So many things we can do

What an eerie time. All of us sequestered into our homes because of the coronavirus outbreak, warned about the dangers of coming too close to a neighbor or a stranger, or even a friend or family member outside our homes. Now, in Illinois, we are prohibited from doing so. In other times of disaster, many have clung to the words of Mr. Rogers, "to look for the helpers." Some have even dove in to be a helper, trying to make a difference for individuals or a community that was devastated. Most of us regularly thrive on volunteering or connecting with and helping family and friends in person. But how can we do this now if we can't even get with 6 feet of each other? Here are some ideas to get us off the couch and away from the news feeds and help lift us up from the worry about what's to come:

• Donate to a good cause. If you continue to have a steady income, think about how much less money you are spending these weeks at home. For me, there's no money being spent on commuting, grabbing a take-out lunch or coffee, or just running out to the store. What better way to spend it now than to give it where it's most needed. Liam and I have decided to pick a charity to donate to every day. In some cases, we might save up our daily contribution for a few days to send off a larger donation. Jimmy Fallon: At Home Edition (definitely worth a watch!) offers a charity suggestion every day, which is where we got the idea. Some local ideas we've had include Journeys, PADS, and the Willow Creek Care Center, which is run by my amazing cousin Josie. The Care Center is continuing to provide emergency food to hundreds of Chicago-area families without resources and breakfasts and lunches to local schools to hand out to kids who would otherwise go hungry. Plus, they recently rented out a Red Roof Inn to house the local homeless population, giving beds and showers to this vulnerable population. I don't know about you, but that made me tear up a little. Also, here's a recent article in the Washington Post with a great list of organizations to support during the pandemic. (Note: some of these places also take donations of supplies, like disinfecting wipes, paper products and masks. If you are one of those whose basement is full of extra everything that you're now seeing you'll never use up, consider sharing.)
• Check in on friends, family and neighbors, especially those who are alone, anxious, sick or lonely. Email and text are great, but now is a great time to pick up the phone or FaceTime and let them hear your voice and see your smile. FaceTime is definitely Elliott's new favorite way to communicate. House tours are his specialty. Or, as long as we are still receiving mail, why not write a letter? And if you are in the "still have a job" group, consider slipping in a check or some cash to gift a friend or family member who is living more tenuously in this new reality. Don't know an older or single neighbor's phone or email address? Take a walk and jot down their physical address. Then send them a card to say hello and share yours!
• Make a meal for a widower or single mom and leave it on their doorstep. Or buy some provisions and deliver to someone at risk so they don't have to go out. (Of course, check that the person is okay receiving such a gift and be sure to practice all the right hygiene tactics when you are preparing and delivering!) Or if you're lucky enough to have flowers popping up in your yard soon, consider surprising someone with a porch bouquet.
• Send a thank you to our first responders. If you have kids, get them involved by making drawings to send to the doctors and nurses in your family practice, the ER staff in your local hospital or the EMTs and firefighters at your town's station. Such a great way to show how much you appreciate them putting themselves in harm's way to help those who fall ill.
• Share your books and DVDs. Put up a free little library or take photos of stacks of books in your personal stash that you're willing to share or part with and send to neighbors with kids who love to read. I know a 13-year-old only child who's a reader and running out of books, so I sent her mom photos of a bunch of my books and will drop off on her doorstep the ones she wants. Currently, those book are just gathering dust in my basement. My friend Teresa also had the great idea to stock a box, like a free little library, with free provisions for anyone in the neighborhood who needed them. Maybe a plastic bin or cooler in the front yard filled with basic essentials. I mean, seriously, what are people going to do with all that toilet paper anyway?
• Make art. It's easy to resort to TV, movies and video games, but imagine what could be done with a paint brush, needle and thread, colored pencils and paper, or that old dusty piano. Write a poem, learn to watercolor, try needlepoint, plunk out a tune. If you have the skills, offer a video tutorial to a friend. Find a YouTube video. Just play around. Children's book illustrator Mo Willems is teaching the world to doodle online. If there was ever a time to explore the artist in you and add more beauty to the world, it is now!
• Play a board game, do a puzzle, make music or have a dance party with the whole family. And if you are not sheltering in place with your family, play or dance virtually. It'll be a memory you won't soon forget.
• Hang out. Parents of teens, this one is especially for you. Think about all the time you have now with your kids in the house and nowhere to go. It's finally a chance to get to know your kid. Ask him or her to show you something funny they love to watch on YouTube. Then get out of your judgment seat and let yourself laugh. It's been a long time since I've laughed as hard as I have while watching Vlogs with Liam. We are also making a painting together to hang over the fireplace. As I see it, there's no better chance to connect.
• Look inside. Many of us are still bogged down by work or are cooped up with small children who have endless needs. And some of us are living both realities! But no matter who you are, this time is giving you a lot to think about. What better opportunity to face our prejudices, grudges, apathy and fears that we covered up so well in all our busyness. And make amends.
• Be nice to each other... and yourself. This is an uncertain, worrisome time. We are stuck with the same people 24 hours a day or we are all alone. (My heart aches when I think about kids especially who are in homes with adults who mistreat and abuse them. Many kids found solace in school or other people's homes and now those outlets are gone. Help can still be found here.)
  
  Take care of yourself so you can be the best for others. We are all in this together.

Have another idea (or link to a good story or online resource) for a way to give each other hope and help during this unprecedented time? Share in a comment!

thank you

Elliott never passes a dog without stopping to say hello. When he spots a dog, he does a little happy dance, quickly glances at me to make sure it's okay, trots over and stops dead in front of the owner.

"What his name," he asks eagerly before touching the animal.

