I've been caught shaking my head lately by some people's naiveté. It seems that every day or two in the paper or in the newspaper, I read another scam story. Some person, usually a senior, has wired thousands of dollars to a friend or family member in need. Or to claim a major lottery win.
The problem is, there was no friend or family member. There was no lottery win. There was a scammer in another state or country that preyed upon the gullible person. And he or she let them. Walked right into it. Withdrew money and went to the location and wired the money to a name he or she didn't recognize. Without questioning. Without checking. And that money is gone.
I have to admit, my emails' inboxes are full of garbage. Garbage that if I didn't get much mail, I might think twice about. A phishing scheme from an email that looks a lot like my bank. An occasional email from someone who has hacked a friend's email and says she's in Europe and needs help. A veteran in Iraq that needs my help for banking services.
The news stories, Better Business Bureau warnings and notes on Facebook warn people every day. Does it make sense? If you have any question at all, don't do it. Don't wire money to someone you don't know. Don't wire money to your friend in Europe without checking to see if she left the area. Don't ever send money to collect a lottery winning (first question, did you play the Canadian lottery? You can't win something you didn't play). An inheritance from someone you've never met? How did that veteran get your email? Yes, you were spammed.
Some of the schemes come by phone. And while much of my generation screens calls, much of the older generation does not. So when someone calls and tells them their grandson is in trouble with the law and needs bail money and doesn't want his parents notified, the grandparent jumps into protection mode. Even if he or she didn't talk to the grandson. Even if the caller never mentioned the grandson's name. And even if he or she didn't question the grandson's whereabouts with another relative. The grandparent wires $1,200 to the "friend" who is trying to get help for their grandson. And maybe another $500 when there is a secondary problem.
If you have senior parents, even if you think they are extremely cautious, tell them about these scams. Explain what phishing is. Tell them never to wire money without checking with a family member. Tell them about hacked emails. Don't laugh about their lack of technical knowledge about spam -- protect them.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Bless the beasts and the children
Bless the beasts and the children. The name of a movie that made me cry, and a Carpenters song. Children and animals. The vulnerable ones. The ones needing protection. Often caught in the middle of strife.
How children and all baby animals tear at our heartstrings. Who doesn't have the image of a naked child running through the streets during Vietnam seared into their mind's eye? Some picture of Iraq or Afghanistan service members holding a dog?
Perhaps you've seen the recent image of someone aiming a gun at a cat. Or heard about feuding, divorcing adults battling over children, or even their pets. Occasionally the stories turn tragic.
Today, I ran into a friend. She has had a rough go of things for years. Her adult children are troubled addicts. I rarely go where I ran into her today, especially at that time of day. I'm sure that He was in control of that meeting. The "what's new in your life" small talk quickly turned into the information that she is now caring for three grandchildren. The kids needed stable adults in their lives. She and her husband were it.
No matter how crazy you think your life is, when given the choice over caring for your family's children or letting them go into state care, you set the other issues aside and care for your family. They are family. Ohana, to choose the Hawaiian word that explains the concept better.
Tonight in several border states, children are receiving minimal care in makeshift facilities as adults war over their next moves. Political refugees? Political pawns? Depends on where you stand. But look at those faces, and unmistakably, these are children. Frightened children. Desperate, scared kids who don't know what's next. But they expected whatever they were running to was better than what they were running from.
Some of the politicos are holding out for a "send them back" strategy. In their minds, it's not America's fault that these children's countries are torn by strife, drug running, gangs and other power struggles that put children in the middle. They don't see the kids as refugees, wanting a safe life. They see them as property -- property that got shipped here illegally. Get rid of it. Get rid of a problem.
Problem is, it's not a cargo container. It's a vulnerable child, caught in the middle.
Before you sleep tonight, get the image in your head of a child. Your sibling, your cousin, your child, your grandchild. The child in your waiting room or your Sunday School. And thank God for his or her safety. Then add one more prayer -- that other children, one day, will be blessed with peace.
How children and all baby animals tear at our heartstrings. Who doesn't have the image of a naked child running through the streets during Vietnam seared into their mind's eye? Some picture of Iraq or Afghanistan service members holding a dog?
Perhaps you've seen the recent image of someone aiming a gun at a cat. Or heard about feuding, divorcing adults battling over children, or even their pets. Occasionally the stories turn tragic.
Today, I ran into a friend. She has had a rough go of things for years. Her adult children are troubled addicts. I rarely go where I ran into her today, especially at that time of day. I'm sure that He was in control of that meeting. The "what's new in your life" small talk quickly turned into the information that she is now caring for three grandchildren. The kids needed stable adults in their lives. She and her husband were it.
No matter how crazy you think your life is, when given the choice over caring for your family's children or letting them go into state care, you set the other issues aside and care for your family. They are family. Ohana, to choose the Hawaiian word that explains the concept better.
Tonight in several border states, children are receiving minimal care in makeshift facilities as adults war over their next moves. Political refugees? Political pawns? Depends on where you stand. But look at those faces, and unmistakably, these are children. Frightened children. Desperate, scared kids who don't know what's next. But they expected whatever they were running to was better than what they were running from.
Some of the politicos are holding out for a "send them back" strategy. In their minds, it's not America's fault that these children's countries are torn by strife, drug running, gangs and other power struggles that put children in the middle. They don't see the kids as refugees, wanting a safe life. They see them as property -- property that got shipped here illegally. Get rid of it. Get rid of a problem.
Problem is, it's not a cargo container. It's a vulnerable child, caught in the middle.
Before you sleep tonight, get the image in your head of a child. Your sibling, your cousin, your child, your grandchild. The child in your waiting room or your Sunday School. And thank God for his or her safety. Then add one more prayer -- that other children, one day, will be blessed with peace.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Life's plans don't always follow your path
How much of life didn't turn out the way you planned or imagined it? If you're anything like me, pretty much all of it.
Are you disappointed? Maybe a little, but I really don't have time to sit back and dwell on it.
Last question: At the end of your life, will you have regrets? Heck, why have regrets over what you can't change? You don't get do-overs in life.
I struggle with the idea of childhood memories. I remember very little before the age of 6. I wonder if my mind blocked out most of everything before the divorce. Anyway, I try to think of my earliest thoughts about what I wanted to be when I grew up. I didn't have very strong role models. My grandmother was a domestic for old people, until she got old herself. My mom worked a couple of jobs after the divorce -- one at a frozen food plant, the other at a canning factory. I think I wanted to be a teacher for a time, since I saw lots of women in that occupation.
So what did I plan? I remember thinking about being a geothermal engineer. I have no idea out of what cloud that idea came. Then I wanted to be a meteorologist. Eventually, I got into high school and figured out my interests and aptitudes, and narrowed it down to a journalist or pastor. When I found out I needed to go to school for four years for the former, and eight years for the latter, I made my decision. I didn't know how I was going to pay for four years of college, let alone eight.
I actually asked this question on my interview for my first professional job: tell me about your retirement plan. I seriously thought I would work at that job until I retired. And I worked for the same company for 15 years. Retiring from the company you start with is such a foreign concept today. People change jobs and even career fields throughout their lifetimes. I slid from writing to graphic arts to community relations. And then a transition I didn't think I would survive -- I was an office manager for a year.
Then a nonprofit manager for a couple of jobs until my current position as an executive director of a nonprofit. If you had asked me if I ever thought I'd head a social service agency, even as a young adult, I would have asked what kind of drug you were on. I didn't plan it, I didn't imagine it, and some days, I still can't believe I do this.
Where would I go tomorrow if I had the pick of any career? I think I'd try to return to writing full-time. But that isn't how life works -- you make the best of where you land. Bloom where you are planted, a pastor once told his congregation.
Tomorrow happens, and I get up and try to help people change their lives for the better. Being able to make a difference for one person is rewarding. It is where I've been planted, and I like to think that's part of a plan that goes far beyond me. When He wants me to be somewhere else, he will move me, uproot me, shake me off a little and let me land. Trust that this is the place I'm intended to be right now.
Are you disappointed? Maybe a little, but I really don't have time to sit back and dwell on it.
Last question: At the end of your life, will you have regrets? Heck, why have regrets over what you can't change? You don't get do-overs in life.
I struggle with the idea of childhood memories. I remember very little before the age of 6. I wonder if my mind blocked out most of everything before the divorce. Anyway, I try to think of my earliest thoughts about what I wanted to be when I grew up. I didn't have very strong role models. My grandmother was a domestic for old people, until she got old herself. My mom worked a couple of jobs after the divorce -- one at a frozen food plant, the other at a canning factory. I think I wanted to be a teacher for a time, since I saw lots of women in that occupation.
