The Politics of Poverty and My Questions About Modern-Day Social Work

**Disclaimer: This blog post is way too long to be considered very well written. Plus it sort of rambles. If you do get through it, I’d love your comments. I’m extroverted and like to process things with others, so I’m not presenting answers (which is obvious since I hardly have any), but am mulling through personal thoughts and experiences. What I love about engaging others in these topics is that others can help me see things in a way I may not see on my own.**

When I was a teenager I remember walking one of my family’s dogs around our roughly 1,500 house neighborhood and daydreaming. I wasn’t usually the one to daydream about weddings; I tended to daydream about curing cancer. It was usually very specific… I was on the Today Show discussing how I discovered the cure specific to breast cancer, but only if it had been detected within a certain number of months. It was specific, but a breakthrough that could lead to more! (As a creative writer, I had very detailed daydreams.)

As a teenager I also became very interested in politics and thought about going to grad school for a Masters in Political Science. Combined with my Public Relations undergrad, the idea of being a political speech writer intrigued me (one could even say the creative writing skill would come in handy- ok a sad, but somewhat realistic, joke). For my undergrad degree I even interned at the North Carolina headquarters for a particular political party. I loved to write and I loved politics and it seemed like a good path. Yet, God had a different plan and that involved divinity school.

Divinity School is probably where I had the first inklings of giving up my desire to save the world and instead just focus on loving my neighbor. Some of the best parts of my education were spent outside the classroom…. a summer in Waco, Texas that was revolutionary in my life and involved attending church under an interstate overpass, another summer in a bilingual church when I didn’t know Spanish and had a small glimpse into what it feels like to be marginalized, a winter on the West Side of Chicago, and a trip to Belize that opened my eyes to one of my spiritual gifts. By the time I graduated from divinity school in 2008 I had very different views of the world than I previously had. It’s very hard to talk about the poor in an objective sense, essentially viewing an entire segment of America as a statistic, when you’ve played Scrabble at the homeless shelter and realized your tablemates weren’t strangers, but somewhere along the line had become friends.

I eventually pursued a Master of Social Work, but it was always in the pursuit of a biblical view of social justice. I wanted a social work degree to aid my Master of Divinity degree. The combination of theology and social work is dear to my heart and if you read the Bible- really read the Bible- you’ll see the message woven throughout that Jesus commands, as opposed to suggests, that we care for our neighbors, particularly the vulnerable.

I’m now a practicing social worker working toward my full license, but the purpose of social work is something that often rattles around in my brain. I think of Jane Adams and the Hull House of Chicago and consider that most modern-day social work barely resembles its origins. Social work was about challenging unfair systems and being relational neighbors with others. In fact, the origins of social work are very biblical. Now, social work seems to mean being a government employee with all the benefits thereof.

These thoughts came to the forefront of my mind as I listened to a well-accomplished social worker speak recently. She had wonderful advice and had done a lot for people. However, she discussed that the state had received more money and now DSS could hire a good number of intake assessment workers to help people determine eligibility for benefits.

I sat in my seat wondering, “Is this the right response?” Is it reasonable to see a need and solve it by hiring more people to distribute resources as solutions? Are these solutions sustainable? How do we reconcile an economy with a supposed budget with the well-being of our neighbors? But the main question that flooded my mind was, “Why is the solution to hire more people to assess for benefits? Why don’t we look at society and seriously consider why the need is growing? If social work does what it intends to do, we should get to the day when others don’t need to have their incomes assessed to get by. Doesn’t the system often seem to encourage us to see others as objective statistics?”

It would be absolutely awesome if I had answers to these questions. The truth of the matter is, there aren’t enough people who care to address the problem to rid the need of government involvement. And if my faith informs my life, and the Bible is clear about caring for the poor, shouldn’t I vote in a way that focuses on the marginalized? After all, the abolitionists could only do so much without the Emancipation Proclamation.

But then I think about what a classmate in divinity school once said about how Jesus never told us to vote a man into office to give out cloaks, but to give our own cloak. How do I reconcile that statement of blunt truth with the severe need in our nation and the lack of personally invested people to partner in those needs? How do I reconcile my personal views of social justice with what society says it is?