If the owner answers, which is almost always, Elliott repeats what he hears and engages, either simply patting the dog's behind or nuzzling his whole face into the animal's neck.

Sometimes that's all he needs. Other times I have to call him away. He never complains or argues, and no matter how brief the encounter or how friendly or gruff the owner, he always, always turns back with a smile and a wave and calls, "Thank you!"

I don't know where he learned this. We have raised our boys to be polite but not excessively so. Elliott just seems to have a gratitude meter that surpasses most adults.

He doesn't always remember to thank when it's culturally appropriate to do so, such as when a friend shares a toy or his mom refills his milk. Instead he offers his thanks when it's most unexpected.

A couple of weeks ago we visited the doctor for Elliott's kindergarten check up. After the awful 48-hour EEG experience, visiting a doctor never comes without some level of apprehension. On most occasions now I can honestly tell him that we are "just going to talk" to the doctor who may also weigh him and tap at his knees and listen to his heart, and this calms him. (Although he will still ask hopefully every couple minutes, "I be done soon?") This time, however, immunizations were on the bill and I tried to clue him in without freaking him out, but his anxiety was palpable.

Elliott cooperated through the appointment but broke down as soon as he saw the nurse. I tried to hold him chest to chest on my lap as the now two nurses recommended, but he would have none of it. A third nurse was brought in so she and I could hold a screaming Elliott down while the other two did the injections. As soon as the ordeal was over, I snuggled the sobbing boy on my lap who fought the bandaids and any other advances from the remaining nurse like a wild animal. So we quickly got dressed to leave.

I took the hand of my sniffling, tear-stained-face boy and walked out of the exam room. As we got to the door, Elliott turned around and in the most pathetic, sincere, cracked voice called out, "Thank you, doctor," to our nurse.

I will never forget the shocked look on the nurse's face as she turned to my son.

"Oh, honey," she said, "thank you."

This is why I call Elliott my blessing boy. Even at his lowest, he looks beyond his own discomfort to make someone else's day. I don't know how he learned it, but his thank yous are a gift to us all.

four dollars a day

I stood waiting for the light to change. Only 50 yards and I'd be in the train station. I'd already passed the four regulars I see every evening, holding their cardboard signs, shaking coins in their plastic cups. I didn't have any change or singles so I'd passed them all by, head down like the other commuters, not daring to make eye contact. In a minute I'd be safe in the terminal, boarding my train home.

Now, two feet away from me sat a woman, also with a sign but not even making an effort to shake her cup. "This has been the worst year of my life," the sign said. "My daughter was killed in an accident and I am homeless. Please help."

I thought about the ten dollar bill in my wallet. The light was taking forever to change.

I looked at the woman. Her clothes were filthy. She clearly hadn't showered in ages. Her eyes looked vacant, like she was strung out, and probably not on grief. But who's to say. Even though we are behind in most every way financially, she clearly had much less than I did.

As the light changed, I reached into my wallet and pulled out the ten, folded it up, bend down and put it in her cup.

"I'm sorry for your situation," I said. She smiled and showed me her black front tooth.

"Thank you," she whispered.

In the first week of my new job I had the opportunity to take a personality test. I've taken these kinds of tests before but not this particular profile. Part of the results included a one-page writeup about how I most likely behave and operate and how others probably see me. It was interesting and surprisingly accurate.

As I thought about my encounter with the homeless woman on the train that night, I remembered the profile. Specifically these lines, "Because your positive outlook may lead to unrealistic expectations, more skeptical people may see you as naïve." "At times you might get yourself into trouble accepting people who don’t deserve it."

I guess this could explain why I gave the woman on the corner the $10. She was probably high on drugs and would just use the money to buy more and everyone standing around me probably thought I was the world's biggest idiot for giving her money in the first place.

But after more thought, I realized that there was a louder voice speaking to me on that corner than just my own idealistic and optimistic personality.

In church, two days prior, the prayer of confession included these words: "We have heard the cry of the needy. When we have, we have refused to respond."

Truthfully, I didn't really think these words applied to me. For years I have faithfully helped out at Third Tuesday Suppers. We've made lunches for Lazarus House. We support kids in Africa and South America every month. Even though we don't have much to offer, we are helping the needy.

But every day I pass the same four people with their cups out and I always walk on by. I don't have small bills. I don't want to look naive. We need every penny I'm earning right now. Anyway, how is a dollar going to make any difference?

Growing up, I never saw my dad refuse to help anyone. It's quite likely his personality profile would reveal the same trusting, naive, optimistic personality as mine did. But it was more than this.

When I was in college studying in France, I met my dad in Switzerland for the weekend. We traveled to Northern Italy and everywhere we went, whenever we were confronted with a person in need who asked us for money, my dad always kindly gave them something.

"Do you really think that makes a difference?" I asked after he gave the equivalent of about $20 to a very poor woman in a cathedral we were visiting.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "But I think God wants us to give to anyone who asks us for help."

Anyone? Everyone? Maybe that's possible for someone who makes a lot of money and has a lot extra. But me? I don't think so.

So I walk by quickly, pressed along by the rush of commuters hurrying to make the train, and appease myself with the thought that if all the wealthier people around me aren't stopping to put money in anyone's cup, I shouldn't feel badly.

But the day after I dropped the ten, I decided to keep four singles in my pocket for the commute home. As I approached the Canal Street bridge I got nervous, afraid of looking like the fool. But I stuck with my plan and dropped a dollar into each plastic cup, not daring to make eye contact yet touched by the warm "thank yous" and "God bless yous" I received.

The next day I did the same thing, only this time I looked at each person as I gave them the money.

"Have a good night," I smiled.

By the fourth night, the looks of surprise had changed to recognition. At least they knew one dollar would probably be coming their way that evening.