So what did I plan? I remember thinking about being a geothermal engineer. I have no idea out of what cloud that idea came. Then I wanted to be a meteorologist. Eventually, I got into high school and figured out my interests and aptitudes, and narrowed it down to a journalist or pastor. When I found out I needed to go to school for four years for the former, and eight years for the latter, I made my decision. I didn't know how I was going to pay for four years of college, let alone eight.
I actually asked this question on my interview for my first professional job: tell me about your retirement plan. I seriously thought I would work at that job until I retired. And I worked for the same company for 15 years. Retiring from the company you start with is such a foreign concept today. People change jobs and even career fields throughout their lifetimes. I slid from writing to graphic arts to community relations. And then a transition I didn't think I would survive -- I was an office manager for a year.
Then a nonprofit manager for a couple of jobs until my current position as an executive director of a nonprofit. If you had asked me if I ever thought I'd head a social service agency, even as a young adult, I would have asked what kind of drug you were on. I didn't plan it, I didn't imagine it, and some days, I still can't believe I do this.
Where would I go tomorrow if I had the pick of any career? I think I'd try to return to writing full-time. But that isn't how life works -- you make the best of where you land. Bloom where you are planted, a pastor once told his congregation.
Tomorrow happens, and I get up and try to help people change their lives for the better. Being able to make a difference for one person is rewarding. It is where I've been planted, and I like to think that's part of a plan that goes far beyond me. When He wants me to be somewhere else, he will move me, uproot me, shake me off a little and let me land. Trust that this is the place I'm intended to be right now.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Next time I'm tempted to procrastinate...
If only we wanted to do the things that were good for us, rather than the things that are easy and fun.
There's a stack of things on my to-do list, and here I am, writing in my blog. I could be doing one of the work things that comprises the major part of my list. Or working out. Or cleaning my house. Or...
But I'm not. Procrastination seems to be what I'm good at.
Once I get started in a project, it's not so bad. And recently, a co-worker told me to handle the elephant on my list at the start of the day, and other things will come easier.
I handled the elephant on my list at 5:30 this morning. And here it is, 3:00 in the afternoon, and I'm not through the list.
I've always been somewhat of a procrastinator, but the internet, email and social media have made it so much worse. That many distractions could take up my whole day. And I could rationalize that checking my email and updating our social media IS my work. But that explains about 30 minutes.
While Paul didn't have social media or email to worry about, he was a writer. And a fairly proficient, prolific writer at that. I think he probably wrote a lot more letters than ever made it into the Bible. You know, not everything you write receives critical acclaim. So I imagine that Paul probably wrote other correspondence to churches that wasn't so uplifting. Perhaps he really reamed some of them out. Or he whined about how his ministry was going. Those letters probably didn't fit in with his first and second letters to the church at Corinth, his epistle to Ephesus, his memo to Philemon (c'mon, it's not even a full page in the Bible), and of course, his magnum opus, his letter to the Romans.
It's there in Romans that makes me think Paul would have understood this blog. Romans 7:15 -- "I don't really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don't do it. Instead, I do what I hate."
Well, I don't hate writing. Or going and checking my Facebook, or getting a snack. But I do hate it later, when I account for what I haven't done. It's not what is right, as Paul explained it in another letter. Colossians 3:23 -- "Whatever you do, work at it with all of your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men." What a guilt trip. Whether or not anyone else realizes I'm procrastinating, the One who counts does. I'm really doing my work for Him. If I'm not accomplishing what I should, I'm shorting Him my time in the work He's placed before me.
Convicted.
So, in that light, I'm wrapping up this blog. And getting back to the to-do list. Not my list. Not just my work list or chore list. My list for Him.
There's a stack of things on my to-do list, and here I am, writing in my blog. I could be doing one of the work things that comprises the major part of my list. Or working out. Or cleaning my house. Or...
But I'm not. Procrastination seems to be what I'm good at.
Once I get started in a project, it's not so bad. And recently, a co-worker told me to handle the elephant on my list at the start of the day, and other things will come easier.
I handled the elephant on my list at 5:30 this morning. And here it is, 3:00 in the afternoon, and I'm not through the list.
I've always been somewhat of a procrastinator, but the internet, email and social media have made it so much worse. That many distractions could take up my whole day. And I could rationalize that checking my email and updating our social media IS my work. But that explains about 30 minutes.
While Paul didn't have social media or email to worry about, he was a writer. And a fairly proficient, prolific writer at that. I think he probably wrote a lot more letters than ever made it into the Bible. You know, not everything you write receives critical acclaim. So I imagine that Paul probably wrote other correspondence to churches that wasn't so uplifting. Perhaps he really reamed some of them out. Or he whined about how his ministry was going. Those letters probably didn't fit in with his first and second letters to the church at Corinth, his epistle to Ephesus, his memo to Philemon (c'mon, it's not even a full page in the Bible), and of course, his magnum opus, his letter to the Romans.
It's there in Romans that makes me think Paul would have understood this blog. Romans 7:15 -- "I don't really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don't do it. Instead, I do what I hate."
Well, I don't hate writing. Or going and checking my Facebook, or getting a snack. But I do hate it later, when I account for what I haven't done. It's not what is right, as Paul explained it in another letter. Colossians 3:23 -- "Whatever you do, work at it with all of your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men." What a guilt trip. Whether or not anyone else realizes I'm procrastinating, the One who counts does. I'm really doing my work for Him. If I'm not accomplishing what I should, I'm shorting Him my time in the work He's placed before me.
Convicted.
So, in that light, I'm wrapping up this blog. And getting back to the to-do list. Not my list. Not just my work list or chore list. My list for Him.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Life's lessons: the basics
Generational poverty. When you think about the term, what comes to mind? Three generations, packed into a house, people on government programs, unkempt home, dirty children.
I have to admit that this was my picture of that situation several years ago, and to some extent, I still have to force that stereotype out of my mind. But it's so much easier to replace it with another picture today. That's because generational poverty isn't a particular living situation. It is the attitudes and lessons passed down, shaping the next generation's repetition of lifestyle patterns.
Time and time again, I see these patterns emerge, not because people buy into them, but because they never learned any other pattern. You don't learn what causes people to live hand to mouth in school. You believe the family that raised you had life's lessons down to a tee. Or even if they did, perhaps they never talked about finances and other realities with their children. In fact, many families took great pains to avoid sharing their struggles and decisions with their children.
I was raised as one of those children, so I see those patterns in my own life. Worse yet, my husband was raised in the same type of household. The implied message was that you should know these things as adults, but we're never going to share them with you. You're going to have to figure them out or do just as we did.
Observation #1: If you are a normal human family, you have lots of credit cards, and you use them. That's what they're for. If they give you a decent credit line, use it all. If they raise it, use it too. They won't raise it beyond your ability to pay it.
Reality check #1: Credit cards companies are in the business of making money on people who don't use them wisely. The more you use them, the more money you pay them in interest. Many people don't pay them off and end up paying substantially more in interest than they ever imagined. They probably don't read the fine print, explaining how much they will pay if they only the minimal payment. Soon, the credit card debt is over their heads, their credit rating in the gutter.
Observation #2: Social Security is going to provide for me in my retirement. I don't have to worry about IRA's or 401K's or anything.
Reality check #2: Social Security was designed to pay for only basic support. If you intend to travel, to eat out occasionally, to visit your grandchildren, save for that opportunity. And, big surprise, Social Security may not even exist when adults today reach retirement.
Observation #3: Buy whatever you need. You only live once.
Reality check #3: What you need is food, shelter, basic clothing and very little else. Most things that people buy are wants. Many people today have no impulse control and buy pretty much everything they see, using credit cards to do so in many cases. They have little saved for the actual rainy day, when a job disappears or the car breaks down. Yet they have a house full of stuff.
Schools don't teach reality checks. They are very good at teaching English and math and science and social studies, but life's reality checks come at a high cost. These are lessons we have to teach our children. If not, this generational deficit continues.
I have to admit that this was my picture of that situation several years ago, and to some extent, I still have to force that stereotype out of my mind. But it's so much easier to replace it with another picture today. That's because generational poverty isn't a particular living situation. It is the attitudes and lessons passed down, shaping the next generation's repetition of lifestyle patterns.
Time and time again, I see these patterns emerge, not because people buy into them, but because they never learned any other pattern. You don't learn what causes people to live hand to mouth in school. You believe the family that raised you had life's lessons down to a tee. Or even if they did, perhaps they never talked about finances and other realities with their children. In fact, many families took great pains to avoid sharing their struggles and decisions with their children.