One of the ways my faith involves my social work practice is that I fully believe relationships are the point of life. We were made to be in relationship with God, and then with each other. The Bible is the story of our Creator pursuing us for relationship. Personal change doesn’t happen because someone was accepted into a program with an income assessor; change happens because someone entered a relationship with another person who was a neighbor, and ultimate change happens when someone enters a relationship with the living Christ. So then the question ceases to be so much about how programs are run as much as it is about who I am in relationship with others and what greater Hope I point toward.

One of the reasons everyone seems to have a different view of what is appropriate social justice is that we all see the world through the specific lens of our experience and if that’s all we’ve known, we have to work to consider other experiences. For me, growing up in middle-class America with a military father, I learned what I call “the boot camp mentality.” You have to start at the bottom and you may get treated unfairly and get overloaded with grunt work, but its part of the process of growing in a career. My father is a hard-working man and I learned a lot from him. As I’ve grown into an adult, I’ve seen that my boot camp started at a higher level than many others. My parents worked hard to provide for our family and I got to start at a middle-class boot camp; not everyone starts there.

So is the answer that people just need to work harder? Logic and reason say to work hard and you’ll work your way to the top. I think most of us have lived long enough to realize people are more complicated than logic and reason. Psychology, though it may be a soft science, is one of the most powerful and insightful fields of study. People are a messy combination of reason, emotions, fears, defenses, hopes, confusions, and complexities. Our environment shapes the way we see the world. It’s as if children get a pass until they turn 18 and once that happens, they should know better. We say children didn’t choose to be born and yet, somehow, with poverty and the messages received growing up, we expect them to magically become adults who resemble us; who act and think like we do. It doesn’t work that way.

How do we hold in tension the various factors of poverty: environment, early childhood influences, a history of oppression in our country, and the psychology of what it means to grow up in a neighborhood different than I did? We want to sift through the populous and crown the worthy poor; those who we determine to deserve the aid. And yet, Jesus was all about us- who aren’t worthy at all, but receive his grace.

So, with all the factors of different experiences, legitimate system abuse, and need that doesn’t seem to be shrinking, what is the marriage between the broader scope of the government to handle issues and the private and church population? I’m a proponent of separation of church and state, but that doesn’t mean the approach to poverty can only be one or the other.

In terms of politics I like to think I’m middle of the road (talk about bi-partisan, in 2008 I donated to the Obama campaign and then decided to vote for McCain). I am under no illusion that a man-made political party can remedy all of our nation’s ills. Nor do I think the government is the sole answer. I’ve run HUD programs for the homeless and they are full of ridiculous notions that make it easy for someone to stay in poverty. I’ve actually once said out loud, “HUD breaks my heart.”

Realizing my views of poverty are limited in that I’ve never been in poverty, I’ve come to the conclusion that government involvement has the potential to be a good thing. Programs aren’t either all good or all bad, they help some people, but they’re also dysfunctional. I can’t support some of the ways HUD runs things and frankly, programs like food stamps barely resemble what they were intended to be (check out the history of food stamps being a means to meet the needs of hunger and farmer surplus and that people took ownership in the program by investing in it with their own money and getting a return that they couldn’t have gotten with their original investment alone).

I still haven’t been able to answer my own questions and the more I try to answer them, the more questions I have. There’s valuable experience I have and so much that I don’t know. Perhaps answering the questions isn’t the point. I so easily focus on what I should be doing, what the government should be doing, what the church should be doing, and forget to remember who we are supposed to BE. Regardless of whether government programs exist or not, it doesn’t change my responsibility to live out my faith in a way that cares for the least of these. I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t matter if HUD has policies that are blind to reality or food stamps and social security aren’t currently what they were intended to be. My calling is to love God and love my neighbors. That’s the call. The way in which that call manifests itself is different for each person. Some are called to challenge policy, some are called to address the needs of poverty in other ways. But all of us are called to be relational neighbors.

Maybe it’s time I stop letting myself get distracted with the arguments about politics and social work and into what they have evolved. It’s easy to get distracted by a think tank type of mentality and argue theories, yet I’ve come to realize that my call to love my neighbor  has very little to do with what it means to be a social worker; it’s about being a follower of Christ. I need to stop being distracted by what doesn’t matter. The method, whether it be social work or not, isn’t the point. The relationship is. 

Just So My Friends Know

I've been in the Raleigh area for a little over a year. It's finally starting to feel like home. I often drive back to Greenville for meetings and I realized the last couple times that it no longer feels like home; it no longer feels more familiar than Apex. I find myself having to think a little harder about the fastest way to get across the crowded streets of Greenville when before the traffic-evading routes seemed almost mechanical.