I am not telling this story to say that I am great. I am most definitely not. And to most, especially those pressed along with me in the mass of commuters hustling over the bridge, I probably look pretty naive. As if a dollar could make any difference. As if these people deserve it.

But in a season of politicking, when the nation is focused on improving the economy and determining if births should be controlled and who should be allowed to marry, I wonder how we've gotten so far away from the God this country originally put its trust in. The God who is this: "For the LORD your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome, who shows no partiality and accepts no bribes. He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the stranger residing among you, giving them food and clothing." (Deut. 10:17-18)

The God who wants this: "And you are to love those who are strangers." (Deut. 10:19)

Four dollars a day is a small price to pay to follow the God who defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow. A small amount to give to love the stranger. But every day I know that I am part of a much bigger story, that in a small way I get to show someone who is broke and alone that God is defending their cause, loving them and residing among them.

No, I am not great, but when I get over myself and all my excuses and live like I am called, I know I'm part of something that is.

jesus lives in my neighborhood and it's taken me ten years to find him

Several inches of snow fell on Thursday. The next morning, while the rest of my family built a fort in the side yard, I hung around the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher, washing the previous night’s pans, checking email, baking bread and watching my neighbor out the window.

Sally is an odd bird. She lives two doors down, but from my kitchen window I have a clear view of her back porch. Her house was probably cute at one point. Now the front yard is a forest of dead trees, broken lawn ornaments, plastic chairs, faded silk flowers and cat carriers.

On days when we are out walking and Sally is sweeping the dirt and carpet-covered driveway, we stop and say hello. She saunters over and poses, Marilyn Monroe style, carefully brushing a loose grey wisp from her forehead and says, quite dramatically, “What a beautiful family.” We talk briefly about the weather and she usually tells us to wait a moment while she digs into the back of her PT Cruiser to find some kind of treat for my kids—cream-filled oatmeal cookies or a bag of very old Hershey bars.

Sadly to say, after ten years of living in our home, two doors down from Sally, that’s been about the extent of our interactions. We always take her cookies at Christmas and send a card, but sadly, I’ve never done much more. Sally is so unusual, so hard to figure out, I’ve never known if she’d want me to. Or, at least, that feels like a reasonable excuse.

So, yesterday morning, I watched her from my kitchen window, as I often do, tiptoeing around in the new-fallen snow, removing the umbrellas she had set up over her bushes. I imagine she puts the umbrellas out to keep the snow from falling on the evergreens, or perhaps to protect the miniature flags and magazine pictures she ties to their branches.

After a while, I poked my head out the door to be sure my kids weren’t getting too cold.

“Hey,” my husband called. “Guess who shoveled our front walk?”

Liam chimed in.

“Sally did it,” he said and then added, “That was really nice of her.”

I closed the door and inhaled the warm, yeasty scent of bread baking. I decided to take her a loaf.

I trudged through the snow and pushed open the gate on the two-foot-high chain link fence that runs across the middle of Sally’s driveway, picked my way through rusted folding chairs and many garbage cans that line the path to the backyard. Standing at the backdoor, I paused.

A thick chain and padlock hung on a plastic chair next to the storm door. Her means to assure no one broke in when she was out, I guessed. Big plastic bows and weathered silk roses were tied haphazardly around the little porch. A big pile of circulars, newspapers, rags and other garbage was piled in the corner.

This woman loves to decorate.

I took a breath and knocked. Nothing. I tried again. Her car was in the drive. I knew she was in there. On the fourth try, the peeling wooden door, heavily taped with pictures of the saints, slowly squeaked open.

“Oh,” Sally gasped when she saw it was me. Then she looked at the loaf I was holding and fluttered her eyes and seductively moved one hand to her hip and cocked it. Her clothes were filthy but she had put on fresh lipstick. Always a lady.

“Amy,” she said in her breathy, movie-star voice. “What a precious family. You’re so busy with those beautiful children. I can’t believe it.”

I wanted to say, “Really, Sally, you’re wrong. I do next to nothing for you. I watch you from my window and worry about you, but you are so foreign to me. I glance at your lawn whenever I walk by and wonder, how in the world did you become this, the woman who tends rotten trees, feeds and houses skunks and raccoons and finds faded plastic flowers worthy of planting? I feel like I can’t begin to know how to know you. And this frightens me.”

But I didn’t. Instead, I smiled and handed her the warm bread.

“Well, Amy,” she looked at me as if she had just planned the greatest heist in history and intended to make me her getaway driver.

She discretely pointed to a small drift of snow at the base of her garbage pile. A champagne bottle was sticking out of it.

“Oh, that will go well with the bread,” I ventured.

“Noooo,” she fluttered her lashes at me. “I put that there for the next person who comes to the door.”

I looked at the peeling foil on the top of the bottle and wondered how many years it had been out here.

She motioned to the bottle and I lifted it from the drift. Then Sally gingerly stepped her dirty stocking foot out onto the snowy porch, leaned toward me with her hand cupped around her mouth and whispered, “I have a whole stash of that.”

I thanked her and considered the implication. I think I had just been invited back.

“You’re a doll,” she sing-songed as I walk away.

Not really, I thought. But I’m learning. And suddenly, the most unlikely person is teaching me.

::

As a side note, I have been inspired lately my friend Margot Starbuck’s Monday Minute videos, which are simply short, beautiful lesson in how to love your neighbor. Check out her blog to watch them. And then check out her book, Small Things with Great Love: Adventures in Loving Your Neighbor. She’s a fun and sassy writer who has gotten me thinking about all the places Jesus is living in my neighborhood and how often I fail to see him. . . But I'm learning.

deliberate acts of kindness

This Advent season, more than any other, I have been awed by the stories I've heard of people giving gifts to strangers.

