“As I was saying,” and looking out the truck window, I became somewhat confused.
“Confused?” you repeated, “Yes.” How is it that the jet ski belonging to a dear family
friend is in one lane headed in the same direction and speed as we are in the truck.
Shouldn’t the jet ski be behind the truck?
‘Course, now we have time to ask these questions, but at the moment of reality, all that one had time to do was to monitor the speed on a four-lane, 70-mph highway, that somehow, and somehow miraculously, was devoid of motorized vehicles in our two lanes.
The next action is WR started weaving, not drunkenly of course, but so as to position his brand new truck as a barrier to the jet ski moving into another vehicle or worse, jump the ditched middle in lieu of wire barriers that are usually in sight along Hwy 74 way before Maxton and Lumberton. His thought, to position the truck so that he could follow the roadway pattern of the slowing, but still traveling around 50 mph, jet ski on a trailer, with two chains dragging and sparking up the highway -- where there had been one chain, I surmised that the heavy duty chain had come apart with a series of bumps, not really like ski moguls, but more like a line of ridges that just showed up on the highway -- the kind that make one go uhujuhuhujunuhu and as quickly as one enters the series one is out of them. In our case, as soon as we cleared the ridges, the jet ski took off on its own wavering pathway, and with its medieval ball bearing clamp at the end of the trailer tongue, it found its maternal entry by slicing right through a bumper and a bumper guard on the back side of the Toyota Tundra. Why couldn’t it enter and pop itself back on the trailer hitch. In moments, that seemed to be an hour’s worth, the trailer, the jet ski, and myself and a miracle driver were in the middle of a four-lane highway with cars and trucks and assorted long distance carriers were buzzing by.
No one was hurt, well, not exactly sure how, but WR sliced a pad of skin off his thumb and was bleeding. He was so intent on capturing the runaway, borrowed, very expensive ski beast that hours before, I had been riding the ocean waves upon, knowing it would be my last adventure, or so I thought, on such an oceanographic bull. All we could think about was Alleluia, Praise the Lord, and the Sisters said Amen. We sat in silence and marveled at how fortunate we were to be pinching each other and saying are you alright, I’m alright, are you alright?
Next action, How to take a broken heavy duty chain, and a spare rubberized chain from
some long ago fixation WR had and threw it in the over-filled, vacation toy laden truck bed, and re-worked the safety mechanisms. This time, instead of the speed limit, we were stopping every 500 feet and every dip in the old Plank Road to verify if his handiwork would hold. A three hour trip became a 5.5 hour trip.
A viable solution: Always travel with a plucky older man who knows how to do stuff who is still physically strong and never gives up to solve a difficult situation. My solution: Never pull someone else’s jet ski, ever again. Use a rubberized ducky to just wade in an ocean tide pool, that’s excitement enough.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Monday, November 29, 2010
I Want to Stop Crying. Tears Hurt
I begin this latest blogging post after hearing the news of a young woman in her prime as a mother of six , a friend and family member to many people, gunned down as she was leaving a social event two nights ago in Charlotte. She is the daughter of a close friend to one of our guests at Providence this year in our partnership with the Center of Hope.
We’ve written about Fran -- tall, a woman of substance, a leader within the twelve women we are hosting at Providence. Fran is full of sunshine, has a deep faith, is torn between difficult family issues and tries to befriend and help this small group of complex personalities. She has had a hard week, just recovering from a virus and not able to participate in many of PPCCOH activities and events. She had just started to feel better when she heard the news of a young woman’s death yesterday morning. Later in the morning, she would get a telephone call from her son explaining that the young woman was indeed LaQuinta Davis, the daughter of a dear friend, so close that she was considered Fran’s granddaughter and Fran was called grandmother by her and her children.
Our small group of women rallied around Fran, as did last evening’s chaperones and others associated with our project. Walt met with Fran, and we joined him in prayer for the young woman so needed, so loved, and who left her family way too soon.