A little over a year.

It was hard to leave that Eastern North Carolina town. I can't say all my reasons for moving there were the best and I can't say the first year wasn't somewhat traumatic, but despite all of that I can see this mosaic in which the pieces God has designed fill out and give meaning to the rugged shards of glass that I sometimes experienced during my early years there.

The day I moved into my Apex apartment, I remember standing on my parents' driveway, getting ready to make the quick trip in my car, with dad in the U-Haul, and something about our plans changed slightly. I don't remember what it was, but it was enough to bring on the tears over emotions that had been building up. There, in the middle of my parents' concrete driveway, I began to cry. Mom asked what was wrong and with words that could have belonged to a five year old I replied, "I like my friends."

Greenville was the first place I really built an adult life post-college. I made some really strong friendships and as much as I love being closer to a city, I have to admit, I'd rather have a mid-size town surrounded by people I love than a city of isolation. Of course, one could argue it IS possible to have friends in the city (let me know if any of you want to rent a place in Chicago!).

I'd like to say there's a profound reason I wrote this post; that I had some grand insight I needed to share with others. But the truth is, I think I just needed to let my friends know how much they mean to me. I've been blessed with wonderful friends in Apex, but there were also times I longed to hang out with many of you in Greenville.

So friends from Greenville and Apex and other places where my life has crossed paths with good friends, I appreciate you. I love you. And I suppose to communicate that is the grand reason for this post.

When Church Made Me Cry

I admit it: I've cried in church.

This time I'm not talking about the soft cry of thankfulness or the more forceful cry of repentance.

I'm talking about the quick tear of loneliness and self-pity.

It doesn't happen often. I think the most recent was Father's Day. On Mother's Day Facebook seems to blow up with comments and articles about how unfair the day is and how the church should recognize it can be painful for childless women, and so I pretty much feel like society has got my back. Father's Day, though? No one seems to comment on the pain of men who desire to be fathers but aren't, and maybe my tears that day were some kind of stance of solidarity with that forgotten group.

Whatever the reason for the occasional teary eyes, church is one of the places that I can feel the most lonely. Take for instance the two words that can instill nervousness in me: Church Directory. When I was a kid I liked to look at all of the pictures of families in the church and found it a little sad when a person was in this family-oriented photo album by his or herself. I can confidently say that if my church came out with a photo directory next week, I would be listed in black ink under the heading "Members Not Pictured."

I'm a pretty extroverted person, so asking to join people in a pew or around a table isn't a problem. Sunday School can be a little tricky though. I go to a church with very few young singles and often find myself listening to conversations about high school activities and dealing with adolescent attitudes.

Then I put up my own barriers.

My intermittent feelings of isolation aren't related to my singleness as much as it is to the messages I've come to believe over the years. In churches we break a lot of things up by stages of life, which can be incredibly appropriate. Singles groups, married with young kids, senior adults.... it's a great opportunity for fellowship and building relationships with others in similar walks of life. But sometimes it's easy to get pigeon-holed into those labels.

I absolutely love the church I've become a part of since moving to Apex, but I haven't been immune to my self-made barriers here either. I stopped going to Sunday School because I didn't know which class I would really fit in with (I went to a single's movie night.... I was the youngest by at least 20 years), I even got a little panicky when I thought about joining the church; walking up front and wondering if people wondered what my deep issue was and then discovering I was joining the church and wondering if those people thought it was a little sad that I had no family with me (like I said: my self-made barriers.... and my imagination).

But this past Sunday, things seemed to click. I came to believe a little more what I already knew: church isn't about me. It doesn't matter if I bring a family or not, I bring myself and that's enough. Church is about believers coming together and worshiping our Creator; that's the main point. It's about having a servant's heart and caring for others, particularly the marginalized in our society. If a church has various Bible study and fellowship options for various age groups and backgrounds, that's wonderful. That's a fantastic addition to the corporate worship of the church, but it does not take the place of the larger unity of a church.

The enemy would love for me to focus negatively on my marital status, my childless state, basically completely on me and my perceived deficits. As long as I'm focused on what I don't have and what I feel I should, I am not focused on the gifts God has given me and the integral part of the body of Christ he has made me. Feelings of isolation are very much a product of my own beliefs about what I should bring with me to church. And I really don't think other people are nearly as focused on my marital status as I sometimes am myself. I'm ready to trade those self-doubting thoughts of seeming isolation for greater community with my brothers and sisters. After all, being married if you're over 30 was never a requisite for following Jesus.