A friend from church mobilized her co-workers at a local restaurant to adopt a family of illegal immigrants (a mom and five kids) for Christmas. She collected $460. The money came from people who are struggling to make ends meet, making the generosity all the more amazing.

And then there's this incredible story I read last night of people paying off strangers' Kmart layaways and a family who lost a young daughter to cancer asking for kindnesses to be done in her honor this week. Not only are people giving in beautiful ways this season, they are motivating others to follow suit.

Last night I was able to participate in one of these breathtaking acts of generosity. I will never forget it.

A woman who practices Tae Kwon Do with my husband gave Andrew two sealed envelopes a couple weeks ago. She told him that she likes to practice random acts of kindness over the holidays. She didn't know a lot of people in need but she thought we might be able to give the envelopes to people at our church's next free community supper. Andrew mentioned to me that the envelopes each had a gift card inside.

So last night I took the envelopes with me to the Third Tuesday Supper. I had the envelopes in my apron pocket and forgot about them until halfway through the dinner when I saw a young couple with five little kids under the age of six who come to the supper every month. Although they don't look destitute, I know from brief conversations that they live on the edge and greatly appreciate the free monthly meal. I immediately thought to give them one of the gifts in my pocket.

I gave the envelope to the dad and explained that it came from a friend and I didn't know what was in it exactly, probably not much, but I'm sure with five little ones every bit counts. He was very appreciative.

About 30 minutes later I saw the mom packing up to leave and I told her the same thing.

"It could just be a $5 Starbucks card," I said apologetically.

She looked at me, her eyes awash in tears and whispered, "It had a $100 bill in it."

I sat down next to her, stunned and teary.

"You have no idea how much we needed that," she said. "It could not have come on a better day."

I told her I was so happy but I really didn't have anything to do with it. The gift was from my husband's incredibly generous friend.

She looked at me wide-eyed and said with a crack in her voice, "But you chose us."

This Christmas season when we have so little material wealth to share, we have had a couple of opportunities to pass on monetary gifts that have come to us through other sources. Both times we could have kept the gifts for ourselves (oh, yes, I was momentarily tempted to open the envelopes myself) and, really, no one would blame us. (A fellow Redbud writer has had a similar experience this holiday.)

Instead, we chose to be the vessel. And simply passed on the gift.

Because the less we have, the more we're seeing what really matters: to be an instrument of God's love and be able to witness the awesome impact a gift has on someone who is desperate for a miracle.

As a result, we are not only celebrating the incarnation of love this Christmas, we are sharing in the incarnation of love this Christmas. Nothing beats it. Nothing.

why he does it

"For Andrew Bordoni, a private guitar teacher in St. Charles, music is more than just entertainment. It's a tool that can help better the world."

So begins an article in today's paper on my husband's student concert and fundraiser for the community of Taurage, Lithuania. I couldn't have written a better lead.

Last weekend Andrew pulled off a concert/recital that featured a dozen of his guitar students strumming, picking and shredding their well-practiced tunes with a full backing band. Playing everything from the Beatles and the Blues Brothers to Led Zeppelin and Nirvana, these kids (and a few adults) rocked the house (or our church's fellowship hall, as it were). The concert also included a silent auction to benefit our sister church and orphanage in Taurage, which raised about $2,000.

My husband had never been on a "missions trip," but a couple of years ago, he was (gently) coerced by our associate pastor at the time to go and visit the orphanage and see firsthand the work of the Taurage UMC, dubbed "The Little Church That Helps" by locals and government officials. Andrew was so moved by the beauty of the children coupled with the absolute hopelessness they face. And he can't get them out of his heart.

Lithuania currently has the highest rate of suicides in the world. Most children in the orphanages have at least one living parent and are, thus, unavailable for adoption. In many cases, the extremely poor economy has made it impossible for parents to keep their children, or the parents have left the country in search of work and left their children behind. It's devastating. And Andrew is all about nurturing whatever hope these kids have left.

Because he overcame an incredibly difficult and painful childhood, my husband believes in the impossible. The kids (and adults) on his student roster get the benefit of his passion as well. He teaches students with developmental delays, social disorders and autism. One mom told me, with tears in her eyes, that her son's response to lessons with Andrew has been a complete miracle.

A former student, now studying music in college, recently wrote about Andrew, "Some people are blessed with talent. Others are blessed with the ability to teach. Andrew is blessed with both."

My husband could probably find a salaried job somewhere. Or he could be out on the road with a band 300 days a year (as he's quite the genius guitar player himself). Instead, he uses his gifts and channels his passions to change lives. In my humble opinion, nothing could be better.

{photos by Tom Nicol}

intention #1: a plan for giving

A couple months ago I was flipping through a Family Fun magazine at the library and was inspired by an article with an ingenious idea for giving. I had been wanting to find a way to implement the idea but it wasn't until a car ride home from Wisconsin between Christmas and New Years that I found the moment to spring it on my family.

"I'm hungry," my six year old whined from the backseat, just outside Beloit. Not having food or a plan, I asked him what he thought we should do.

"Go to McDonalds?" he excitedly suggested, leaning forward in his seat.

Ugh. I hate McDonalds, which is why my son has been there probably five times in his life and why he thinks it's so wonderful. Plus, it wasn't dinnertime yet and a snack of fries would probably just make everyone feel hungrier.

"I have a better idea," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic, knowing this probably wasn't the moment to turn a request for fast food into a lecture on the needs of others. But, sometimes I really can't help myself.

Liam threw himself back and sighed. He knew all too well my better idea was not going to be french fries.

"What?" he pouted.

