Why feeding the hungry is hard

Some of you know that for the past several weeks, I've joined an existing group in Charlotte that goes uptown to deliver sandwiches, bottled water, snacks, and hygiene products to the homeless. It's been done for years and so many people gather along the route since they know we're coming.
[Let me be clear: this was not my idea, my project, my brainchild. A guy named Mike thought of it and another guy named Mike joined him and this is their baby. Not mine.]

I saw a group on Meet Up a few months ago describing the project and it started my wheels turning. I thought, "There's not that many homeless uptown! I've been there a lot and haven't seen many panhandlers or street people." So over the subsequent weeks, I started really looking through open eyes when I went uptown for business or otherwise. During business hours, hardly anything. A panhandler here and there that would be quickly shooed away by the dozens of security guards protecting our powerhouses of wealth. After hours I saw more...slowly coming forward from alleys and parking garages, picking through the garbage of the day...but police and security were still vigilant in keeping these people shushed and hidden away from the main streets.

So I decided to go, mainly to satisfy my curiosity. I still didn't think there were that many homeless in Charlotte.

And I was shocked. And sickened. And depressed.

And absolutely none of that matters.

It does not matter one tiny bit how sad I was about the homeless. It does not matter how full of despair it made me. It does not matter how I feel tucked in my queen-sized bed at night, under my white down comforter, it does not matter how bad I hurt. It is not about me.

I kept going and I didn't know why. I couldn't afford the supplies we needed so I asked others, although given the history of this group, they would have come up with supplies with or without me or my family or my church. They've been doing this for four years. But I am here and I was led to be here and so here we are.

But still...part of it makes me uncomfortable. Not the people we serve- not at all. It bothers me to be wearing this white skin and walking this walk and looking for all the world like a damn charity-tourist. Walking the line of being white and having the heart to serve is a constant struggle, and yes, I'm well aware of how whiny and spoiled that sounds- it exactly proves my point.

My oldest son is nine. This was his first time he walked with us. My youngest son has had the heart of a servant and a giver since he could walk...he would give other children his toys, sharing was not a problem, and he's had that genuine goodness of spirit his entire life- it springs forth from him organically. My daughter has a good heart but takes some prompting, as most children do. My oldest son has been pampered and coddled by extended family since his father died and as a result has become the picture of narcissistic entitlement. Stamp him with the White Boy stamp. And I fight it every single day; to make him understand that doing good deeds only where the eyes of the church or your teacher or your grandma can see you...that doesn't even count. Doing good deeds for attention is like spitting on the cross in church.

We had done about 3/4 of our walk yesterday and my oldest son puffs out his chest after handing out a couple of bottles of water and says to me, "I'm doing a real good thing, huh?" and my mind just flashed red for a moment. I bent down so only he could hear me and so he could see my face very clearly as I said, "This. Is. Not. About. You.  None of this is about you or how you feel or patting yourself on the back. Do you understand that?" He was shocked and rather speechless so he just nodded.

Was I right? Was I wrong? Who knows...parenting is a daily struggle between determining what's right for now and what's right for the 25 year old man that boy will one day become. Yesterday I chose the grown man. Yes, what he was doing was a good thing...he was doing it because he was taken there and told to hand out these bottles of water. This was not something he devised organically as an act of good will that burst forth from his heart. And these people are not tools for him to make himself feel good about himself.

I am deeply uncomfortable when I talk about this project in front of others. I am deeply uncomfortable to be put as a "point of contact" for an event I did not create, did not devise, that did not spring forth from my heart, that I just showed up and was told to hand out these bottles of water. And yet when I was asked what we needed and I spoke it, the supplies appeared. When I spoke it, more volunteers came to walk, and one of them is a woman whose heart of service is so great she came to participate even after an exhausting battle with cancer.

With cancer.

And this white girl is handing out sandwiches, feeling bad and feeling confused about the greater meaning of it all.

At the end of the day, I'm nothing. I'm no one. I'm a sometimes selfish, overly emo white girl. I have three kids that I struggle to raise, at whom I sometimes yell, and who I fear daily I'm screwing up beyond repair. I have been homeless. I have been utterly alone with no one. I have faced down despair and stood on the brink with a straight razor and tears to fill my old bathtub. I do not help because I want attention- I do not...it's painfully awkward. If there were a way to ask for supplies anonymously, I would. I do not help because I think I can provide these people with something special- I can't. They can get a sandwich from anyone. I help because I can't not help. I can't walk past someone and not share with them what I have or what I can provide. And if I can do nothing else, I will embed this in my children. All of them. Even the White Boy.