I read the above passage about Fran’s “granddaughter” killed by a misdirected gun blast into her chest as she exited from the doors of a social club. I replay this in my mind as I read Tandy Graham, Senior Coordinator for Providence’s Project HOPE and her request that we share our perspective for our own community as requested by Walt. This is hard, but as I begin, my kinship for Fran is renewed and I feel her strength and her heartbreak again. So here are words that I use in this communique. May I, with God’s guidance share her nights of pain while under our care and security:
A tear stained cheek, from a woman whose heart was breaking yet again. Yet again, Fran’s plea for why stood out as an audible echo into the stillness of the Fellowship Hall. Our guests saw her pain and anguish, and one by one, each went back into their earlier entry shells to hide away from someone’s new pain and sorrow and disappointment. One by one, they graced their connection to Fran by giving her privacy in their own way, and by the time the senior pastor of Providence Presbyterian Church arrived (he had been with the guests at dinnertime, and thoughtfully gave Fran time to refresh and rest following dinner) Fran had sought the solitude of her bed and pulled the covers over her head.
More easily I had returned to my computer to put finishing touches to several letters prepared at our guests’ requests to family or business associates. There were some who were listening to the television and quietly discussing the evening’s movie schedule -- a rarity for them when I overheard my name being called softly -- “Paulette, Paulette” and as I approached the foyer I saw with great relief that our Pastor, Walt McCanless had arrived. He asked if Fran might want to visit with him and asked after her well being. I told him she was in her room and that I would invite her to join us. I knocked softly on Fran’s door, she answered and I entered her room just as she raised her head, and again as she saw me, she began crying and saying “I don’t want to cry anymore, the tears hurt really bad.” I bent over to her and touched her hand and asked if she might want to talk with our pastor, and she could not reach him quick enough. Fran’s a big woman as am I, but I’m short. She’s tall, and she was up off that air mattress, and standing before Walt before I could get myself out the door. I intended to leave Fran, just as the other women had, to give Fran her time of privacy to speak her heart, to speak her hurt, and to speak of her granddaughter --something held me in place. I really don’t know if it was her arm around me, my arm around her, but something held me in this small circle of kinship, and Walt began speaking with Fran. Fran’s depth of pain and suffering flew up and out and blinded her eyes as the tears fell. With raw emotion of pain and words, she began the story of the untimely death of a young woman, a young mother, a young granddaughter, a young sister, and a young daughter. We heard the sad news of six children, six young people left behind without a Mommy. We heard Fran’s greatest concern and fear that her “granddaughter did not have time to profess her faith out loud before God, and she wailed deep within and reached outward for us and we three embraced.
Moments passed. Her heartbeat fast, her pain not subsiding, but her outward demeanor softened and quieted as Walt began sharing God’s love that accepted this young woman at birth, at life, and now at death. Again, Fran cried and again said the tears hurt, but this time she was hearing God’s love was surrounding her family and "granddaughter’s" family, and Walt continued to reassure her. He listened and accepted her mantle of grief and spiritually counseled her again and answered her questions of why her, why now, what about the babies, how could this be, how could she go on, what should she do, how should she help, and the tears would stop and start. As she tired, her own sadness of her life blended in with the new sadness.
Some of what was shared between Walt and Fran should not be written here, but I felt God’s embrace of Fran take over as Walt invited Fran and me to join him in prayer. Fran hung on his every word, and quietly in her own voice softened by the tears and made raspy, I heard “yes, Father, thank you Jesus...help me, Jesus.” My own heart hurt for this brave, proud, independent woman with the quick wit and the quick smile and spontaneous reaction to events and people. Fran looked up to the ceiling as her eyes swept passed our own, and it was as if her eyes penetrated the tiles and saw beyond worlds without end, and knew she was linked with the Omnipotent power that came back down in strains of love in the center of the floor of a place called Providence.
PS Fran joined her family the next day, late. She decided it best that she not go to the site and witness the candlelight memorial service, but chose to be with the family of the six young children and be an anchor for them and their grandmother. She would later tell those of us at the Providence/HOPE gathering that her “granddaughter” was a good girl, that she only went out socializing five or six times a year, and that she was a very good mother. Fran has had a lot of hurts in her life and because of her environment, most likely this will not be the last incident, but Fran has grace, and she has hope. She hears the voice of God and shares his love with those around her. I think she will overcome, I pray that she will. I asked her to call.
