coming across Blog Action Day, wanting to be part of this great mission, to write about, think about, focus on poverty. A state many of us have not truly lived in. A state with its own distinct borders, easy to get into, difficult to leave. The state of poverty is a vast territory, terrifying to most, well-known to some. It has its own rules for survival, of course. Ask anyone who's ever traveled there.
For a few years I traveled alongside those in poverty, as an advocate, as a helper, trying to "bridge the gap" between those who would offer themselves as resources and those who desperately needed the resources. You'd think that would be easy -but in our complex rule-bound society it's anything but. Especially if you're new to poverty. Think of it. Do you know where the nearest food pantry is? Do you have the assertiveness, the fortitude, the persistence, to find out? Once you find out, do you have the means to get there? If it's more than a few miles away you can't walk - if there's no bus service you have to have a car or borrow a friend's car and have the money to pay for gas - just figuring out the simplest transportation to get help becomes mountainous. The mountains defeated me.
I left without having done much of anything, even though I helped establish yet another "helping" nonprofit group with a budget of over a million dollars. Very little of it found its way into the pockets of the poor, of course. That was considered a no-no. And so we played the game. We made sure their rent was paid, their utilities turned back on, they had food. Occasionally we got them lined up for a job (which usually meant a trip to a thrift store for suitable clothing, arranging day care, getting a bus pass, etc.)
Call it early case management. Except for one thing: people are people, not cases. Each person was as unique as those fall leaves out my window. And their needs were also unique. No short cuts. My mission remains unaccomplished. Not only the mission of eliminating or just plain alleviating one corner of poverty, but so many others - the mission of allowing compassion to create new ways to connect with each other, as cream rises to the top. Allow, receive, surrender. Those words remain elusive in their vast meanings, in what they require. Yet, for the moment, they suffice as a worthy mission.
Big picture aside, more daily missions include paying attention to each person I meet, savoring the moments that pass through me as swiftly as nanoseconds, making myself available to learn and to teach.....whatever is learnable, whatever needs teaching at this late stage of planetary consumption. Greenness is still possible. Hence my passion for passing on environmental tips from time to time...not that the entire mission will be "accomplished" in my lifetime, but that's ok.
And it's time to mention joy. My mission is discovering, uncovering, and spreading - thick as peanut butter - joy through, over, under, everything. The joy that is deeper than sunshine and rainbows, the joy that pylons our very existence with its sturdy truth.
For a few years I traveled alongside those in poverty, as an advocate, as a helper, trying to "bridge the gap" between those who would offer themselves as resources and those who desperately needed the resources. You'd think that would be easy -but in our complex rule-bound society it's anything but. Especially if you're new to poverty. Think of it. Do you know where the nearest food pantry is? Do you have the assertiveness, the fortitude, the persistence, to find out? Once you find out, do you have the means to get there? If it's more than a few miles away you can't walk - if there's no bus service you have to have a car or borrow a friend's car and have the money to pay for gas - just figuring out the simplest transportation to get help becomes mountainous. The mountains defeated me.
I left without having done much of anything, even though I helped establish yet another "helping" nonprofit group with a budget of over a million dollars. Very little of it found its way into the pockets of the poor, of course. That was considered a no-no. And so we played the game. We made sure their rent was paid, their utilities turned back on, they had food. Occasionally we got them lined up for a job (which usually meant a trip to a thrift store for suitable clothing, arranging day care, getting a bus pass, etc.)
Call it early case management. Except for one thing: people are people, not cases. Each person was as unique as those fall leaves out my window. And their needs were also unique. No short cuts. My mission remains unaccomplished. Not only the mission of eliminating or just plain alleviating one corner of poverty, but so many others - the mission of allowing compassion to create new ways to connect with each other, as cream rises to the top. Allow, receive, surrender. Those words remain elusive in their vast meanings, in what they require. Yet, for the moment, they suffice as a worthy mission.
Big picture aside, more daily missions include paying attention to each person I meet, savoring the moments that pass through me as swiftly as nanoseconds, making myself available to learn and to teach.....whatever is learnable, whatever needs teaching at this late stage of planetary consumption. Greenness is still possible. Hence my passion for passing on environmental tips from time to time...not that the entire mission will be "accomplished" in my lifetime, but that's ok.
And it's time to mention joy. My mission is discovering, uncovering, and spreading - thick as peanut butter - joy through, over, under, everything. The joy that is deeper than sunshine and rainbows, the joy that pylons our very existence with its sturdy truth.
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