Lives of the Rich and Shameless

Scott and I live in a modest neighborhood -- no McMansions here.  But the mortgage is reasonable, we love our house, and the neighbors respect one another's privacy -- no peering in windows, dropping by unannounced or gossipping over the fence.  However, by the surrounding communities, we are considered "The Hood."  We're OK with that.  We don't pretend to be the upper echelon; we have our problems, but here, they are right before your eyes -- no molestors posing as mild-mannered retirees, no drug dealing police officers or embezzeling politicians.  That's the thing about living in The Hood, all the neighboring communities love to bring you down; so when crime happens, it's all over the news -- no one hides.  While the nearby "gated communities" or "white collar boroughs" -- you know, decent people -- stick their noses in the air, you can drive their streets and almost catch the scent of prescription meds -- or the need for them.  The pillar of the community that refers to his wife as "Hey Stupid!"  The town cop that stiffs his kid at every oppurtunity, and secretly belittles his girlfriend's child to the point of tears.  The closet alcoholic that operates township vehicles to drive carpool to the local elementary school; the well-advertised and, of course, privately contempted alcoholic that finds "no one home" at every door on which she knocks.  The arrogant bigots that approve your membership or welcome your patronage, strictly for your cash and their entertainment.  Even in the zoo, they mark the cages of the most dangerous beasts.

We try to teach our children to tell the truth.  When they do something wrong, we tell them that lying is not an option.  "Own up to it.  If you're big enough to do the deed, you're big enough to stand up when your name is called."  So much can be revealed when exposed to the light of the truth.  It won't matter what mask you wore, what manicured hedge you hid behind, whether you were respected or reviled -- the truth will be known.  And frankly, good or bad, I prefer the truth.

Rethinking the Home Office

Remember that famous picture of JFK Jr. peeking out from beneath his father's desk?  Right, who doesn't.  Well, I'm wondering how our 35th president got a lick of work done!  My office is our latest project, and it is in the throes of completion.  The idea behind having a home office was to provide me with a place I could, at least temporarily, escape the endless barrage of questions about dinner, schedules, lost apparel and the injustice of trading silly bands for the latest cereal box booty, only to have the other party renege.  We moved some of our residents around, slapped on a fresh coat of paint, had FIOS wire my connection, and hung a few pictures sure to soothe the savage bill-paying, budget-tweaking beast.  It's just down the hall from our bedroom, so Bishop can curl up at my feet while still keeping a keen eye on the "big bed" to see if Daddy might let him up for a scratch or two.  It's cozy and dark and tailor-made for losing myself within the folds of my writing.  It screams "productive" without making a sound.  Perfect, right?  Well, I've just come to the realization that outside of the Bonneville Salt Flats or some other semi-remote location (say, Mars) it doesn't make a bit of difference.  It's about setting boundaries; telling those around you that, momentarily, the task at hand must come first, and they must go it alone or find something else to distract them while they wait for assistance.  It's about reminding others we have a state of the art calendar in the kitchen, right beside the expensive pens from the bank and, if they really apply themselves they can discern how those items are best used in order to record their upcoming events somewhere other than my cerebral cortex.  It's about pointing out the detailed instructions that are neatly compiled in three separate volumes, located on the shelf in the kitchen -- directives that will allow one to provide for themselves via the preparation of various foodstuffs.  Similar, actually to the way in which I provide for others on a daily basis with no sorcery, versatile utility belt or secret powers whatsoever.  Yeah, well, so much for that.  The blank stares, tilted heads and cocked ears are just the harbinger of the myriad of inquiries I will face if I remain staked within my boundary.  Besides, who can resist answering the fifteenth excited inquiry about the dog's flatulence?

"Hey, Babe, your thoughts on a walk-in closet?"

Happy Fouth of July!

I was listening to Bishop David G Evans yesterday; I love his call-in radio program.  He was speaking about some evangelical groups who, with good intentions to "bring America back to its God-fearing roots," wind up getting involved in everything, but at the same time -- nothing.  For instance, the perceived sexuality of Sponge Bob.  Yes, that's right, the cartoon sea creature in the square pants.  Now, I like Sponge Bob and really don't care who he dates, besides, I could never get past the idea that a sponge is an animal; even in seventh grade science, they always seemed more like plants to me.  I sided with Bishop Evans on this one:  Do evangelicals really have nothing better to do?  Are there folks out there who really need a worldwide organization to weigh in on this issue, in order to guide their parenting?  If someone feels "convicted" about allowing a homosexual sponge into their living rooms at 7 PM every night, can't they simply take control of the remote?  Can a male sponge really desire another male sponge? (Well, Bishop Evans didn't really bring that one up, but it's worth consideration)  Wouldn't evangelicals best serve their fellow man by, oh, say -- evangelizing?

Call me crazy, but I'd rather drive seven miles to work every morning than walk or pedal.  Don't get me wrong, I like the planet -- it's water and oxygen, and all that cool stuff, but I don't care how long or loud you extol the benefits of "green" travel to me, the idea of arriving to work frostbitten or smelling like I've just spent the last two hours rustling cattle, is just too much for me to give up my lifetime membership to Fill More University.  Schwinn trembled at the first Model A, not the other way around.  So why are some Christians afraid of the "flavor of the month?'  Is our "product" so flawed that when Jehovah's Witness puts up another hall down the street, we seek to drive them out of town?  Isn't speaking of and demonstrating God's love enough to make them chose Christ on their own? wasn't it enough for each of us?  Or did we really have someone walk up to us, condemn us for being gay, or a liar, or a thief, and we crumbled in fear, begged for mercy and asked, "What must I do to have what you have?"  Besides, if we're busy critiquing the sexuality of a cartoon sponge, aren't we wasting precious time in which we should be out preaching the redemption and love of a life in Jesus Christ? drawing others to Christ, not ostracizing sinners with reproach, and pigeon-holing, and our self-aggrandizing derision of others? 

Consider Christ's ministry.  Maybe I'm way off base on this one, but didn't He "recruit" simply by demonstrating love to others?  He publicly befriended tax collectors and prostitutes, right?  Those two thieves that hung beside Him were treated no differently than if they'd cheated -- a little -- on their income taxes or flipped out at their child who accidentally spilled iced tea on a carpet.  He spoke politics: "render under Caesar that which is Caesar's," but belonged, first and foremost, to His Father.  And the "brood of vipers" known as the Pharisees? Jesus did publicly vilify them, but for their heinous treatment of others in God's name.  These were those who heard the truth and sought mercilessly to prohibit others from hearing it, not those who were handed an inferior product by a flawed society and took the bait.  Not to say that those who ignore or reject God's laws are victims; they will face judgment, but God's judgment, not ours.  Our job is to be His hands and feet, to do the things He chooses to use us to do -- love, evangelize, pray.  We can return America to its God-fearing roots, but it needs to start with each one of us -- studying the Word of God and knowing what we have, being secure in what God has wrought, getting out there and sowing the Seed, praying and trusting Him to work the soil in which we sow.