I was raised as one of those children, so I see those patterns in my own life. Worse yet, my husband was raised in the same type of household. The implied message was that you should know these things as adults, but we're never going to share them with you. You're going to have to figure them out or do just as we did.
Observation #1: If you are a normal human family, you have lots of credit cards, and you use them. That's what they're for. If they give you a decent credit line, use it all. If they raise it, use it too. They won't raise it beyond your ability to pay it.
Reality check #1: Credit cards companies are in the business of making money on people who don't use them wisely. The more you use them, the more money you pay them in interest. Many people don't pay them off and end up paying substantially more in interest than they ever imagined. They probably don't read the fine print, explaining how much they will pay if they only the minimal payment. Soon, the credit card debt is over their heads, their credit rating in the gutter.
Observation #2: Social Security is going to provide for me in my retirement. I don't have to worry about IRA's or 401K's or anything.
Reality check #2: Social Security was designed to pay for only basic support. If you intend to travel, to eat out occasionally, to visit your grandchildren, save for that opportunity. And, big surprise, Social Security may not even exist when adults today reach retirement.
Observation #3: Buy whatever you need. You only live once.
Reality check #3: What you need is food, shelter, basic clothing and very little else. Most things that people buy are wants. Many people today have no impulse control and buy pretty much everything they see, using credit cards to do so in many cases. They have little saved for the actual rainy day, when a job disappears or the car breaks down. Yet they have a house full of stuff.
Schools don't teach reality checks. They are very good at teaching English and math and science and social studies, but life's reality checks come at a high cost. These are lessons we have to teach our children. If not, this generational deficit continues.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
If ending poverty was as simple as a job...
It's so easy to blame the poor for their poverty. What's really difficult is being a force for change.
There is no simple reason for a person to be poor. Every person who is there wishes they were some other place. Truthfully, many of them could be in a different place. But something holds them back.
Fear. It's the No. 1 reason people don't change their circumstance. "If things are bad now, they could be worse." "It took me forever to get this job -- if they found out I was looking, I could lose everything." "This job pays my rent and barely covers my bills. At least that's something."
Education. Many highly capable people don't have the education they need, or think they need, to get the job they want. Maybe they had to drop out of school to help support their family. Or they have a learning disability or another challenge. Maybe their education is in another field that is no longer an option. Perhaps in some cases, they have advanced degrees that prevent people from hiring them for a lower-level job.
Support. Some people have no family support to help them get a job. Perhaps they have small children, and they don't have family who can watch the youngsters so they can submit resumes and go to job interviews. Without this support, they can't effectively job search and are stuck in their circumstance. Other times, it is a family member who clearly or vaguely is unsupportive: "You don't need to look for a better job -- my job supports us just fine." "If I was your boss, I wouldn't promote you." "Do you think that is wise?"
Discrimination. Obvious or hidden, challenges can stop a person from getting a job or even looking for one. A wheelchair user, for instance, can't always prove that his disability stopped him from getting a job, but after hundreds of unsuccessful job interviews, unproven discrimination can wear a job seeker down. The same with vision or hearing impairments, age, size, or many other issues. And the person's own challenges may stop them from even searching for satisfying jobs. Perhaps they have unseen medical conditions or are a caregiver for someone who needs their help -- and the caregiver knows of no other options. "I wouldn't be able to keep a job." "Who would want to hire me?" "I have to be home if they call."
Thousands of workers, thousands of reasons. These are not excuses, they are barriers. Some of them easily overcome, some of them impossible to scale. It's hard not to say, "well, why don't you get a job?" or "you could easily get a better job" when you don't know the circumstances.
Individual-oriented job placement is the answer, but on one hand, some people won't accept the help, and often it is not available. In addition, job success isn't just about landing the job, it's about dealing with the other life obstacles that can stop a person from succeeding long-term even after he or she lands a job that fits. Attitudes. Money issues. Family situations. Work is an effective way out of poverty, but it is hardly the entire answer.
There is no simple reason for a person to be poor. Every person who is there wishes they were some other place. Truthfully, many of them could be in a different place. But something holds them back.
Fear. It's the No. 1 reason people don't change their circumstance. "If things are bad now, they could be worse." "It took me forever to get this job -- if they found out I was looking, I could lose everything." "This job pays my rent and barely covers my bills. At least that's something."
Education. Many highly capable people don't have the education they need, or think they need, to get the job they want. Maybe they had to drop out of school to help support their family. Or they have a learning disability or another challenge. Maybe their education is in another field that is no longer an option. Perhaps in some cases, they have advanced degrees that prevent people from hiring them for a lower-level job.
Support. Some people have no family support to help them get a job. Perhaps they have small children, and they don't have family who can watch the youngsters so they can submit resumes and go to job interviews. Without this support, they can't effectively job search and are stuck in their circumstance. Other times, it is a family member who clearly or vaguely is unsupportive: "You don't need to look for a better job -- my job supports us just fine." "If I was your boss, I wouldn't promote you." "Do you think that is wise?"
Discrimination. Obvious or hidden, challenges can stop a person from getting a job or even looking for one. A wheelchair user, for instance, can't always prove that his disability stopped him from getting a job, but after hundreds of unsuccessful job interviews, unproven discrimination can wear a job seeker down. The same with vision or hearing impairments, age, size, or many other issues. And the person's own challenges may stop them from even searching for satisfying jobs. Perhaps they have unseen medical conditions or are a caregiver for someone who needs their help -- and the caregiver knows of no other options. "I wouldn't be able to keep a job." "Who would want to hire me?" "I have to be home if they call."
Thousands of workers, thousands of reasons. These are not excuses, they are barriers. Some of them easily overcome, some of them impossible to scale. It's hard not to say, "well, why don't you get a job?" or "you could easily get a better job" when you don't know the circumstances.
Individual-oriented job placement is the answer, but on one hand, some people won't accept the help, and often it is not available. In addition, job success isn't just about landing the job, it's about dealing with the other life obstacles that can stop a person from succeeding long-term even after he or she lands a job that fits. Attitudes. Money issues. Family situations. Work is an effective way out of poverty, but it is hardly the entire answer.
Of sandwiches, services, and second chances
I made sandwiches this afternoon.
I don't work for a "that's not my job" agency. When there's a challenge, a deadline, people out sick or a big project, everybody pitches in. None of that "I'm the boss, so I don't carry boxes." Somebody needs a hand, I have two.
Today was the first day of CCJ's partnership with U.S.Vets. U.S.Vets exists to help homeless vets get back on their feet, employed and self-sufficient. CCJ exists to help all people get back on their feet and self-sufficient. U.S.Vets moved off the VA campus today. Its 56 vets need to eat. My agency cooks and feeds people. It's a great partnership. If all goes well, our agencies will partner on something bigger. A culinary training program to give our participants job skills.
But back to the sandwiches -- part of tomorrow's lunches for the vets who have found employment. Ham and cheese and lettuce on bagels. A side of applesauce and some juice. I imagined the veterans who open those bags tomorrow, somewhere at a workplace. I doubt they are thinking about who made their sandwiches, but I'm thinking about who will eat them as I assemble them.
One of my staff took over tonight's dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs, salad and fresh bread. A hot, tasty meal in a new location. Each veteran is already making huge adjustments. First, from whatever military service assignment (and possible trauma) to civilian life. From homeless to a program. From one location to another. From scraping out a living to case management and job search. From unemployed to a job. And hopefully, from this program to their own apartment and a long-term working situation.
A few vets have been at CCJ before. If they are homeless and ready for change, we try to hook them up with U.S.Vets. It is a very narrowly focused program where ours is a broad net. We accept people where they are and provide for many of their basic needs. And without pressure, we offer them the chance to move to self-sufficiency. Food. Hygiene. Resources and access to other programs. Clothing. Mentorship.
Some days I think our staff and volunteers may as well be case managers. While they feed people, they are so observant. Who is here, and who is not? Do people seem to be their normal selves? Emotional, physical, mental health checks. Our regulars and even some who are new find that the staff care enough to ask basic questions. What can we help you with? What would you like to eat today? Is everything OK?
I finish bagging the sandwiches, pack the other items and fold the tops. Twenty bags, ready for tomorrow's lunches. I know the vets have someone who is asking them these questions, and that makes a difference. They have a place to sleep, a roof over their heads, and a chance to regroup and start again.
And tomorrow, each one has a sandwich.