"Well," I said. "What if instead of spending money for food at McDonald's we wait until we get home to eat something. Then we write down what we would have spent there and put it that piece of paper in a jar. Every time we go to buy something extra or spend our money on something we really don't need this year, we'll think about whether we could not spend the money and write it on a paper for the jar. The jar will be our Giving Jar. We'll pick a special place we want to give the money, then we'll add up the amounts on all the slips of paper and write a check for the total. What do you think?"

"YES!" my son shouted. He really did this. My husband just about crashed the car.

"How much can we write on the slip?" my son asked excitedly.

We figured between french fries and drinks we'd probably spend $10. Then we discussed what or who we should be saving the money for. Because of our connection to Lithuania, we agreed that in a few months we'd add up our papers and write the check to our sister church in Taurage, specifically for the playground they want to build for kids in the community who have no safe place to play.

My son never said a word about being hungry the rest of the 90 minute drive home. I was stunned. Did this really happen? Can a focused family giving plan silence a kid who would give his front teeth to eat at McDonald's?

We'll see. In the meantime, we've started making our pizza on Friday nights: $8 for foregoing a Home Run Inn. And working at the library instead of the coffee shop: $2 for not buying a cup of tea.

I don't think of us as frivolous spenders. These days we're especially careful with our money. But I see this exercise as a good lesson in what we need versus what we want. And what we can give up - even the little we think we have - to help someone else. I also think we'll all discover that spending money doesn't make our lives richer. But seeing it fill the Giving Jar? We're already finding that that's a different story.

december 10

My crafty artist friend Liita, owner of Little Bits Workshop in River Forest, has a dream to work with youth and moms in transition and get them on the right path by training them to create and start their own cottage industries. Small-scale, local microfinance of sorts. Funded in part by sales from a trunk show of handmade items crafted by her artsy friends. Her blog post explains it best. I'm just thrilled to be along for the ride, to help make this wonderful dream come true! Here are the details:

Trunk Show Fundraiser
December 10, 2010
4-9 p.m.
American Artworks Gallery
in downtown Forest Park

A significant portion of the sales at this show go to support both the Little Bits Scholarships for teens at risk and also workshops for kids at Ronald McDonald Children's Hospital in Maywood. Liita will work with these terminally ill kids to make altered journals and other special keepsake items. A beautiful thing.

I have ten days to get down to business sewing recycled jean skirts and whatever else I can scrap together from salvaged fabric. Since this sounds way more exciting than any paying job I've had in the last 13 years, I'm thinking it may be the start of a new career...or just a fun new outlet.

If you're in the area, shop green. Shop for a great cause. Shop to encourage a few retail newbies. Or just come by and say hi and tell Liita she's doing a really awesome thing.

making a difference

Today is Pentecost and our church did something out of the box, especially for Methodists. We met at our church building and paraded to a tent in the middle of town where the bulk of our worship service was held. Our gospel choir sang, our band played and three members of the congregation spoke about where they've seen God showing up in their life. I was honored to be asked to be one of these three speakers. So in case you weren't sweating it out in downtown Geneva this Sunday (oh, yes, it was a hot and humid day in May!), here is what I said.

::

For over a year our family has been volunteering to make lunches for Lazarus House, the local homeless shelter. We’ve often rallied neighbors to donate food and help us. The last few months we’ve been inviting my son Liam’s three best buddies to come home with him after kindergarten and make the lunches with us. Each of the boys contributes a food item and then we pack the lunches assembly-line style. Originally I was inspired to volunteer because I wanted to involve my son Liam in a service project and as an older 4 year old (now a newer 6 year old) the opportunities to actually do something are limited.

This month, though, as the boys were making the lunches, I wondered what they were really getting out of the experience. Liam was bothered that we didn’t have extra juice boxes. I saw two oranges drop into one brown bag more than once – an issue I’d have to sort out later after the guys had been released to play. And one friend was visibly upset.

“I want a lunch like this,” he whined. “Why can’t I have one of these lunches?”

Another little friend piped up. “Don’t worry,” he said very matter of factly, “You can have one someday when you’re homeless.”

I started thinking my effort to involve my son in service wasn’t really making a difference.

After Liam’s friends had gone home, I put the lunches, the gallons of milk and juice and my boys into the car and drove over to Lazarus House. I figured out a way to lug everything in one trip and cajole Elliott into following us. We got buzzed in and made our way through the dining area where some of the guests were hanging out. After Elliott loudly greeted everyone, we dropped off our bags and headed back out.

As I was getting into my car, a woman whisked up to greet me. Her pin said that she was the Lazarus House director. She stood close and spoke in a low voice, “You know,” she said. “This is very dangerous place to bring children.”

I quickly thought over the last three minutes. We said hello to some homeless guys and brought them some food. Had I really just put my boys in danger?

Then she smiled. “I used to bring my children,” she said. “And now one is a social worker and one is a teacher and one works in social justice.”

Once a friend told me that her husband always buys from the people soliciting door to door. Then she added, “He tells me, ‘You never know how Jesus will come.’”

I think about that statement all the time now. The guy who said it is not a pastor. He’s just a quiet, unassuming person. But somewhere, I’m guessing early in his life, he learned not only to treat every person with kindness and respect, but that when he least expects it, he could be opening the door for Jesus.

“I tell you the truth,” Jesus said in a parable in Matthew 25, “whatever you did for one of the least of my brothers, you did for me.”

Since Third Tuesday Suppers began at our church, my boys and I have been there every time, eating (of course) and clearing some plates. Mostly Liam and Elliott wander around and play with the other kids who are there. But I still hold out the belief that it means something more than just dinner out – that they are absorbing the service and community aspects as well.