I hope she will.
I need her to do so.
Paulette W. Purgason
Elder, Providence Presbyterian Church 2010
We’ve written about Fran -- tall, a woman of substance, a leader within the twelve women we are hosting at Providence. Fran is full of sunshine, has a deep faith, is torn between difficult family issues and tries to befriend and help this small group of complex personalities. She has had a hard week, just recovering from a virus and not able to participate in many of PPCCOH activities and events. She had just started to feel better when she heard the news of a young woman’s death yesterday morning. Later in the morning, she would get a telephone call from her son explaining that the young woman was indeed LaQuinta Davis, the daughter of a dear friend, so close that she was considered Fran’s granddaughter and Fran was called grandmother by her and her children.
Our small group of women rallied around Fran, as did last evening’s chaperones and others associated with our project. Walt met with Fran, and we joined him in prayer for the young woman so needed, so loved, and who left her family way too soon.
I read the above passage about Fran’s “granddaughter” killed by a misdirected gun blast into her chest as she exited from the doors of a social club. I replay this in my mind as I read Tandy Graham, Senior Coordinator for Providence’s Project HOPE and her request that we share our perspective for our own community as requested by Walt. This is hard, but as I begin, my kinship for Fran is renewed and I feel her strength and her heartbreak again. So here are words that I use in this communique. May I, with God’s guidance share her nights of pain while under our care and security:
A tear stained cheek, from a woman whose heart was breaking yet again. Yet again, Fran’s plea for why stood out as an audible echo into the stillness of the Fellowship Hall. Our guests saw her pain and anguish, and one by one, each went back into their earlier entry shells to hide away from someone’s new pain and sorrow and disappointment. One by one, they graced their connection to Fran by giving her privacy in their own way, and by the time the senior pastor of Providence Presbyterian Church arrived (he had been with the guests at dinnertime, and thoughtfully gave Fran time to refresh and rest following dinner) Fran had sought the solitude of her bed and pulled the covers over her head.
More easily I had returned to my computer to put finishing touches to several letters prepared at our guests’ requests to family or business associates. There were some who were listening to the television and quietly discussing the evening’s movie schedule -- a rarity for them when I overheard my name being called softly -- “Paulette, Paulette” and as I approached the foyer I saw with great relief that our Pastor, Walt McCanless had arrived. He asked if Fran might want to visit with him and asked after her well being. I told him she was in her room and that I would invite her to join us. I knocked softly on Fran’s door, she answered and I entered her room just as she raised her head, and again as she saw me, she began crying and saying “I don’t want to cry anymore, the tears hurt really bad.” I bent over to her and touched her hand and asked if she might want to talk with our pastor, and she could not reach him quick enough. Fran’s a big woman as am I, but I’m short. She’s tall, and she was up off that air mattress, and standing before Walt before I could get myself out the door. I intended to leave Fran, just as the other women had, to give Fran her time of privacy to speak her heart, to speak her hurt, and to speak of her granddaughter --something held me in place. I really don’t know if it was her arm around me, my arm around her, but something held me in this small circle of kinship, and Walt began speaking with Fran. Fran’s depth of pain and suffering flew up and out and blinded her eyes as the tears fell. With raw emotion of pain and words, she began the story of the untimely death of a young woman, a young mother, a young granddaughter, a young sister, and a young daughter. We heard the sad news of six children, six young people left behind without a Mommy. We heard Fran’s greatest concern and fear that her “granddaughter did not have time to profess her faith out loud before God, and she wailed deep within and reached outward for us and we three embraced.
Moments passed. Her heartbeat fast, her pain not subsiding, but her outward demeanor softened and quieted as Walt began sharing God’s love that accepted this young woman at birth, at life, and now at death. Again, Fran cried and again said the tears hurt, but this time she was hearing God’s love was surrounding her family and "granddaughter’s" family, and Walt continued to reassure her. He listened and accepted her mantle of grief and spiritually counseled her again and answered her questions of why her, why now, what about the babies, how could this be, how could she go on, what should she do, how should she help, and the tears would stop and start. As she tired, her own sadness of her life blended in with the new sadness.