Church has nothing to do with whether or not I have a spouse. It has everything to do with God.

I'm not saying I won't have occasional tears in the future or that it's wrong to feel momentary sadness over dreams waiting to be fulfilled, but I am saying I had a pretty powerful a-ha moment yesterday.

I'm excited about next Sunday.

I'll Take Some Social Justice and a Frappuchino, Please

A few weeks ago I met up with my supervisor from Mission Waco and a good friend. Dining in a restaurant in downtown Raleigh during biker week, we caught up on life and I told stories of the time I got a bunch of my fellow interns to seek out Bush's ranch in Crawford and how much my time as an intern in Waco changed my life.

Shortly after, we were joined by some friends of Kathy (my former supervisor) and Rebecca (other friend from NC) and conversation shifted to church. We talked about Church Under the Bridge in Waco, about more traditional churches, and about struggling churches.

Shortly after, I penned a Facebook status and mentioned that we talked about what it meant to be church. As much as that statement was true,  something about the way I worded it seemed somewhat cliche. Aren't people always talking about what it means to be church? Aren't thoughts and ideas about community and relationships discussed over cups of $4 lattes on a regular basis? Isn't that the millennial thing to do?

What new idea did I have to bring to the conversation?

My story. My perspective. The things God is teaching me.

I have no groundbreaking theological insight about the church, I just know what I've experienced. When I think about Mission Waco, I think about experiencing church.

I think about playing Scrabble with my brothers and sisters living in a shelter and laughing out loud as a resident attempted to persuade the group that "glover" was a word, defining it as "one who gloves."  I think about when I discovered those friends hanging out in the library one summer afternoon and the library not kicking them out "because they were loitering." I think of these people and I remember their faces, and remember our friendship when I see a picture, and feel the love Paul talks about in Philippians 1:3 when he says he thanks God every time he thinks of the church at Philippi.... because I thank God for the church in Waco.

I remember partaking in a poverty simulation, my first weekend in the Texas sun, and finally going back to the intern house and thinking, "The walls are so white." I had spent the weekend living and sleeping outside and when I finally got back to the intern house, I marveled at the color of the walls. Something so simple seemed so luxurious.

I remember the passion and clear God-given gift that summer was and I think of the nine years since then.

I think about my passion for biblical social justice, and my tendency for pride. Tendency for having misplaced pride in not desiring lofty expenses or a large house; not throwing money into each new technology that comes around and patting myself on the back because I appreciate "living simply". I think about the fact that I live in a gated apartment community and how it bothered me, and yet it doesn't bother me to hit that Starbucks drive-thru 4 times a week.

Living simply means so much more than cutting back on spending. Sometimes I wonder if I even know what it means anymore.

I want to get back to the fierce conviction for biblical social justice I had throughout my years in divinity school.... before I found out social justice is a catch phrase often thrown around, back when all it meant to me was a strong calling on my life.

I want to re-experience how biblical social justice, relationships, living simply, and the command to care for others in Matthew 25 are all a part of being church.

I'd appreciate prayers as I continue to learn what this looks like for my life.
...

The Kind of Optimism That'll Get You Slapped

Not long ago I was sitting with a few coworkers, getting ready for a meeting, when a couple colleagues started to lament the negative stories in the news. I piped up, "As a communications professor I once had said, the media focuses on sensationalism; things that are out of the ordinary. Isn't it great that things aren't so bad on a daily basis that the news only reports positive stories because that is out of the ordinary?"

What followed was comments such as, "That's a good point" and blank stares that visually communicated, "What just happened here?"

Another time a coworker was complaining about the cop sitting in a speed trap in town, waiting to catch unsuspecting drivers. At first I felt annoyed, but then I thought, "Isn't it great that there isn't so much crime that the police have time to sit and catch speeders?"

That is the kind of optimism that'll get you slapped.

I've been a gregarious and optimistic person as long as I can remember, and probably about 95% of the time I have a positive outlook. (The other 5% may be spent lamenting about not having a husband or children and possibly shedding a tear that there is no one who needs to list me as an emergency contact. You know, hypothetically.)