I don't work for a "that's not my job" agency. When there's a challenge, a deadline, people out sick or a big project, everybody pitches in. None of that "I'm the boss, so I don't carry boxes." Somebody needs a hand, I have two.
Today was the first day of CCJ's partnership with U.S.Vets. U.S.Vets exists to help homeless vets get back on their feet, employed and self-sufficient. CCJ exists to help all people get back on their feet and self-sufficient. U.S.Vets moved off the VA campus today. Its 56 vets need to eat. My agency cooks and feeds people. It's a great partnership. If all goes well, our agencies will partner on something bigger. A culinary training program to give our participants job skills.
But back to the sandwiches -- part of tomorrow's lunches for the vets who have found employment. Ham and cheese and lettuce on bagels. A side of applesauce and some juice. I imagined the veterans who open those bags tomorrow, somewhere at a workplace. I doubt they are thinking about who made their sandwiches, but I'm thinking about who will eat them as I assemble them.
One of my staff took over tonight's dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs, salad and fresh bread. A hot, tasty meal in a new location. Each veteran is already making huge adjustments. First, from whatever military service assignment (and possible trauma) to civilian life. From homeless to a program. From one location to another. From scraping out a living to case management and job search. From unemployed to a job. And hopefully, from this program to their own apartment and a long-term working situation.
A few vets have been at CCJ before. If they are homeless and ready for change, we try to hook them up with U.S.Vets. It is a very narrowly focused program where ours is a broad net. We accept people where they are and provide for many of their basic needs. And without pressure, we offer them the chance to move to self-sufficiency. Food. Hygiene. Resources and access to other programs. Clothing. Mentorship.
Some days I think our staff and volunteers may as well be case managers. While they feed people, they are so observant. Who is here, and who is not? Do people seem to be their normal selves? Emotional, physical, mental health checks. Our regulars and even some who are new find that the staff care enough to ask basic questions. What can we help you with? What would you like to eat today? Is everything OK?
I finish bagging the sandwiches, pack the other items and fold the tops. Twenty bags, ready for tomorrow's lunches. I know the vets have someone who is asking them these questions, and that makes a difference. They have a place to sleep, a roof over their heads, and a chance to regroup and start again.
And tomorrow, each one has a sandwich.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Tune out, turn off, unplug it all
I've heard that people who are able to draw boundaries between work and the rest of their lives are more effective and focused.
I would have a hard time testing that theory. I'm not sure I have any boundaries between my work and the rest of my life. As electronics invade more and more of our personal space, that dividing line becomes almost impossible to find.
I think back to the first professional job I had. As a reporter, I worked when I worked. There was no internet. No cell phone. No social media. (There were also no digital cameras or pagination software programs, but I digress). The only fuzzy line came when people in the community approached me at the grocery store, in a restaurant, at church, at my son's school, etc. and told me about a great story that our newspaper was missing. I was pleased that the community felt I was approachable. And it didn't happen every minute. When I took a vacation, I was really gone and unavailable.
Fast forward 28 years. I often wish I was back in those days, not only because I miss writing professionally, but also because I miss the boundaries. Today I am responsible for my agency's social media, electronic newsletter and webpage. I have a personal Facebook page, that makes it easy to stay in touch with family and friends, but also easy to send me a personal message. People can call, text or send me emails on my "smartphone." I get messages before, during and after work. And people expect me to respond. Sometimes I'm even proud that I respond early in the morning and late at night.
For most of the past three days, I've been at the Grand Canyon. Within the national park, I went back at least 10 years. My reception was severely limited. No 4G service, no emails, no Facebook updates. I forced myself to stay out of the business center. I shut off my phone and charged my camera battery instead. I unplugged and laced up my boots. I breathed Ponderosa pine instead of Facebook memes. And I admit, when I hit mid-afternoon today, I had to force myself into the truck to start the drive back. It would have been easy to stay a few more days.
The Bible's writers could have never fathomed smartphones and laptops, the internet and cell phones. However, they realized that there are times and seasons for all different types of activities (Ecc. 3) and that Jesus didn't totally uphold Martha's toil (Luke 10). Today, Jesus may have told me to tune it out, turn it off and unplug it, enjoy some life and take time to listen to Him.
I would have a hard time testing that theory. I'm not sure I have any boundaries between my work and the rest of my life. As electronics invade more and more of our personal space, that dividing line becomes almost impossible to find.
I think back to the first professional job I had. As a reporter, I worked when I worked. There was no internet. No cell phone. No social media. (There were also no digital cameras or pagination software programs, but I digress). The only fuzzy line came when people in the community approached me at the grocery store, in a restaurant, at church, at my son's school, etc. and told me about a great story that our newspaper was missing. I was pleased that the community felt I was approachable. And it didn't happen every minute. When I took a vacation, I was really gone and unavailable.
Fast forward 28 years. I often wish I was back in those days, not only because I miss writing professionally, but also because I miss the boundaries. Today I am responsible for my agency's social media, electronic newsletter and webpage. I have a personal Facebook page, that makes it easy to stay in touch with family and friends, but also easy to send me a personal message. People can call, text or send me emails on my "smartphone." I get messages before, during and after work. And people expect me to respond. Sometimes I'm even proud that I respond early in the morning and late at night.
For most of the past three days, I've been at the Grand Canyon. Within the national park, I went back at least 10 years. My reception was severely limited. No 4G service, no emails, no Facebook updates. I forced myself to stay out of the business center. I shut off my phone and charged my camera battery instead. I unplugged and laced up my boots. I breathed Ponderosa pine instead of Facebook memes. And I admit, when I hit mid-afternoon today, I had to force myself into the truck to start the drive back. It would have been easy to stay a few more days.
The Bible's writers could have never fathomed smartphones and laptops, the internet and cell phones. However, they realized that there are times and seasons for all different types of activities (Ecc. 3) and that Jesus didn't totally uphold Martha's toil (Luke 10). Today, Jesus may have told me to tune it out, turn it off and unplug it, enjoy some life and take time to listen to Him.
Friday, July 18, 2014
Cure Thy children’s warring madness
I always looked at war as incomprehensible. Back in confirmation days, the concept of Holy War was something that I couldn't wrap my head around. When I considered God telling his people to go kill people and take their land, I couldn't paste it together with the Fifth Commandment. I couldn't see honoring David for killing Goliath. I thought it would be OK to toss out a bunch of the Old Testament scripture and stories.
I laughed when I was recruited in high school for the service. Not a chance. I've never owned a gun. Never shot at a living thing, much less a person. I've shot arrows and BBs into targets. I just didn't get the thrill. I lock my doors to keep thieves out rather than own guns to challenge them.
World War II at least had a point. Japan bombs your naval base in Hawaii, you defend your land. Germany starts killing people because of their backgrounds and tries to take over Europe, you help your allies. How come we didn't all get together and tell the communists to stay out of Korea or Vietnam? Either come together and tell people to stop being bullies, or don't get into the war. A war you don't want to finish isn't a war. It's a sacrifice of your young people.
So the idea of the Israel/Palestinian conflict is just something that tears me up. The Jewish people have possessed much of this area for centuries. They didn't just show up yesterday. They have fought to retain what they consider is their sacred land. They want nothing more than to live here in peace. Yet they haven't had peace in their land for much of their history, and they aren't having it now.
I haven't lived in a time when our world was at peace. Was there a time like that? I think about people and wonder, if individuals can't settle our differences without anger and killing, how do we expect our nations to do likewise? We allow capital punishment. We treasure and insist upon personal weapons. We consider fighting a sport.
My vocabulary is filled with language of peace. Tolerate. Accept. Understand. Consensus. Love. Compassion. Mercy. Agree. My head and gut hurt when I have to deal with any conflict. Not metaphoric, but actual pain. I was not made for dissension. Yet I'm human and I live with my own warring madness. My family and others have seen that side of me. Not often, but more than I'm proud to admit. I own it and I claim it.
Other people see war differently. Fighting for our country's values and the protection of liberty around the globe is a different value. And they fight so that others may know the qualities they value. They risk their own life and take others' lives so that sometime, that country may know peace. It's a choice. Not my choice, but one that I can understand. And a part of me hurts for these people who have seen war and death. Can they ever know real peace again?
Our inability to live together in peace is the imperfection that lives within each of us. We will not be perfected in this world. We cannot even understand it -- this peace that passes all understanding. One day we will.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
One hand in the river, one hand upstream
Upstream. It may be the most over-used word in social services today. "We need to work upstream to resolve that issue, so we can stop dealing with the results."