Some of what was shared between Walt and Fran should not be written here, but I felt God’s embrace of Fran take over as Walt invited Fran and me to join him in prayer. Fran hung on his every word, and quietly in her own voice softened by the tears and made raspy, I heard “yes, Father, thank you Jesus...help me, Jesus.” My own heart hurt for this brave, proud, independent woman with the quick wit and the quick smile and spontaneous reaction to events and people. Fran looked up to the ceiling as her eyes swept passed our own, and it was as if her eyes penetrated the tiles and saw beyond worlds without end, and knew she was linked with the Omnipotent power that came back down in strains of love in the center of the floor of a place called Providence.
PS Fran joined her family the next day, late. She decided it best that she not go to the site and witness the candlelight memorial service, but chose to be with the family of the six young children and be an anchor for them and their grandmother. She would later tell those of us at the Providence/HOPE gathering that her “granddaughter” was a good girl, that she only went out socializing five or six times a year, and that she was a very good mother. Fran has had a lot of hurts in her life and because of her environment, most likely this will not be the last incident, but Fran has grace, and she has hope. She hears the voice of God and shares his love with those around her. I think she will overcome, I pray that she will. I asked her to call.
I hope she will.
I need her to do so.
Paulette W. Purgason
Elder, Providence Presbyterian Church 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
They're gone - and I still miss them...
The Fellowship Hall has been returned to its normal state - classrooms that recently were bedrooms are once again furnished with the motley donated castaways from other's living rooms; bathrooms cleaned of toiletries and printed schedules, the signage once again reading "Men" and "Women" instead of "Women Only, 11/8-11/22"; and the main room once again set up with rows and rows of folding chairs for the daily AA meetings rather than the cozy sitting areas that The Sisters group created with the chairs and sofas that occupied the classrooms. It's quiet and ready for whatever is next but the spirit of the women is still there for me when I walk through, checking one last time for stray items left behind. Of the twelve women whose circumstances could be ours if events in our lives had mirrored theirs, a few stand out as I check the rooms - Fran with her grin and ready teasing, Jacqueline with her megawatt smile and optimistic attitude, Nancy with her busyness and lovely voice who joined our choir while with us, serene Annie who reminds me of the duck analogy - calm above the water but probably paddling furiously beneath, and Helen, grumpy and unwelcoming to anyone who enters "her" room. "OUT!" she yells at anyone who tries to come ink, effectively imprisoning her two roommates who would have to leave in order to visit with anyone else. I admitted the entire time she was with us that if I were 72, toothless and homeless, I would be grumpy, too, but it was still hard to be pleasant to her. We always were, but it wasn't easy.
The last week went smoothly. I or Nancy or Jill arrive at 5:30 AM to make coffee in the CLC and wake everyone up to find Helen up and dressed, some already in the bathrooms, others still in bed with covers over their heads and hostesses still sleeping - sort of! Drivers arrive on time, some early for coffee; hostesses (who we have been calling chaperones but we like this title better) straggle into the kitchen for coffee with stories of the night before; this day's breakfast crew is scrambling eggs, frying bacon, setting out plates and bowls, ready with smiles for us all. The ladies arrive one at a time and in bunches ready for breakfast and the start of another boring or frustrating day;. At 7:00, everyone is piling into cars to head downtown - everyone that is except Annie and Faith, always last, perhaps reluctant to leave or perhaps exerting some tiny bit of control over a lifestyle that allows them very little at all.
Evenings are a reverse picture of the mornings with the dinner crew arriving at 5:30 with fragrant dishes in hand ready to put in the warming oven while they set up their other contributions of rolls and salads and desserts. The ladies arrive hungry and tired, anxious to see what's for dinner, most with smiles and reports of a good day although we rarely find out what a good day is really like. Hostesses begin to arrive to join us all for dinner and get to know their "charges" for the night. Grace is shared by all and chatter and laughter is heard from each table as dinner is consumed. I go off to find Helen who hasn't shown up for dinner, again. The second helping "regulars" return for more, stunning me each time with the amount of food they can consume and being the ones who "taught" us early on to serve them all rather than have them serve themselves so we can make sure there is enough for all. As they finish dinner, some linger and others return to the Fellowship Hall one by one, some to gather their belongings to shower, others to watch a movie or return to their rooms for some privacy and fellowship with their roommates. By 9:00, most are in bed ready for this sequence to begin again the next morning.