When I was a kid I would be excited for days about an upcoming field trip. Those were the days mom let us pick any flavor of Giant brand soda I wanted (for you North Carolina readers, that's a grocery store of the Northeast) and get a package of those Hostess cupcakes with the lowercase cursive e's across the top. I once asked my brother on a pre-field trip day, "Aren't you excited?" To which he responded, "The field trip isn't until tomorrow." I had to think about that one, because it didn't seem a good enough reason to temper the field trip celebration.

The optimism continued as I grew older. Not only did I have the miraculous experience of enjoying middle school, I continued my excitement for life into my teen years. 15 was a very exciting year, if for no other reason than I woke up each morning, thanked God for the day, and thought about the fact that anything could happen that day.... I had a whole day ahead of me! Who knew....I could even get a boyfriend that day! (I never did. Not in high school, anyway.)

As an adult my optimism usually has a more mature theme (usually). I recently plunked down $53 on a flea treatment for my dog that didn't work. At first I was frustrated, then I thought about the fact that the money wasn't wasted, because it allowed me to eliminate one brand of flea prevention in the future, which got me a step closer to finding what works.

When I was 26 I found myself with a masters degree and a job at Bojangles. I'd vacuum sweep that dining room carpet, wondering where my life was headed, but be able to run the drive through the next day, throwing my hands in the air in victory when a coworker and I met another sales goal.

I truly believe optimism is a gift God gave me. For a while I thought I lost it. In 2010 I felt like my world had turned upside down and there was a period of time during which I had almost chronic anxiety. Things worked out and I went back to work at a job I couldn't stand getting out of bed for. I amused myself by setting Eye of the Tiger as my alarm clock ringtone and jumped out of bed with a smile and a will to get through the day.

I realize many others don't easily have the same outlook on life and it isn't always because of pessimism. I am aware that many struggle with depression or other mood disorders that make life feel more difficult than it does for others. I don't think optimism is a gift God is witholding from them anymore than I think depression is something God gave them (to be clear: it isn't). For most of my life I have struggled with an anxiety disorder and maybe one day I'll be brave enough to blog about that. The point is, even in the midst of feelings of anxiety, I have a character trait God gave me that reminds me of the His hand print on my life. We all face challenges that come from a variety of sources: diseases, unhealthy relationships, negative perceptions of self-worth, etc., but we also have incredible marks of grace on our lives. Optimism is one of my marks of grace.

On a lighter note, anytime you feel disgruntled about being underpaid or not having some of the things you want in life, download the Starbucks finder app. As I recently told some friends, "I really can't feel poor when I have a smartphone with a Starbucks finder app on it. I mean, that basically makes me rich! I have a whole app just to find a Starbucks! I'm spoiled!"

Optimism and excitement are some of my favorite traits.

Back to Blogging!

It's hard to believe it's been 4 years (to the day) since my last blog post. Over the years I've thought now and then about picking up the electronic pen, but never got much closer to actually restarting my online musings. A recent Facebook conversation with a friend inspired me to consider giving blogging another try.

As a starting point, I reviewed some old entries and realized there are quite a few life events I had forgotten! One only has to look at my last blog post to see the seemingly random situations I often get myself into, and that one included an unexpected small town karaoke night, followed by a discussion on race and immigration with a tow truck driver.

The thing is, I often easily tire of keeping a journal no one sees. I once lamented, "Why do I need to write my thoughts? I know what I'm thinking!" Without an audience, I didn't consider the effort always worthwhile, which is one reason I'm more apt to blog than hand write my thoughts and tuck them away on a bookshelf. Yet, whether I look back at journals others haven't read or the blogs others have read, I am reminded that regardless of the method, keeping a narrative shows some pretty amazing events, people, and places that are woven into my life story. I am reminded of the faithfulness and provision of God and enjoy seeing events come together to form a rather interesting life story. 

I've often comically thought to myself that I could write a great memoir based on my experiences from ages 25-30. I'd call that book, "Seriously?: My Journey through Functional Dysfunction." Though it would be accurate, I imagine I'd have to change some names, dates, and places to satisfy those who would take up space on its pages. Even though I may not expound upon certain aspects of those years, the point remains that documenting one's journey is a worthwhile and meaningful endeavor.

With my fresh understanding of the value of recording my thoughts, feelings, and experiences, I decided I could take on the task of keeping a journal and still have an audience, hence the revival of this blog. I realize many people will not be interested, but for the ones who are, I'm pretty sure future blog entries are going to cover humor, thoughtfulness, and point to the miraculous power of God to create a beautifully woven together life story. He's quite the benevolent author.