I'm sure the phrase came from some issue that really did happen upstream, like pollution into a freshwater stream, or the lack of water flow to a downstream community caused by excessive water use upstream. But now the phrase comes with this picture -- the river is full of people being washed downstream. Do you keep pulling them out, or do you go upstream to figure out why people are in the river in the first place?
PTSD in veterans. We need to fix that upstream. Does that mean ending wars? I'm all for it. But we're fighting a really big war machine.
Hunger. We need to work upstream. Where? The system that doesn't assist enough families with enough money for food stamps, the system that doesn't help them to become self-sufficient and not need assistance, the system that doesn't encourage them to stay in school and get decent jobs, or the food distribution system in all communities that doesn't get extra food to the right places so that all are fed? Which upstream problem do we target?
Homelessness. We need to tackle this upstream. Should we advocate for more affordable housing, deal with the mental health issues of thousands of homeless people, provide additional Section 8 HUD vouchers in local communities, turn foreclosed housing into shelters, or some other answer?
Meanwhile, people are still suffering, hungry and homeless. Do we work upstream or do we help ease their suffering, feed them and shelter them? Each answer takes people, time and money. Families affected by one member with PTSD create issues for generations. The mother of two children can't tell her kids that she'll be able to feed them in two years when she finishes her degree. Study after study shows that housing people is more cost-effective than leaving them homeless.
Community problems require both solutions: people to reach in the river and keep people from drowning, and people to hike upstream and figure out why people are in the river in the first place. Without the hands-on community services, these are real people who will drown in the wake. Without advocacy upstream, we will never stop having to rescue people. Every problem requires both hands-on service and advocacy.
I'm sure the phrase came from some issue that really did happen upstream, like pollution into a freshwater stream, or the lack of water flow to a downstream community caused by excessive water use upstream. But now the phrase comes with this picture -- the river is full of people being washed downstream. Do you keep pulling them out, or do you go upstream to figure out why people are in the river in the first place?
PTSD in veterans. We need to fix that upstream. Does that mean ending wars? I'm all for it. But we're fighting a really big war machine.
Hunger. We need to work upstream. Where? The system that doesn't assist enough families with enough money for food stamps, the system that doesn't help them to become self-sufficient and not need assistance, the system that doesn't encourage them to stay in school and get decent jobs, or the food distribution system in all communities that doesn't get extra food to the right places so that all are fed? Which upstream problem do we target?
Homelessness. We need to tackle this upstream. Should we advocate for more affordable housing, deal with the mental health issues of thousands of homeless people, provide additional Section 8 HUD vouchers in local communities, turn foreclosed housing into shelters, or some other answer?
Meanwhile, people are still suffering, hungry and homeless. Do we work upstream or do we help ease their suffering, feed them and shelter them? Each answer takes people, time and money. Families affected by one member with PTSD create issues for generations. The mother of two children can't tell her kids that she'll be able to feed them in two years when she finishes her degree. Study after study shows that housing people is more cost-effective than leaving them homeless.
Community problems require both solutions: people to reach in the river and keep people from drowning, and people to hike upstream and figure out why people are in the river in the first place. Without the hands-on community services, these are real people who will drown in the wake. Without advocacy upstream, we will never stop having to rescue people. Every problem requires both hands-on service and advocacy.
That 'issue' you're talking about? He's my neighbor
Do people respect each other anymore?
I think about that a lot lately, when I talk to people. When two people agree about one or more issues, everything is fine. When they don't, that's when I start watching. And what I see isn't very appealing. No wonder why our politicians don't work together. Even the simplest disagreements spark ugly conflicts.
I think I'm a fair observer of people. And I watch. From the national politicians down to neighbors, I encounter the same reactions when people agree:
Councilman Jones gets on the council. Even though municipal government is supposed to be a non-partisan contest, we all know Councilman Jones comes from "that party," so part of the community won't even start a discussion with him, because he must agree with his part about things like growth, water supply, open space, jobs, transportation, etc. Why even bother opening our mouths, because if we disagree, it will be unproductive. Either a majority of the council agree with my perspective or they don't, why talk about it?
A lot of people in this community are unemployed or underemployed. Having better paying jobs would not only benefit them but the entire tax base. But bringing in more industry would also likely bring in more people, more traffic, and other issues that the leadership doesn't want. So rather than upset the apple cart, the leadership continues to welcome low-paying retail and hospitality businesses to the town. It won't deal with the issues that this choice perpetuates -- the need for affordable housing, community services, young people leaving the area to pursue better employment opportunities, and degradation of neighborhoods.
Thousands of young people begin flooding the borders, crossing into our nation through other than legal challenges, calling themselves refugees. The system is not prepared to handle these individuals. Some people think they should be sent back. Other people believe that our country needs to take steps to protect them, as they fear for their lives in their homeland. Still others believe we need to go fix whatever is happening in their country so they can stop leaving their homeland. The people aren't part of the discussion -- politics, money and external aggression are the cards we play.
At some level, people need to sit down and start talking about what is best for our communities, our citizens, our nation. Cast aside the normal politics and start talking about what is the right decision, long-term: locally, regionally, nationally. And at the same time, start dealing with the here and now. That person who can't get into a reasonably priced apartment or house -- he is my neighbor. That couple who can't find a place to live or work because of an arrest record for which they've already served time, they are my neighbors. That person who has to choose between food and medication -- she is my neighbor. That child who moves to the big city to find a decent job -- she's my neighbor. That young scared teenager who just risked his life to come here from Guatemala -- he's my neighbor.
I think about that a lot lately, when I talk to people. When two people agree about one or more issues, everything is fine. When they don't, that's when I start watching. And what I see isn't very appealing. No wonder why our politicians don't work together. Even the simplest disagreements spark ugly conflicts.
I think I'm a fair observer of people. And I watch. From the national politicians down to neighbors, I encounter the same reactions when people agree:
- I don't agree with you, but I'm not going to get into a debate about it. We can agree to disagree. This is the simple form. And honestly, not the most common reaction.
- I don't agree with you, and I've tuned you out for the moment so I can start coming up with my own arguments to try to convince you you're wrong. I'm not listening anymore.
- I don't agree with you. You're completely full of lies and you probably watch CNN or Fox News (whichever I don't watch), and I'm going to resort to my name-calling, put you in a category response.
- I don't agree with you and I've now put you in my category of people to whom I will never talk to about anything of consequence again.
Councilman Jones gets on the council. Even though municipal government is supposed to be a non-partisan contest, we all know Councilman Jones comes from "that party," so part of the community won't even start a discussion with him, because he must agree with his part about things like growth, water supply, open space, jobs, transportation, etc. Why even bother opening our mouths, because if we disagree, it will be unproductive. Either a majority of the council agree with my perspective or they don't, why talk about it?
A lot of people in this community are unemployed or underemployed. Having better paying jobs would not only benefit them but the entire tax base. But bringing in more industry would also likely bring in more people, more traffic, and other issues that the leadership doesn't want. So rather than upset the apple cart, the leadership continues to welcome low-paying retail and hospitality businesses to the town. It won't deal with the issues that this choice perpetuates -- the need for affordable housing, community services, young people leaving the area to pursue better employment opportunities, and degradation of neighborhoods.
Thousands of young people begin flooding the borders, crossing into our nation through other than legal challenges, calling themselves refugees. The system is not prepared to handle these individuals. Some people think they should be sent back. Other people believe that our country needs to take steps to protect them, as they fear for their lives in their homeland. Still others believe we need to go fix whatever is happening in their country so they can stop leaving their homeland. The people aren't part of the discussion -- politics, money and external aggression are the cards we play.
At some level, people need to sit down and start talking about what is best for our communities, our citizens, our nation. Cast aside the normal politics and start talking about what is the right decision, long-term: locally, regionally, nationally. And at the same time, start dealing with the here and now. That person who can't get into a reasonably priced apartment or house -- he is my neighbor. That couple who can't find a place to live or work because of an arrest record for which they've already served time, they are my neighbors. That person who has to choose between food and medication -- she is my neighbor. That child who moves to the big city to find a decent job -- she's my neighbor. That young scared teenager who just risked his life to come here from Guatemala -- he's my neighbor.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Stoking the fire or sustaining the passion: anniversary reflections
Today is my second anniversary at CCJ. In another way of looking at it, I'm starting my third year here. For a time, I wondered whether this position was going to be the interim, while I figured out what God's next plan for my life was. Apparently, this was his plan. I am where He wants me to be. Time to unpack and settle in.