Please go to www.doingmypart.com for more information on Mike's project for average people to make a difference.

Today is the day

Today is the day that I let all of the walls fall down.
Today is the day that I shout it out loud.
Today is the day that I make my voice heard.
Today is the day...that I say the word....
Love.

the moment it all changed...

I've hesitated and stopped and restarted this blog entry several times over the past 24 hours, in part because I [think I] know how people will react and partly because I am having trouble finding the words. Words that aren't cliche and trite. Words that fit.

A few months ago I wrote about the moment I met my first love...the "lightning strike"...and wrote that I didn't think that would happen twice in a lifetime. My friend Katherine commented that she thought it could; that people go through stages in their lives and sometimes you have one love that travels with you during all those stages and sometimes you find a new love to travel with you...something to that effect. I pondered her words and thought, "Perhaps for others...". I had utterly given up hope of finding someone to fit my weird, broken, misshapen little heart.

When I was looking elsewhere and laughing with friends, sitting on a couch in Columbia listening to indie music playing live upstairs, I got a message that I didn't open...I flipped through and mentally bookmarked it for later. I drank another beer and told jokes with Jennifer but was taking note that pretty much every person at this party was with a partner of some sort...so I drank another beer to silence that internal observer and fell asleep pretty hard not thinking about it. I've gotten pretty used to being the third/fifth/seventh/ninth wheel.

I spent the next day driving around Columbia and ending up at the park Lee took me to, the one with crashing waterfalls overlooking the city. I sat on a bench next to my car illegally parked on the street but I couldn't feel him there anymore. I scuffed my shoes on the metal fence while I tried to conjure the face he made when he told a bad joke and had just ruined the punch line. I couldn't quite get it back so my heart ached a little bit and I left.

After another emotional drive home, I lay down in my bed and started flipping through messages on my cell phone. Texts, emails, Facebook messages, and finally, the eHarmony inbox I had been avoiding.

"What is the air velocity of an unladen swallow?"

What?? What kind of question...wait...what movie was that from? Was this a test? Or a joke? I struggled to remember and my friend Kyle flashed in my head, which meant I had probably seen this movie for the first time with him which meant it was either a Monty Python or Mel Brooks flick, so....think, think....."African or European..." I laughed to myself as the answer popped in my head and I wrote back to this mystery guy on eHarmony, SWM in "Simpsonville"..."where is that? G_o_o_g_l_e__m_a_p_s....how far away is that?" and sent my message back, answering his other questions and smiling, the one that spread from my mind to my lips.

I can't say I didn't check my phone quite a few times to see if this guy wrote back, the guy with the big smile and paragraphs-long profile details...

...he did. Write back. And then I did. And then he did. And then I did. Et cetera. And then I walked into a little yellow coffeehouse and lightning struck twice.

It is completely random and unplanned and utterly crazy...I know it, so I'm being cautious. Of course the distance between us only helps in that aspect. But the second I walked back into my house after being with him and feeling so empty, I instantly wished he was there. When I spoke to him on the phone later, he said the exact same thing.

His eyes tell a story I can't wait to read. His laugh makes me glow inside, and my breath catches when I see him watching me. We are so in tune we seem to resonate and sentences are finished or understood. He is the very essence of second chances all wrapped up in a beautiful package.

I warned him I live out my life on this blog, so he's prepared...I hope my readers are. It's going to be quite a journey; the stuff of legend, I'm sure of it. My heart hasn't leapt from my chest in this way in a decade....let's enjoy the ride.

Some good quick reads...