The Charm of Micro on a Friday Evening

I have a knack for turning ordinary events into exceptional ones. That's one of the best ways I can think of to reframe my ability to get into odd situations. For instance, over the past two and half weeks my car has broken down twice. Did I get stranded in a shopping center in Raleigh or even along the side of the road in Cary? Of course not.

The first incident occuring in the tiny township of Pilot, NC, but that one is far less interesting, so I'll direct your attention to last Friday's breakdown.

I was driving home to visit my parents to interview them for a grad school paper when that familiar blinking exclamation point was back on my dashboard in full-force. I thought I had gotten rid of that thing, what with the expensive car repairs from the Pilot episode and all.

So, I pulled off I-95 and made my way to what I would come to find out was the Backdoor Cafe. In a huff I called AAA and attempted to describe my surroundings to the representative. "Um, there's the Backdoor Cafe....it's a town called Micro.....there's a fire department and a BB&T...and a little park across the street." There wasn't much to give her beause there wasn't much there.

I went in to inquire as to the exact physical address and was stunned. If you've ever seen "Sweet Home Alabama" with Reese Witherspoon, you could appreciate the scene. Many older couples and some families sat at various tables, dressed in stereotypical rural fashions. (Hey, I'm not judging, I'm just trying to explain the movie-like scene I walked into.) A hodgepodge of antiques and country-like collectables donned the walls of the loud room. The reason the room was loud? That would have been the girl in the corner singing a Taylor Swift karaoke song.

Feeling a slight wave of culture shock, I was at the front of the cafe where everyone was facing and blurted out to the AAA representative still on the phone, "Wow...there's karaoke" and I hope the music drowned out my comment. Cell phone to my ear, I made my way through the center of the cafe to the back counter and asked the waitress for the physical address. A couple of people later, I found out. In their complete defense, I don't think people generally need a street address to locate things in really small towns like Micro.

I decided to settle in, even though it was clear that I wasn't a local. I began this dialogue with the waitress:

Me: "Do you take debit?"
Kind Waitress: "I don't even have a credit card machine. But there's an ATM right down the road."
Me: "Yea, my car broke down."
Kind waitress: (In a sympathetic tone,) "And you got stuck here?"
Me: "Yea. I don't know about walking to the Cashpoints and having people see me withdrawl money and walking back."
Kind waitress: "I understand."
Me: (thinking about the hour long wait ahead of me) "But maybe I'll risk it." (And going on the notion that you don't know if you don't ask, I proceeded to inquire,) "Do you have wireless internet?"
Kind waitress: "No, we don't."

So I went to the CashPoints machine on the other side of the track. Yes, it was on the other side of a train track and there was only one so I don't really feel like I can say the other side of the tracks. Either way, I got my money and returned. Ordering breakfast for dinner, I began to continue to take in the room.

Someone else was in the karaoke corner singing an old country song I was not at all familiar with and a few kids here and there entertained themselves among the adults. As the karaoke continued, the dancing began. First an older couple, then a single woman; I think she was linedancing.

As I waited for my meal the man in the booth in front of me turned around and showed me a picture of him as a boy. I complimented him and later committed what I now consider a slight social mishap.

This was no ordinary night, it was also a birthday celebration. Peices of the cut cake were being passed out and my newfound aquaintance asked if I would like a peice. Now, the cake did look good but I didn't know these people and it was their celebration so I kindly responded, "I'm alright, but thank you."

I do not think that labeled me as Micro-friendly. I got the feeling that this man considered that an unfriendly outsider response. Don't worry, I later made it up when we laughed about how loud the train was when it passed by and how it rattled the building. Awesome, I was back in the good graces of this friendly older man.

As I dined on an omelet and coffee I received a couple glances and began to think I did have the capability to do that stereotypical up-and-leave your hometown, head to the midwest, and stop in little towns along the way thing.

Around this time my friend was up singing his own karaoke song. He later sat down and asked if I liked Elvis songs. I replied that I did and he told me he did a great renedition of "Now or Never" and maybe he'd sing that later. I really did appreciate his hospitality and friendliness.

After a little more karaoke, the happy birthday chorus, and the fascinated stares of a small child looking at me and me looking and smiling back, the tow truck came. Now, it seemed to me the tow truck was one of the more interesting things to happen in Micro on a Friday night because the men standing around in the parking lot stopped to watch the truck pull up.