We get to know the women by sitting with them at meals or by the private conversations we can sometimes catch when they are sitting by themselves. Paulette gets to know their background best as she encourages each one to sit with her and let her create a resume for each or update, correct, professionalize the ones they have. She talks about the pleasure she sees in their eyes when they see her finished result, their name at the top in capital letters, their work history presented in a format that legitimizes their worth. The yoga classes provide us with a group activity that settles their minds and makes them aware of their bodies and how they must take better care of themselves for the future we hope they will have.
The last evening, many of the volunteers join us for a pot luck supper and their last chance to socialize with our guests. We sit at round tables, mixing now in a way that didn't seem possible two weeks ago. Hugs and genuine smiles of friendship are visible. We've all discovered that we are connected, that we are here to help each other. We helped them live comfortably and safely for two weeks but they helped us understand for a lifetime that they aren't different from us - they have different skills to cope with the lives they are living but some have dreams and aspirations for the good life just like we do. Others, I think, don't believe that will ever be in their grasp and continue in a state of humble desperation that we hope we or our loved ones will never experience.
As the last morning repeats the routine of the previous 13, a bit of sadness pervades our normally cheerful atmosphere as we all realize this is the last time we will be together and as hard as it has been on us, the volunteers, we are reluctant to see it come to an end. We have come to love them and silently wonder what will happen next to them, for them, as we realize we have to turn them over to the next caregivers. Our prayers go with them as they leave the dining room to gather their new suitcases and plastic bags filled with all they own out in the parking lot. We help them pack them into the extra cars that have arrived, we hug them one last time (even Helen let me hug her! "Oh, you're the hugger" she says disdainfully as she reaches for me. "Okay, you can hug me.") and stand and wave good by until we can't see them anymore.
And, yes, in case you were wondering, we did get Faith to smile, several times in fact.
The last week went smoothly. I or Nancy or Jill arrive at 5:30 AM to make coffee in the CLC and wake everyone up to find Helen up and dressed, some already in the bathrooms, others still in bed with covers over their heads and hostesses still sleeping - sort of! Drivers arrive on time, some early for coffee; hostesses (who we have been calling chaperones but we like this title better) straggle into the kitchen for coffee with stories of the night before; this day's breakfast crew is scrambling eggs, frying bacon, setting out plates and bowls, ready with smiles for us all. The ladies arrive one at a time and in bunches ready for breakfast and the start of another boring or frustrating day;. At 7:00, everyone is piling into cars to head downtown - everyone that is except Annie and Faith, always last, perhaps reluctant to leave or perhaps exerting some tiny bit of control over a lifestyle that allows them very little at all.
Evenings are a reverse picture of the mornings with the dinner crew arriving at 5:30 with fragrant dishes in hand ready to put in the warming oven while they set up their other contributions of rolls and salads and desserts. The ladies arrive hungry and tired, anxious to see what's for dinner, most with smiles and reports of a good day although we rarely find out what a good day is really like. Hostesses begin to arrive to join us all for dinner and get to know their "charges" for the night. Grace is shared by all and chatter and laughter is heard from each table as dinner is consumed. I go off to find Helen who hasn't shown up for dinner, again. The second helping "regulars" return for more, stunning me each time with the amount of food they can consume and being the ones who "taught" us early on to serve them all rather than have them serve themselves so we can make sure there is enough for all. As they finish dinner, some linger and others return to the Fellowship Hall one by one, some to gather their belongings to shower, others to watch a movie or return to their rooms for some privacy and fellowship with their roommates. By 9:00, most are in bed ready for this sequence to begin again the next morning.
We get to know the women by sitting with them at meals or by the private conversations we can sometimes catch when they are sitting by themselves. Paulette gets to know their background best as she encourages each one to sit with her and let her create a resume for each or update, correct, professionalize the ones they have. She talks about the pleasure she sees in their eyes when they see her finished result, their name at the top in capital letters, their work history presented in a format that legitimizes their worth. The yoga classes provide us with a group activity that settles their minds and makes them aware of their bodies and how they must take better care of themselves for the future we hope they will have.