This past Tuesday was business as usual. We went, we ate, we cleared, we chatted, they wandered and played. At the end of the night there was leftover food and we were encouraged to take a couple meals worth home.

As we drove up to our house, I noticed that our neighbor, a single mom, and her middle-school-age daughter were doing yard work, just as they were when we left. I thought about the food in my lap and asked Andrew if he thought it would be weird to go over and offer it to them.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said.

I agreed and headed inside. Liam was stricken. He quickly caught up with me.

“Mom,” he pleaded. “You have to take that to them. We always take food to people. You have to.”

I looked at his urgent expression, sucked up my pride and walked with him next door.

“Hi,” I said to my tired and sweaty neighbor. “We just came from a free community dinner at our church and we brought home a couple extra meals and it’s just delicious and we’d love for you to have it if you haven’t eaten yet. Liam especially wanted you to have it.”

I opened the container and together we smelled the savory, home-cooked meal.

“Why, thank you, Liam,” my neighbor smiled at my son. “We would love to have this dinner. Thank you so much for thinking of us.”

It’s true. We never know how Jesus will come. And we never know who will remind us to keep looking for him. But now I see how dropping juice boxes into lunch bags and clearing a plate on a Tuesday night can make a difference.

lest we all forget

Haiti is off the front page, but the stories of loss and unimaginable pain are still incredibly real for the Haitian people. So are the stories of hope. If you read anything today, read these two stories - Emmanuel and Alleluia - both about boys named Emmanuel.

I was especially touched by the fact that Emmanuel means "God with us." Or as Mother Theresa would say, each one of them is Jesus in disguise. So when you pray for the precious people of Haiti, please pray, too, for the amazing, giving people who are working so tirelessly to help them. I am humbled and awed by all the love in the midst of this tragedy.

It is easy to get discouraged that we can't help the whole world. But we can help one person. Who is your Emmanuel today?

more ways to help

Ever since I saw the call for handmade donations to the Craft Hope Etsy Shop, I have been longing to make something. Today I did. This purse will soon be for sale in this amazing shop where 100% of the proceeds are being donated to Doctors Without Borders for their lifesaving medical work in Haiti. The first two days "in business," this little grassroots Etsy shop brought in $10,000 for Haiti. Stunning. I am honored to be able to be a small part of such a giving and creative community. If you are looking for a wonderful gift, please go check it out. (The deadline for donating handmade items is end of day Wednesday. Look here for more information on that.)

Another idea for providing immediate help to Haiti is to assemble care kits. Our church has been collecting items for these kits, but today I found some great information on how to assemble and send these kits as a group, family, whatever. Designed for individual personal hygiene, the kits are collected and distributed by Heart to Heart International. The instructions on exactly how to assemble and mail the kits can be found here. Putting these kits together feels like "doing something" and would be a great way to get kids involved in helping the people of Haiti.

Recently, my dad sent me to this oped piece by David Brooks about the underlying tragedy of the earthquake in Haiti. Did you know that when an earthquake of the same magnitude hit San Francisco, only 63 people died? As we all know, the underlying tragedy here is poverty. And despite decades of relief and humanitarian work in this country, as Brooks points out, the problem is chronic and seemingly insurmountable.

One small mention that stood out to me in this editorial was where Brooks was comparing Haiti's dire situation to the DR's considerably better position. Here he states: "Haiti and the Dominican Republic share the same island and the same basic environment, yet the border between the two societies offers one of the starkest contrasts on earth — with trees and progress on one side, and deforestation and poverty and early death on the other."

"Trees and progress" is the part that got me. A few days ago my aunt Debbie sent me a link to Plant with Purpose, an organization focused on planting trees in an effort to eradicate poverty. Sound odd? Watch this video and see. As part of a long-term solution, planting trees seems absolutely essential to me.

There are other organizations, too, like HOPE International and Compassion International, that can help stamp out poverty in the long run. HOPE empowers whole communities to rise up out of poverty through microloans. Compassion empowers children to rise up out of poverty through education. Both organizations help people recognize their worth by sharing God's love and mercy. This is something I can get behind.

When it comes to Haiti, I am humbled and awed by the incredible outpouring of love and assistance that the world has stepped up to provide. But I also know that in a few weeks or months, the fervor will die down and the support will drop off. But our prayers cannot stop. Prayers for wisdom for leaders of organizations that will be key in helping to rebuild Haiti. Prayers for strength for workers in the field who have a gargantuan task ahead of them. Prayers for hope for the Haitian people who deserve so much better.

Decades from now, may we be able to say “M pa bliye ou” (I didn't forget you) to the people of Haiti. There are so many ways to help. I pray we all continue to find them.

more on haiti

Last night we learned that the ministry our church actively supports in Port-au-Prince, Grace Children's Hospital, is still standing after the devastating earthquake. It is a miracle really, and an incredible gift of hope amidst so much sadness.

Early this morning I stubbled onto The Livesay Haiti Weblog, which is from an American family who has been living and ministering in Haiti for the last four years. Amazingly they wrote the "news report" that I referred to in yesterday's post (which I didn't know at the time). And this is the same blog that my friend Carmen noted when she commented on yesterday's post later this morning. I just love coincidences like this. They tell me that this is an important site to share. If you want to get an in-the-trenches, first-hand report of what's happening in Haiti and how we as a far-away people can help and pray, it is worth reading. I knew I would following this family as soon as I read the quote in their masthead.

Better to love God and die unknown than to love the world and die a hero; better to be content with poverty than to die a slave to wealth; better to have taken some risks and lost than to have done nothing and succeeded at it. –E. Lutzer

Amen.

thinking about haiti

Beautiful, healthy children. Good food to eat. Medical care when we need it. Clean water in abundance. Today I am hit with gratitude and wonder at all of the simple gifts we enjoy and so often take for granted. I am also filled with deep sadness for the people in a country so plagued by the kind of poverty I can hardly comprehend who are now faced with a massive disaster.