Hard to believe that someone could hang out in a place for 730 days and not settle in, but I've really done it here. My desk is piled high with papers needing organization. I have a photo frame with two family photos on my shelf. An inspirational photo from my last office. Two plants, one that a former co-worker sent when I arrived, and a philodendron growing in an Arizona tea bottle that Leslie gave me after Lloyd died of lung cancer at age 42. It was a piece of the one Lloyd grew all around the house. I brought it into my office in April, following Lucy's death. I see both of them need attention, as does my desk. As do I.
I'm not very good at tending to myself. Mike is demanding I take a few days off next week, and I submitted reluctantly to three days at the Canyon. Did I really say that? "Submitted...reluctantly...Canyon"? I have lost my boundaries here.
The thought that crosses my mind today is "burning." What IS it that I'm on fire for? I am moved by many things. My heart aches for the homeless, the hungry, traumatized veterans, and so many other groups of people who don't have what I consider basic necessities: food, clean and plentiful water, shelter, mental and physical health, resources, relationships, peace. Truly, a large percentage of the global population.
I used to think I could change the world. And at 50, I feel like I've lost that idealism. I can't change my country, my state, or even my sick red county. I've resorted to celebrating when I can -- at least temporarily -- change the circumstances of some people who cross my path here at CCJ. But that feeling is so fleeting. Have I really changed them long-term or just made them more comfortable in their poverty? Have they grasped the power of change or have I acted for them? It's so difficult to see the bigger picture.
I find it so easy to get stirred up about an issue, really stoked, and then the moment passes. Like throwing countless logs on the fire and building a huge inferno, soon to burn out. A few embers remain, but the heat is gone until rebuilt with new logs.
Slow burn. That's what I need to learn. I need to feed the fire one small log at a time with a sustaining passion. Make action a daily, hourly, continuing effort without the bursts of fuel. Working for that compassionate, just community as praxis, rather than consumption.
Hard to believe that someone could hang out in a place for 730 days and not settle in, but I've really done it here. My desk is piled high with papers needing organization. I have a photo frame with two family photos on my shelf. An inspirational photo from my last office. Two plants, one that a former co-worker sent when I arrived, and a philodendron growing in an Arizona tea bottle that Leslie gave me after Lloyd died of lung cancer at age 42. It was a piece of the one Lloyd grew all around the house. I brought it into my office in April, following Lucy's death. I see both of them need attention, as does my desk. As do I.
I'm not very good at tending to myself. Mike is demanding I take a few days off next week, and I submitted reluctantly to three days at the Canyon. Did I really say that? "Submitted...reluctantly...Canyon"? I have lost my boundaries here.
The thought that crosses my mind today is "burning." What IS it that I'm on fire for? I am moved by many things. My heart aches for the homeless, the hungry, traumatized veterans, and so many other groups of people who don't have what I consider basic necessities: food, clean and plentiful water, shelter, mental and physical health, resources, relationships, peace. Truly, a large percentage of the global population.
I used to think I could change the world. And at 50, I feel like I've lost that idealism. I can't change my country, my state, or even my sick red county. I've resorted to celebrating when I can -- at least temporarily -- change the circumstances of some people who cross my path here at CCJ. But that feeling is so fleeting. Have I really changed them long-term or just made them more comfortable in their poverty? Have they grasped the power of change or have I acted for them? It's so difficult to see the bigger picture.
I find it so easy to get stirred up about an issue, really stoked, and then the moment passes. Like throwing countless logs on the fire and building a huge inferno, soon to burn out. A few embers remain, but the heat is gone until rebuilt with new logs.
Slow burn. That's what I need to learn. I need to feed the fire one small log at a time with a sustaining passion. Make action a daily, hourly, continuing effort without the bursts of fuel. Working for that compassionate, just community as praxis, rather than consumption.
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Supreme Court Judge schools state officials in finance
Throwing more money at schools doesn't make them better. Over 15 years of reporting education, I wish I had a dollar for every time a taxpayer fed me that line. Bond issues. Overrides. Initiatives. Legislation. Every time a potential tax increase came up for debate, readers would respond that more money doesn't make better schools.
Yet, the converse IS true. Less money DOES make worse schools. It's not that teachers cannot teach without the newest and best equipment, books, technology and classroom spaces. The best and brightest teachers don't enter the field, don't take jobs in our state, don't stay in the classroom when wages are chronically, abysmally low. And while an amazing teacher can give students the world with a piece of chalk, some paper and pencils, why wouldn't the community want to give the best teachers the best tools to create the best students?
An administrator taught me a perfect lesson one day with a dry erase marker and a white board. Charter schools were a brand-new innovation. He showed me his concept of abolishing tenure and paying first-year teachers twice what first-year, first-step teachers normally make. And the second year, even more. And the third year, teachers reached their maximum step, a lot of money. But teachers would have to earn that pay and their teaching spot every year with cutting-edge teaching methods and engaged students. Parents would be fighting to get their students in the door, even if it required substantial parental involvement. Every teaching spot would have hundreds of applicants. And administrative challenges? It would be hard to imagine many in that setting. To keep up, other schools would have to replicate the model. And it would raise the expectations of all schools, first locally, then regionally, and finally statewide. The only challenge to all of that? Funding.
Currently, Arizona sits at the far bottom of the chart, with state student funding dead last, or second-to-last, depending on whose chart you believe. Either way, not a superlative statistic -- not something you would brag about, or teach your students. Some of them might conclude their education isn't worth their communities' dollars.
But that situation finally received some attention Friday. Not from the governor. Not from the Legislature. Not even from the State Superintendent for Public Instruction. In this case, a Maricopa County Superior Court Judge, Katherine Cooper. Cooper ruled that the state owes its public schools more than $300 million in Proposition 301 funding this year, and will hold hearings on whether five years of unpaid Proposition 301 funding is due and payable.
Judge Cooper isn't concerned about the state's argument that it doesn't have $300 million to spare. Pay up, she ordered. The voters approved this funding some five years ago, and state officials haven't responded. It would have been easier to handle if Arizona had dealt with it when the voters first approved it. It sounds a lot like a basic concept from any of those teachers' lesson plans: do today's homework today. If you let it pile up, it becomes a lot harder to manage.
Yet, the converse IS true. Less money DOES make worse schools. It's not that teachers cannot teach without the newest and best equipment, books, technology and classroom spaces. The best and brightest teachers don't enter the field, don't take jobs in our state, don't stay in the classroom when wages are chronically, abysmally low. And while an amazing teacher can give students the world with a piece of chalk, some paper and pencils, why wouldn't the community want to give the best teachers the best tools to create the best students?
An administrator taught me a perfect lesson one day with a dry erase marker and a white board. Charter schools were a brand-new innovation. He showed me his concept of abolishing tenure and paying first-year teachers twice what first-year, first-step teachers normally make. And the second year, even more. And the third year, teachers reached their maximum step, a lot of money. But teachers would have to earn that pay and their teaching spot every year with cutting-edge teaching methods and engaged students. Parents would be fighting to get their students in the door, even if it required substantial parental involvement. Every teaching spot would have hundreds of applicants. And administrative challenges? It would be hard to imagine many in that setting. To keep up, other schools would have to replicate the model. And it would raise the expectations of all schools, first locally, then regionally, and finally statewide. The only challenge to all of that? Funding.
Currently, Arizona sits at the far bottom of the chart, with state student funding dead last, or second-to-last, depending on whose chart you believe. Either way, not a superlative statistic -- not something you would brag about, or teach your students. Some of them might conclude their education isn't worth their communities' dollars.
But that situation finally received some attention Friday. Not from the governor. Not from the Legislature. Not even from the State Superintendent for Public Instruction. In this case, a Maricopa County Superior Court Judge, Katherine Cooper. Cooper ruled that the state owes its public schools more than $300 million in Proposition 301 funding this year, and will hold hearings on whether five years of unpaid Proposition 301 funding is due and payable.
Judge Cooper isn't concerned about the state's argument that it doesn't have $300 million to spare. Pay up, she ordered. The voters approved this funding some five years ago, and state officials haven't responded. It would have been easier to handle if Arizona had dealt with it when the voters first approved it. It sounds a lot like a basic concept from any of those teachers' lesson plans: do today's homework today. If you let it pile up, it becomes a lot harder to manage.
Monday, July 14, 2014
He who has the most friends wins, sort of
Isn't technology wonderful? Two decades ago, the Internet was just catching on. A decade ago, we started thinking about connections through social media. And today, there are dozens of possibilities. Who knows what the next, best thing will be? I have to remember if my staff text, Facebook, Tweet, or just email.