A little light reading for anyone relaxing on this unseasonably cool Saturday, enjoying some coffee...
I've had these links open in tabs for a few days and decided to just share all at once...I'm not saying I totally agree with all the content, but they were certainly thought-provoking and interesting as they came across my screen this week:

http://elitedaily.com/life/culture/night-owls-creative-intelligent/686025/

http://www.tabletmag.com/jewish-news-and-politics/180382/students-justice-palestine#undefined

http://themindunleashed.org/2014/07/10-painfully-obvious-truths-everyone-forgets-soon.html

http://ifunny.mobi/i/9uU44Qq92

http://tinybuddha.com/blog/feel-purposeless-fear-youre-wasting-time/

http://thinkprogress.org/justice/2014/02/26/3333161/religious-liberty-racist-anti-gay/

what is it

I got drunk one time and tried to Google one of my memories. Upon discovering that it didn't work that way, I pushed my laptop to the floor and wept bitterly.

I think I remember it all; I think everything is tucked away safely.
And then I see a photograph,
hear a song,
smell the scent of patchouli and cologne,
and some random moment will come, fleetingly, hazy,
before disappearing again,
leaving me grasping at the smoke.

I've utterly forgotten touches,
the nuances.

Push the blanket over my head,
and strain against the dark,
seeking what I'm losing day by day.

I'm psychic.

I can see my future. Lucky me, you say...quite a skill. For a few weeks each summer, I can to peer into my future; one rapidly approaching with the passing of every school year, soccer season, and school photo. I get angry, sometimes, at time...spinning out of control, going so fast I feel like I'm missing whole chunks of weeks. Desperately slipping photographs into a box in my closet to hang on to every gap-toothed smile.

For these weeks, I drink hot tea in the evening in the silence; no TV, no radio, only the occasional hum of passing cars or a neighbor's thumping radio. I wash my face extra carefully, cook myself vegetables and rice, and indulge in hot baths with Radiohead playing quietly. I can see myself withering away like this once their lives have left my home. I find it extraordinarily difficult to picture life without them.

Today my car door opened and my son blustered in. It felt like the air inside the car had been a vacuum and it was popped open to full richness again. He chattered, intelligently, asking me pointed and thoughtful questions about war, about God, about girls, all in a thirty minute car ride. He made a joke that initially caught me off guard with its mature humor, and then made me laugh until tears came. He said quietly during a brief lull, while looking out the window at passing fields, "I love you, Mom."

He told me about a girl he met in school, just before the end of the year, with "blonde hair and eyes like Callie's and a pretty smile"..a girl named Skye. I asked why he never told me about her before. He shrugged. "I dunno. Didn't want to. Now I do." I asked if he had talked to her. No. Why? "I'm nervous."

We spoke with no radio, quietly, almost reverently, as my son opened up to me more than he has in months, perhaps since his last outburst about his father. He told me he was reading the newspaper on his iPad and his iPhone while he was at his grandmother's house and he was worried. Why all the war? Why all the fighting? How many people are going to die? He seemed somehow accepting when I said, "I don't know. I just don't know."

I watched him as he sauntered in the doctor's office, leaning on the counter and chatting with the receptionist in that easy way that some people have. That I don't have. That is every single bit his father. The receptionist was laughing and I could see how easy it was going to be for him to flirt with pretty girls once he got older and found his nerve. The young doctor, also a handsome brunette with an easy smile, joked and laughed with him before diagnosing him as being too awesome and telling him he was going to need to come back in six months to keep that under control. Didn't want the ladies knocking down his door, doctor said, throwing a wink my way.

We sang Ace of Bass on the way home...he knows all of the words to some of the songs now, and he laughed and was visibly relieved to be declared well again. He asked what movies were out now and then said we should go on a "date" to see a movie, so I said we'd do it. He sat back and grinned, his left-hand fingers absently tapping my wrist on the center console. The boy oozes charisma and charm around others, has become teacher's pet every year and is known by name by every secretary, janitor, and nurse at his school...but to me, he opens his inner doors and shares his quiet pain, worries, fears. I have waited for many years to see if he would trust and respect me enough, especially after losing his father, to allow me to be his friend and confidante. Today he made it clear he does.

This sounds like nothing to some, but this was a beautiful day to me. The small victories in parenting end up winning the war. Earning a child's trust and respect unlocks a healthy future for both of us: he knows he can come to me with anything and I will listen and care for him, and I know he is growing to be a smart, inquisitive, empathetic soul who will touch the world in beautiful ways.