Before Tuesday, Haiti had many orphans. Now they will have so many more. Since Andrew's trip to Lithuania last summer and the death of my cousin's husband, a young dad, my heart has ached for children who have lost parents. There is the desire to "do something" mixed with the feeling that no real significance could be made by me. And so it goes with Haiti. The country is so far away, the devastation so great, the losses so huge. What can I possibly do?

And yet, if my children were in urgent need, I would move heaven and earth to help them. I long to do the same for these children - these sons and daughters - in Haiti. My husband showed me just hours after news of the quake hit that there is something we can do. He took the money out of his Paypal account (which really wasn't "much"), put it into our bank account, and donated it to World Vision.

It's true: We can forego the music purchases, skip the dinner out, wait on the new carpet, knit with the yarn we already have, and dig into our pockets a little deeper. Because there is just no tiptoeing around the fact that Haiti needs our money more right now.

If you are looking for places to give where your money will be put to use well - and quickly - these are the places we are giving:

:: World Vision - This Christian humanitarian agency has been in Haiti for 30 years and is well mobilized to make an impact with relief immediately.

:: Giving Children Hope - Four-star rated on Charity Navigator, this organization is on the ground in Haiti helping with relief and caring for children. I was so moved by the news report from Mission Viejo Christian Church on this page.

There are other good ones, too, like World Relief and Hope International. (If you know of others, feel free to share them here.)

Whether you are in a position to give monetarily or not, we can all pray, pray, pray, (specifically, we are praying for Grace Children's Hospital in Port-au-Prince, which is a major part of missions at our church and who we have not heard news about yet). And we can all give by living more thoughtfully. Not to get up on a soapbox here, but I know that I can be more generous with my resources, more grateful for my resources, and more careful about how I use my resources. It doesn't have to take a disaster to wake people up to the dire needs of others and the responsibility we have to help. But sometimes it does.

writing to Aron

Since college I have sponsored kids in other countries through Compassion International. And, although I have seen three of these kids through to secondary school graduation, I don't feel like I have much to brag about. Yes, the bit of money came out of my bank account every month all these years, but - here's the confession - I was never a good letter writer. I thought of the kids whenever I saw their pictures on the fridge, but as for putting a hello on paper, I definitely fell short.

Recently, a girl I sponsored for many years in Peru graduated from high school and aged out of the sponsorship program. I was faced with the option of putting my monthly donation elsewhere or sponsoring a new child. After thinking for a bit, I decided to see if there was a boy Liam's age that we could help. Compassion quickly located a boy in Tanzania his exact age. Aron Daud Magese is now our guy.

Already we are doing things differently. We pray for Aron every night, are reading about his country and way of life, and are writing him letters.

Yesterday Liam traced and colored his hands to send to Aron along with his school picture. Then he dictated a letter to me. Here is verbatim (seriously) how Liam began his letter:

Dear Aron,
Sometimes my mom and dad talk rough to me. I am buying a dog. Do you have a lot of LEGOs?

Maybe I am naive, but as obvious as it seems in writing, I don't think Liam was trying to send his mother a message - i.e., that she needs to work on her tone, that her son wants a dog, that possibly we still don't have enough LEGOs. I just think that kid writes what's on his mind. Possibly this is why I was not such a good letter writer. Way too much editing.

And, still, we edited the letter to Aron. After all, this was a letter of introduction. Maybe a few years from now, when they are regular pen pals writing their own letters they can discuss the way their parents talk to them. Hopefully they'll have much more interesting things to share than that.

the kind of thing that makes me cry

There's nothing that means more to me than a handmade gift. For my last birthday, my neighbor Heather sewed this beautiful, one-of-a-kind scarf for me. My friend Sabine knit me a cute, stylish slouchy hat. My neighbor Nancy made me a scrapbook (totally amazing). And my friend Ann, stitched this fabulous table runner that makes me smile every time I walk into the dining room. A gift of any kind, at any time is appreciated, but something that took someone time and effort and creative energy is special indeed.

This is why when people hand make gifts for strangers, I get really choked up. Which is exactly what happened when I read about the Red Scarf program on Craft Hope last night. In a nutshell, the Orphan Foundation collects hand knit or crocheted scarves - all in red - to send to teens who have aged out of foster care and are starting college or a trade school. It is a simple, caring gesture that says, someone you don't even know is rooting for you.

One quote I read said this: "I received my red scarf and cannot describe how I felt that entire day wearing it. It made me smile because although no one knew it was handmade for me, I knew that it was and that made it special." I am a sap. But, really, this is the kind of thing that should make anyone tear up. At least a little.

The great thing about this project is that even a beginning knitter can participate. Craft Hope is collecting red scarves for this project until Valentine's Day. And they can be sent with a note of encouragement, and even a gift card if you like. What an amazing way to tell someone who's had a tough time that they matter and make the world a tiny bit better.

I was planning to cast on for my first sweater soon, but first I think I'll be knitting in red for a while instead. Check out the Craft Hope page to learn more, and if you knit, get some red yarn and join me!

ninenineonine

My cousin is a fundraising genius. Lucky for the disenfranchised who are looking for a way to get themselves back on their feet, he is raising money for them. Here's the genius part: On this day - 9/9/09 - Chris is promising 9 days of happiness to anyone who donates $9 to Hope International. That's just $1 a day for happiness. A price and a promise not even Starbucks can deliver.