Two decades ago, that first paragraph would have been unintelligible. And maybe two decades hence, it will be archaic.
So, my Facebook (FB) is a web that connects me and my 200 or so closest friends. Sort of. I'm pretty sure that only about half of those pay any attention to me at all. And probably only a handful connect daily. Today I received a new friend request from a name that I couldn't place. Before deleting the request, I opened the profile and found a long-lost distant cousin. Interesting. Nary a Christmas card, a phone call in 20 years. But today, we are connected through FB.
Facebook, to me, is a place I can be myself. So I post comments, pictures, thoughts, quotes and news that represents me. Not the me I was 30 years ago. So I was not surprised to see a relative take umbrage to my progressive Christian comments. Without saying it, it became obvious that he didn't like my positions. So, all of a sudden, he announces he's starting a "debate."
If he's baiting me, I'm not playing.
Most of my friends agree with my position.
Most of his friends don't.
Debating him on his FB page pits me against all of his like-minded Christian conservative friends. His FB is loaded with them. And why should I toss myself into that fray? If I win, lose or draw, I'm not changing my opinion. So I punted. I'm drained and I'm busy. I don't want to play. He can debate the wind.
Besides, I'd rather spend my energy in action. "Go, therefore." Not "Debate, therefore."
Two decades ago, that first paragraph would have been unintelligible. And maybe two decades hence, it will be archaic.
So, my Facebook (FB) is a web that connects me and my 200 or so closest friends. Sort of. I'm pretty sure that only about half of those pay any attention to me at all. And probably only a handful connect daily. Today I received a new friend request from a name that I couldn't place. Before deleting the request, I opened the profile and found a long-lost distant cousin. Interesting. Nary a Christmas card, a phone call in 20 years. But today, we are connected through FB.
Facebook, to me, is a place I can be myself. So I post comments, pictures, thoughts, quotes and news that represents me. Not the me I was 30 years ago. So I was not surprised to see a relative take umbrage to my progressive Christian comments. Without saying it, it became obvious that he didn't like my positions. So, all of a sudden, he announces he's starting a "debate."
If he's baiting me, I'm not playing.
Most of my friends agree with my position.
Most of his friends don't.
Debating him on his FB page pits me against all of his like-minded Christian conservative friends. His FB is loaded with them. And why should I toss myself into that fray? If I win, lose or draw, I'm not changing my opinion. So I punted. I'm drained and I'm busy. I don't want to play. He can debate the wind.
Besides, I'd rather spend my energy in action. "Go, therefore." Not "Debate, therefore."
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Good dog, Rowdy. You will be missed
We knew it would happen, sooner or later. It happens to the best of them. Saturday morning, it happened.
Our precious Rowdy died. We heard him bark about 6 a.m., and as is typical, if we don't get up to let him out right away, he usually settles back in for a while. Around 9, not hearing another peep, Mike went in to let him out.
"He's gone," he said. "Rowdy's dead." I came in to check, and he was not breathing. His body was still warm, but his eyes were fixed. The moment had come.
Rowdy was our son Michael's first dog. We told him as soon as we had our own house, he could have a dog. That day came a couple of months after he turned 8. We saw this cute black pup at Petsmart on a Saturday. But, alas, the pup, named Michael, was the last of a litter of strays and another couple had already claimed him -- was filling out his paperwork. Our search would have to continue.
For whatever reason people do things, we stopped into Petsmart again the following day, after church. And he was back. The couple had returned him. They had a husky, and the established dog tried to attack the puppy. It takes patience and knowledge to introduce dogs. They didn't have it. I had just one stipulation: I already had two Michaels in the house. The dog would have to have a new name. And that's how he arrived.
Quiet, shy, frightened. The puppy spent a first night whining. His boy went out to check on him, and within a few nights, the crate was moved to his room. Hoping he would grow into the name, we decided on "Rowdy." Rowdy Rockwell Kenny, getting his middle name from my parents' amazing Norwegian Elkhound. Rowdy's big paws and mixed lineage belied a big dog, so a friend gave us a crate large enough for a brute. And Rowdy grew -- a little. He ended up about as big as a cocker spaniel. A cocker's ears, the long body and fur of a long-haired dachshund, and the tail of a German shepherd. But Michael couldn't have loved him more.
He learned sit, speak and down. Even roll over. But fetching a ball was something he never did. He would run after the ball, then look at it and come trotting back. "Just pet me and cuddle me," he seemed to tell us. And we did. Through the addition of cats to our home. Through Michael's school years, graduation, college and work. Then a nasty bout of vestibular disease.
We thought he had endured a stroke. His eyes flashed. He wouldn't eat. And he walked in circles. Fortunately, our vet, Dr. Franks at PV Pet Clinic, knew exactly what it was. She gave him fluids. And predicted he would be over it in 2 or 3 days. And he was fine within the week. But later, with reduced hearing and vision, it would come back. No flashing eyes. But always circling. Then we noticed that he wasn't walking well. Slowly, Rowdy started his downhill progression. Michael moved out, but Rowdy always perked up and couldn't wait for his boy to return.
In the final weeks, Rowdy had trouble standing for any length of time, as a degenerative condition affected his back and hind legs. He had accidents or couldn't go when he was outside. We started talking about his pain, his quality of life. Michael came to visit and told him it was OK, if it was time, he was ready. But no one is really ready.
We called him and told him that it had happened. He was at work and would come over as soon as he could. We promised not to do anything until he had time to see him. He sobbed. This was his brother, the closest thing this only child had to a brother. How could he say goodbye? He touched his fur, held his ear. We removed his collar and tried to let go.
Rowdy will be cremated. Michael will keep some ashes. He wants a paw print tattoo. I snipped him a lock of fur. We have pictures and lots of memories.
We bring our pets into our homes for companionship. We follow our instructions in Genesis to have dominion over them, but compassionate, gentle dominion. We are their caretakers. But in the process, we love them. We become their pack; they become our family.
Our precious Rowdy died. We heard him bark about 6 a.m., and as is typical, if we don't get up to let him out right away, he usually settles back in for a while. Around 9, not hearing another peep, Mike went in to let him out.
"He's gone," he said. "Rowdy's dead." I came in to check, and he was not breathing. His body was still warm, but his eyes were fixed. The moment had come.
Rowdy was our son Michael's first dog. We told him as soon as we had our own house, he could have a dog. That day came a couple of months after he turned 8. We saw this cute black pup at Petsmart on a Saturday. But, alas, the pup, named Michael, was the last of a litter of strays and another couple had already claimed him -- was filling out his paperwork. Our search would have to continue.
Quiet, shy, frightened. The puppy spent a first night whining. His boy went out to check on him, and within a few nights, the crate was moved to his room. Hoping he would grow into the name, we decided on "Rowdy." Rowdy Rockwell Kenny, getting his middle name from my parents' amazing Norwegian Elkhound. Rowdy's big paws and mixed lineage belied a big dog, so a friend gave us a crate large enough for a brute. And Rowdy grew -- a little. He ended up about as big as a cocker spaniel. A cocker's ears, the long body and fur of a long-haired dachshund, and the tail of a German shepherd. But Michael couldn't have loved him more.
He learned sit, speak and down. Even roll over. But fetching a ball was something he never did. He would run after the ball, then look at it and come trotting back. "Just pet me and cuddle me," he seemed to tell us. And we did. Through the addition of cats to our home. Through Michael's school years, graduation, college and work. Then a nasty bout of vestibular disease.
We thought he had endured a stroke. His eyes flashed. He wouldn't eat. And he walked in circles. Fortunately, our vet, Dr. Franks at PV Pet Clinic, knew exactly what it was. She gave him fluids. And predicted he would be over it in 2 or 3 days. And he was fine within the week. But later, with reduced hearing and vision, it would come back. No flashing eyes. But always circling. Then we noticed that he wasn't walking well. Slowly, Rowdy started his downhill progression. Michael moved out, but Rowdy always perked up and couldn't wait for his boy to return.
In the final weeks, Rowdy had trouble standing for any length of time, as a degenerative condition affected his back and hind legs. He had accidents or couldn't go when he was outside. We started talking about his pain, his quality of life. Michael came to visit and told him it was OK, if it was time, he was ready. But no one is really ready.
Rowdy will be cremated. Michael will keep some ashes. He wants a paw print tattoo. I snipped him a lock of fur. We have pictures and lots of memories.
We bring our pets into our homes for companionship. We follow our instructions in Genesis to have dominion over them, but compassionate, gentle dominion. We are their caretakers. But in the process, we love them. We become their pack; they become our family.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Getting my hands into service
"Can you help me?"