Finally I was on my way, with the tow truck driver, back to Greenville. I'm glad I'm outgoing and an extrovert because it was too long of a ride to say nothing. We talked about education, the economy, race, and brushed upon the topic of immigration and the labor force.

So, no, I didn't get home this weekened, but I was able to interview my parents on the phone. And apart from a few more car repairs, I appreciated the experience. I might not be a small town kind of girl, but rural locals definitely have their charm.

A New Season

Roughly every 6-8 months I am determined to begin blogging again. Usually I post one or two times and let my online writing determination drift away again. If nothing else, the semi-annual timing of my literary inspiration coincides with needed trips to the dentist. So, even if I don't keep up with the blogging sphere, I can remember to call to get my teeth checked every time I am inspired to blog.

In more pressing news, I finished my CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) Residency last Friday. As I walked about on my last day working at the hospital, I was reminded of the movie "Ocean's 11." Here's what I mean:

In the movie a group of mostly strangers get together, engage in a crazy, adverterous task, and then individually disperse in front of a fountain show in downtown Las Vegas, returning to their individual lives. Minus the whole casino robbing and waterworks display, that kind of resembled my residency.

A group of women came together, most not knowing each other prior, and engaged in ministry, self-discovery, and a certain kind of bonding that comes through difficulty. Then, over the course of the last two days, we individually left the hospital to continue our lives. Fortunately, we have the ability to stay in touch, but, of course, it will be different. It's an interesting thing that a year ago we didn't know each other and now we leave our chaplain positions as sisters.

Well, some are continuing on in the chaplain journey at the hospital. I, however, am busy at school pursuing my Master of Social Work and am sure there will be plenty of adventerous to come with that.

I feel like God is moving in a great and powerful way. But really, should I be surprised? He's God, he's good, and he's taking care of me. And I'm excited to see what he will do in this new season of my life.

On Being Full

I've decided to follow through with a conviction I had a while back: to stop using the word busy.

What does it mean when one says he or she is busy? For me, I find that I tend to use the word in the form of a complaint. For others, that might not be the case.

Busyness does not always indicate being productive. You can busily avoid things in life you need to deal with, people you need to talk to, or truly important things you need to accomplish.

Being busy simply means you are filling your time. But being busy in and of itself does not mean you are making a difference.

This post isn't about encouraging others to give up the word 'busy,' rather it's about my use of the word. Instead of saying, "I'm so busy this weekend!" which, for me, often has the underlying meaning of complaint about all I have to do I'd rather say, "I have a really full weekend ahead of me."

Does it really mean anything if you just substitute another word for busy? For me it does. By saying my life, schedule, day, etc. is full gets me to thinking about opportunity, not obligation. When I focus on being busy I feel that I am performing obligations. When I focus on life being full, I focus on the opportunity I have through doing the things I need to do.

This may not work for everyone, but I find for me that my thoughts have a strong influence on my mood and attitude. By doing something as simple as redirecting the nature of my thoughts I find myself naturally more optimistic, ambitious, and light-hearted.

I think there's a reason God's Word speaks so much about our thoughts. But that's another post for another day.

Simplicity

I'm sitting cross-legged on my couch with my laptop. My apartment is a mess, I'm eating microwaved oatmeal because my stove/oven died, and I'm listening to music I like. I'm trying to figure out how to make my paycheck stretch and cover my bills and I'm concerned about my car's ability to run for much longer without some costly repairs.

Yet, I'm content.

Even in the mist of financial insecurity I find myself in my own apartment with the lights on, fresh water available, and something to eat. I have enough money to have downloaded the songs I'm listening to on itunes. I have itunes. Kind of ridiculous to think I'm poor.

So much about my future is unknown to me. Where will I be in a year? For all I know, I could be in Wisconsin (seriously).

I really feel like I'm beginning to grow again in my relationship with God. For the past year someone else has been such a vital part of my life. So much so that I put most of my effort into that. When I finally gave it up to God, amazing things started to happen. Mainly, I started to move on.

Now that I feel a weight lifted from my shoulders, I feel content. I'm free to pursue the incredible possibilities God is laying before me without wondering how someone else will fit into the picture. That's not to say I wouldn't like for there to one day be someone else, but for now, I find where I'm at in life to be rather enjoyable.

There's something to be said about simplicity.