Last year about this time, I wrote a post about some of the amazing work Hope International is doing by providing micro loans to individuals living in poverty around the world. By starting a business and earning a living wage, individuals have been able not only to create new lives for themselves and their families but sometimes turn around an entire community as well. It is incredible and exciting, and YOU can be part of it TODAY simply by contributing $9. Check out Chris' blog for all the details!

making new things from old

I'm beginning to discover that I am not a pattern follower. Detailed instructions both frighten and frustrate me. I prefer to wing it. Hence, the reconstructed, vintage pillowcase apron I made as part of my sister's shower gift. I basically cut off the sewn end of a salvaged pillowcase, made a waistband with ties from a fabric remnant I had stashed and embellished. Amazing what a little rickrack can do.


This cute fabric was a maternity beach cover up from which I cut a rectangle, sewed up the side and added an elastic waist to make a skirt for my niece. Then I used a scrap of the material to make a flower for a thrifted polo shirt.


I have wanted to try making this fabric ranunculus since I saw the instructions posted. It was really easy to do and made the outfit extra sweet.

If I had the time, I swear I would re-make something every day. Maybe it's the pleasure of making it up or maybe it's the satisfaction of recycling something that would end up in the trash or the rummage sale. Or maybe it's the joy of constructing something unique for someone special. I can't imagine much I'd rather do.

{Speaking of reconstructing things, be sure to check out this Etsy shop that my friend Alysa turned me onto. A couple of women at a homeless shelter in Chicago are working on donated sewing machines, creating one-of-a-kind bags from old jeans. How cool is that? Alysa has an awesome heart and has been helping these women out by passing on a bunch of beautiful fabric that was given to her and by spreading the word about their craft. You can read the inspiring story here.}

belated and beloved

It doesn't look like much, but don't be fooled. If you love lemon, this cake rocks. While Andrew was out of the country, I happily dreamt-ate my way through The Homemade Life: Stories and Recipes from My Kitchen Table by Molly Wizenberg. This amazing French-Style Yogurt Cake with Lemon was the cake that started the romance that led to her marriage. She posted the recipe on her blog and some cute, food-loving, compatible, francophile emailed her and the rest is history. I l-o-v-e stories like that. Probably because mine is similar. The most unlikely union and the most fated. Like this lemon cake, irresistible.

Anyway, I made it in celebration of Andrew's birthday (lemon is his favorite), which we missed because he was gone in Lithuania. We are all so glad he's back, cake notwithstanding. Elliott even seemed to change overnight. Today he walked everywhere, talked up a storm - including new words we could understand, like "downstairs" - and smiled ceaselessly. I think he really missed his dad.


He and Liam happily donned their Lithuanian viking hats. Not sure about the historical connection, but there must be one because Andrew felt awfully at home there. He describes Lithuania as all the best things about Italy and none of the bad (of which, after living there for a dozen years, he can cite many). Their group (six in all) stayed in a compound supposedly run by Russian mobsters - nice clean room with full breakfast for $10/night. Lights out and locked in by midnight or they were out of luck. Apparently this was the best show in town.

But something about the place - the people, the values, the countryside, and especially the kids - got under his skin. My husband is hooked and his vision is growing. I will not be surprised if we are all packing our bags for some far-off land someday, to spread love, good news, and, of course, music. Not such an unlikely union afterall. Lemon cake, orphans and adventure: By golly, I think we were made for each other.

in Lithuania

Andrew posted this video of his first day at the orphanage in Taurage. I cried because it reminded me how much we have to give to others, how much more we need to do it, how truly blessed we are, and how compassionate and beautiful my husband is (even as a stubborn, outspoken Brit). I really hope you watch it, too.



If you have trouble loading this video here, try watching on the YouTube page instead.

beyond green

Today was the final day of our semi-annual church rummage sale and I spent a few hours helping out. As I folded heaps of clothes, I pulled along a shopping bag, sticking in an occasional find. Days before I had helped with the sorting and had sneaked in my pre-sale shopping, proud of the incredible bargains and the fact that I was reusing rather than buying something new. I was feeling like an all-around resourceful and resource-saving gal.

While I worked today, I noticed a shopper hauling her finds - baskets and garbage bags full of clothes and shoes - to a corner of a room where she began the long and tedious task of folding and rolling each individual item so she could fit as much as possible into brown grocery bags. Today you could fill a bag with anything that was left for a flat $5. She was smartly trying to stretch her dime as much as possible.

Throughout the morning I kept peeking at the bag lady, checking her progress and trying to guess what she might be doing with all the clothes. I figured she must own a resale store or somehow plan to turn a profit. She clearly had done this before.

When the woman was finished packing her bags - nearly an hour after the sale had ended - a worker graciously brought over a cart and helped her load up the eleven bags. After she left, I asked a woman who had worked the rummage sale longer than I if she knew anything about the lady who was buying all the clothes and shoes.

"Oh, she's been doing that for years," she said. "I don't remember the exact story, but she sends most everything to Europe - to Poland and the countries in the former Soviet Union - where clothes are incredibly hard to come by."

As I stood packing up boxes with unsold items, my eyes welled up with tears. Stretching my dollar, being environmental with my purchases, even giving my time for a good cause (while working in an opportunity to scan the dirt cheap merchandise for the last good buys) was really still all about me. And here was a woman giving her time and energy and money to do all this same kind of good . . . for someone else.

Tonight as Liam and I did our new bedtime ritual, asking each other the questions, "What are you most thankful for today?" and "What are you least thankful for today?," I remembered the bag lady. I thank God for her because she reminded me of how much more good there is to do, and that giving of yourself (not so you can pat yourself on the back and say, "look how good I am," but really giving of yourself) blesses not only the people who receive the gift but also the people who stand back and watch.