He went back to his grandmother's tonight...I have an all-day conference tomorrow so she's staying home with him. I came home to my empty house, but it didn't feel so empty anymore. It's a home, a nurturing nest, a landing pad, a place of inspiration and hope, comfort and love, and for now, a quiet retreat for me to gather my thoughts and prepare myself for many more insightful conversations with the incredible people I am allowed to call my children.

The fundamental flaw

There are times....
there are times I feel
swept up in the exhilaration of life, the ebb and flow
pushing and pulling me in an intoxicating dance,
where I feel connected deeply,
fundamentally,
to the rhythm of life.
Where I feel so connected and in sync
to the people around me,
where we talk and understand and conversations can flow with some words unspoken as we all just
get it.
Meaningful glances over cigarettes and nods of agreement...
yeah, man.

How long has it been since that last moment?
How long have I been so disconnected?

I feel like a child stumbling into a conversation,
a talk where I missed the beginning and am struggling to pick up a thread.
A word.
A theme to connect with.
I too keenly observe behaviors, gestures,
subtlety of physical movement,
that I formerly ignored as I contributed my impassioned opinion.

Someone caught me at this recently,
he smiled and said, "What do you think?"
And I froze.
What
did
I
think.
What
did
I
think??

I think we're all drinking too much.
I think we're all ignorant.
I think we're talking out of our asses and nothing we say is going to make a difference.
I think we're all presumptuous.
I think we're all just going through the motions until one day we're the topic of conversation in a group of mourners dressed in black...
puffing on cigarettes,
shaking their heads...
yeah, man.

I think we're talking too much and we need to listen.
I think we're sitting too much and we need some action.
I think we're allowing the rape of our nature and the crush of our culture and the oppression of our freedoms because we're fucking talking,
talking,
talking over beer and shaking our heads in defeat...
yeah, man.

I think we're weak.
I think we're giving up on the fundamental freedoms, like the one of speech, in exchange for faster internet and nice ringtones.
I think we're sitting when we should be moving,
talking when we should be listening,
whispering when we should be yelling
and fighting
and pushing back,
instead of placidly complaining...
yeah, man.

I think we're going to reach a moment where we have to make a fundamental decision whether to be comfortable or to go down swinging, whether to take the 2 year contract with no exit clause or to tear the paper in shreds and walk away from corporate dependency.
I think we'll reach that moment in this stupefied state of weakness and complacency,
and we will lose.
Shaking our heads...
yeah, man.

So what do I think, dear friend?
I think we're working with a fundamental flaw.
We have already accepted defeat.
When we're protesting at Duke Energy while we shop at Wal-Mart,
when we pick and choose which evil to boycott and which to support;
when we have allowed the subjugation to fully infiltrate our lives to the point of no return.
I think we should have another round,
sing along to this song a little,
enjoy this night...
cause we're already done.

Take it back

If I could take it back..
rewind the clock...
to that time.
Gritty, hot summer in the city.

There was that moment,
my skirt blown round my thighs by the swift passing train
and us alone on the platform of the L, watching
the sun set over the skyline, all
purples and pinks and grey smog and neon graffiti on
the walls.

Your fingers laced with mine,
the freckles on your knuckles.

The smells, the heat, the
music.

The time.
Passed quick, it was a blur,
but now I can
recall every moment.

I recall moments where I should have,
if I could have,
turned to you and stopped the clock.
Told you it was you.
Told you it was this road,
not another.
On that platform,
before the train swept in,
I could have stopped it all.
But I was too
deep.

I stepped off
and your eyes filled with questions.
The years have swallowed the words
that were left hanging there.
My heart
still hanging around...
waiting for the L.

In 2014 I Hope to...

Again, inspired by a friend...looks like Katherine's pushing me to blog this new year more than anyone else! :)

It's hard to rattle off a list of "what I hope to do this year" without sounding like an annoying list of resolutions that pretty  much everyone has, but I'll try.

1. Lose weight. Wait, don't leave!! Stick with me here! Between 2011-early 2013 I lost a total of 80 pounds. I was back to freshman year of college weight and loving it. And then I started using a medication. On largely the same diet and lifestyle, I gained thirty pounds back. Since I only discontinued use of this medication halfway through December and have already lost ten pounds, 1) I don't think the weight gain was "my fault", especially since other women record excessive weight gain as a side effect of this medication, and 2) it won't be difficult to lose the weight again...just annoying. It was annoying to meet a nice guy over Christmas as "the fat girl". It was annoying to pull out a pair of pants I thought I would never wear again all because of some stupid medicine. It was annoying to keep eating veggies, quinoa, etc. and still be gaining weight. It was annoying to not have control over my own weight like that. So I just wanna shed these annoying pounds as quickly as possible and get back to being myself again.