It's a call we get at my office numerous times a day. Someone has found himself or herself short of dollars or resources. They start calling the social service agencies they find online, in a resource guide, or in the phone book. Each one has a story. If we can help, we do. Sometimes it's just pointing him or her in the right direction.
Sometimes it's a situation that is out of our league. We don't have a shelter. We have little access to transportation. A stranded traveler who needs to get somewhere, we probably can't help. We might be able to help with a room or a tank of gas, but we can't drive someone to the Valley. We can't put them up indefinitely.
"It's my three children and my husband. We don't have any food."
Fortunately, providing food is something that's fairly easy. We have hot meals, sandwiches to go, pantry items, commodity boxes. We're open four days a week and today is one of them.
"My keys are locked in my SUV."
OK, now this has taken a little different turn. The woman needs help for her family, including her husband with health issues, but getting here is a problem. Another agency has put them up in a motel, 10 miles away. There's no buses from there. Her family is hungry and she's out of resources.
"Can you help me?"
Usually I work on administrative tasks for our agency. But several people are on vacation. And I have the ability not only to solve the immediate problem, but both of her needs. I arrange to deliver some food that is appropriate for their situation, and try to get a community member to help with the locked vehicle. Within 30 minutes, I have solutions. I will take the food out on my way home, the locksmith will do the work, gratis, within 24 hours.
Her children play outside in a back parking lot at the motel. We unpack the food and put some in her refrigerator. Among the food is applesauce, bananas, and macaroni and cheese -- her kids will be ecstatic. I wonder if they will remember this, and if so, as an adventure or a traumatic time? I ask her how long they will stay here, and what the future holds. Do they have other supportive services or people? A sister lives 90 minutes away. They may be able to go there and stay a while. At the moment, it seems like a good option. Time to regroup and get back to stability.
"Again Jesus said, "Simon son of John, do you truly love me?" He answered, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you." Jesus said, "Take care of my sheep." John 21:16 (NIV)
It's a call we get at my office numerous times a day. Someone has found himself or herself short of dollars or resources. They start calling the social service agencies they find online, in a resource guide, or in the phone book. Each one has a story. If we can help, we do. Sometimes it's just pointing him or her in the right direction.
Sometimes it's a situation that is out of our league. We don't have a shelter. We have little access to transportation. A stranded traveler who needs to get somewhere, we probably can't help. We might be able to help with a room or a tank of gas, but we can't drive someone to the Valley. We can't put them up indefinitely.
"It's my three children and my husband. We don't have any food."
Fortunately, providing food is something that's fairly easy. We have hot meals, sandwiches to go, pantry items, commodity boxes. We're open four days a week and today is one of them.
"My keys are locked in my SUV."
OK, now this has taken a little different turn. The woman needs help for her family, including her husband with health issues, but getting here is a problem. Another agency has put them up in a motel, 10 miles away. There's no buses from there. Her family is hungry and she's out of resources.
"Can you help me?"
Usually I work on administrative tasks for our agency. But several people are on vacation. And I have the ability not only to solve the immediate problem, but both of her needs. I arrange to deliver some food that is appropriate for their situation, and try to get a community member to help with the locked vehicle. Within 30 minutes, I have solutions. I will take the food out on my way home, the locksmith will do the work, gratis, within 24 hours.
Her children play outside in a back parking lot at the motel. We unpack the food and put some in her refrigerator. Among the food is applesauce, bananas, and macaroni and cheese -- her kids will be ecstatic. I wonder if they will remember this, and if so, as an adventure or a traumatic time? I ask her how long they will stay here, and what the future holds. Do they have other supportive services or people? A sister lives 90 minutes away. They may be able to go there and stay a while. At the moment, it seems like a good option. Time to regroup and get back to stability.
"Again Jesus said, "Simon son of John, do you truly love me?" He answered, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you." Jesus said, "Take care of my sheep." John 21:16 (NIV)
Sunday, July 6, 2014
A gardener, in the image of God
Genesis tells us that we were made in the image of God. Some days, I have a lot of trouble with that concept. I struggle with forgiveness, and He doesn't. I can't remember people's names, and He knows every sparrow, every hair on our heads.
But today, anyway, I'm OK with the idea that we have some connected lineage. We both like gardens. God was the original gardener: He created the soil, the rain, the sun. He made the first garden -- and set up one simple rule. But we're not very good at following His rules. Thank goodness for His forgiveness.
There's no apple trees in my plot at the Prescott Valley Community Garden. Typical Arizona garden: tomatoes, peppers, onions. Salsa, anyone? Then a few carrots, yellow and green beans, zucchini squash, and some lettuce and Brussels sprouts that may or may not take hold. A coleus and some orange nasturtiums for color.
It wouldn't be my garden without a few garden props. A cardinal that represents my mom, who taught me the value of a garden. A snail, one of the things my sister collected. It's a family garden, after all.
I love to watch plants burst through the soil. The moist warm earth signals them that it's OK to sprout. And they push their way upward, sometimes with cute little seed cover hats. I can't help but hum Peter, Paul and Mary's "Garden Song" as I watch the tomatoes and peppers blossom, and the rows of beans grow bushy.
But where did those weeds come from? I scattered good seeds in the fertilized and worked soil. Then, among the new plants, crabgrass and some ubiquitous vine that comes up everywhere start filling in the spaces between the rows. Truth be told, there's almost no difference between my garden plants and the weeds; the plants are the ones I like, and the weeds are the ones I dislike.
Maybe the Lord felt the same way about weeds. He spoke to the fisherman about the things they knew, and the gardeners about that which they knew. He knew about thistles, and probably crabgrass and vines and alfalfa. Gardens need tending. The good stuff doesn't grow well if it is choked out by weeds.
On the other hand, in the right place, those weeds are cattle fodder. The ranchers encourage the alfalfa and even buy alfalfa hay. I have no use for alfalfa, but in the right hands, this clover grass raises grass-fed cattle. A peaceful verdant pasture with purple flowers. Something I have no use for ends up as a useful tool in another's garden. Another lesson about the diverse gifts of others.
Today I will gauge the moisture in the soil that is benefiting from the monsoon rain's early arrival. I will carefully remove the grass and vines and look for the ripening fruit. I will share some of my first fruits with those who hunger in our community. And enjoy the rest that gardens provide.
But today, anyway, I'm OK with the idea that we have some connected lineage. We both like gardens. God was the original gardener: He created the soil, the rain, the sun. He made the first garden -- and set up one simple rule. But we're not very good at following His rules. Thank goodness for His forgiveness.
There's no apple trees in my plot at the Prescott Valley Community Garden. Typical Arizona garden: tomatoes, peppers, onions. Salsa, anyone? Then a few carrots, yellow and green beans, zucchini squash, and some lettuce and Brussels sprouts that may or may not take hold. A coleus and some orange nasturtiums for color.
It wouldn't be my garden without a few garden props. A cardinal that represents my mom, who taught me the value of a garden. A snail, one of the things my sister collected. It's a family garden, after all.
I love to watch plants burst through the soil. The moist warm earth signals them that it's OK to sprout. And they push their way upward, sometimes with cute little seed cover hats. I can't help but hum Peter, Paul and Mary's "Garden Song" as I watch the tomatoes and peppers blossom, and the rows of beans grow bushy.
But where did those weeds come from? I scattered good seeds in the fertilized and worked soil. Then, among the new plants, crabgrass and some ubiquitous vine that comes up everywhere start filling in the spaces between the rows. Truth be told, there's almost no difference between my garden plants and the weeds; the plants are the ones I like, and the weeds are the ones I dislike.
Maybe the Lord felt the same way about weeds. He spoke to the fisherman about the things they knew, and the gardeners about that which they knew. He knew about thistles, and probably crabgrass and vines and alfalfa. Gardens need tending. The good stuff doesn't grow well if it is choked out by weeds.
On the other hand, in the right place, those weeds are cattle fodder. The ranchers encourage the alfalfa and even buy alfalfa hay. I have no use for alfalfa, but in the right hands, this clover grass raises grass-fed cattle. A peaceful verdant pasture with purple flowers. Something I have no use for ends up as a useful tool in another's garden. Another lesson about the diverse gifts of others.
Today I will gauge the moisture in the soil that is benefiting from the monsoon rain's early arrival. I will carefully remove the grass and vines and look for the ripening fruit. I will share some of my first fruits with those who hunger in our community. And enjoy the rest that gardens provide.
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