2. Professional growth...in a big way. Perhaps some people make goals of getting a promotion or reaching certain sales goals...now, we all know nonprofits don't work like that. You get a raise if you get Jay-Z to donate/speak at an event [in other words: never], and we can meet fundraising goals year after year..not really a big deal. But what I'm excited about, just so excited I can't stop working, night, weekend, vacation, is that I have found this special little groove where precisely all of my talents and skills work beautifully. When I head into work, I'm whistling, smiling, excited to be walking in the door. My coworkers are stunning people- smart, talented, kind, compassionate, professional yet they care like family. The particular team we have right now is one of the most productive, communicative teams I have ever seen in nonprofit development, much less had the privilege to work with. Obviously those who work in nonprofit development have the satisfaction of knowing they are raising money for a good cause- but to also know that your work is recognized, appreciated, and making a specific, real, and measurable difference...well that's a dream come true for us. I'm literally living my dream!

3. Exploration. Something clicked in my head this past fall, when doing one of my personal monthly budgets. I'm saving, and recently was looking at houses...but deep down, I have zero desire (in fact, was dreading) owning my own home right now. The thought of working a 50+ hour week, shuttling kids to/from practices/games/etc. and  then coming home to have to deal with mowing the lawn, a roof leak, a busted pipe...it's like my worst nightmare...I think it's any single mom's worst nightmare. I know that to some, especially down here in SC, living in an apartment or townhome is an instant sign of poverty- the "inability" to live in a home. Not only do I disagree, I think millions living in metro areas would also disagree. Living in an apartment is a lifestyle choice- it's a decision to not deal with a yard, with maintenance time and cost; it's convenience. That being said, when I looked at my five, ten, twenty year goals, traveling and exploration is at the top of that list. Suddenly a light bulb clicked on in my head and I was looking at this budget and the amount I've carefully marked to store away each month and realized I don't have to wait to travel to some of those places on my bucket list...the time is now! A few weeks later, I saw "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty" and my mind was definitively made up- I came home that night and made reservations in hostels across Ireland and began planning my trip. The world is too vast to spend our life spinning wheels in circles in one little location...time to stretch the legs and get out a bit.

4. Being a better mom. This is on my list every year, and while there aren't really measurable results (I'm a statistics person...I like to see the numbers to back up any gain or loss), I think you can "feel" when it's working. This past year I tried to retire my spanking hand (I think there were less than ten spankings all year...among all three kids, so not bad), tried to eliminate yelling, and worked on spending time with each child, discovering their skills/talents and their interests. To my delight, two of my kids are nuts about Star Wars (whoo!), Callie is interested in music and art, and Grayson is at the age where his interests are beginning to determine the friends he has (for example, there are boys at his after-school program who just play football, and then there are those do homework together, read together, play football together, and play-act scenes from LOTR and other movies together...Grayson belongs with the latter set). While I can discuss with him that that makes him awesome- it makes him diverse, smart, creative, and well-rounded, it doesn't make it easier when the lead "football boy", a delinquent named [ironically] Judge, punches him in the arm every day and calls him a "f*ng dork". Grayson is a big boy, big for his age and set to be around 6'2" when he grows up, so add that to his intellect, his charisma, and his well-rounded character, and I have no doubt this "Judge" character is going to regret his decision to bully him in a few years, but for now it makes a tough situation for us. Navigating new and scary waters of life like this made me realize that "being a better mom" is always going to be on my resolution list, because every year it will be different challenges like this for us. At the end of the day, giving the kids lots of love, hugs, time, and listening is what I can do and what I will continue to do forever and ever.



So there are what I would list as my goals for 2014, although they are largely the same as last year and will most likely continue to be similar for years to come. Overall, improving myself and being the best me I can be...that's it. Some years are years for explosive growth and some are just rebuilding years...I feel like I'm coming off a rebuilding year and am heading full-force into some truly mind-blowing stuff! Just have to hang on for the ride...