The last evening, many of the volunteers join us for a pot luck supper and their last chance to socialize with our guests. We sit at round tables, mixing now in a way that didn't seem possible two weeks ago. Hugs and genuine smiles of friendship are visible. We've all discovered that we are connected, that we are here to help each other. We helped them live comfortably and safely for two weeks but they helped us understand for a lifetime that they aren't different from us - they have different skills to cope with the lives they are living but some have dreams and aspirations for the good life just like we do. Others, I think, don't believe that will ever be in their grasp and continue in a state of humble desperation that we hope we or our loved ones will never experience.
As the last morning repeats the routine of the previous 13, a bit of sadness pervades our normally cheerful atmosphere as we all realize this is the last time we will be together and as hard as it has been on us, the volunteers, we are reluctant to see it come to an end. We have come to love them and silently wonder what will happen next to them, for them, as we realize we have to turn them over to the next caregivers. Our prayers go with them as they leave the dining room to gather their new suitcases and plastic bags filled with all they own out in the parking lot. We help them pack them into the extra cars that have arrived, we hug them one last time (even Helen let me hug her! "Oh, you're the hugger" she says disdainfully as she reaches for me. "Okay, you can hug me.") and stand and wave good by until we can't see them anymore.
And, yes, in case you were wondering, we did get Faith to smile, several times in fact.
Friday, November 19, 2010
WHAT IF ...
I begin this latest blogging post after hearing the news of a young woman in her prime as a mother of six , a friend and family member to many people, gunned down as she was leaving a social event two nights ago in Charlotte. She is the daughter of a close friend to one of our guests at Providence this year in our partnership with the Center of Hope.
We’ve written about Fran -- tall, a woman of substance, a leader within the twelve women we are hosting at Providence. Fran is full of sunshine, has a deep faith, is torn between difficult family issues and tries to befriend and help this small group of complex personalities. She has had a hard week, just recovering from a virus and not able to participate in many of PPCCOH activities and events. She had just started to feel better when she heard the news of a young woman’s death yesterday morning. Later in the morning, she would get a telephone call from her son explaining that the young woman was indeed LaQuinta Davis, the daughter of a dear friend, so close that she was considered Fran’s granddaughter and Fran was called grandmother by her and her children.
Our small group of women rallied around Fran, as did last evening’s chaperones and others associated with our project. Walt met with Fran, and we joined him in prayer for the young woman so needed, so loved, and who left her family way too soon.
Several Sundays ago, I teamed with our stewardship committee members to help kickoff our annual Stewardship campaign at Providence with the WHAT IF resource marketing campaign to our congregants. We wanted to dream what if we had more resources, and in the well-scripted campaign kickoff, we actually heard Tandy pronounce WHAT IF we had the resources to have a 100-bed facility for the sheltering project in addition to our sheltering for two weeks. (Last year we went from one week successfully to two weeks!).
Well, WHAT IF we did more this year? WHAT IF instead of our taking these twelve women back on Monday morning to the Center of HOPE, that we didn’t just wave goodbye and go home and have a good cry, and bemoan with each other how sad and how hard it was to say goodbye, and then see each other on Sunday morning and again bemoan how hard it was to be involved with these women for two weeks at such a concentrated amount of time, effort, and expense and how we wish we could do more.
Well here it is, just about time for us to wish them Godspeed and send them on their way. Recently, I read an article in the Charlotte Observer about one Charlotte author who heard a message that many others heard about a woman’s loss of her life at the hands of another and leaving behind a young son. Jenn Snyder is executive director to Hood Hargett Breakfast Club, a Charlotte business networking association. How is it that hundreds maybe even thousands of individuals saw the CNN show and the focus on a press conference where Ohio police officers reported that a mother was missing and it was alleged that her child’s father may have committed the crime. Their son Blake was left in the home, just two years old, for TWO DAYS. How is it that Snyder heard the show and felt immediately she could make a difference in this young boy’s life. There in the privacy of her own home, she knew she was being called, and she knew she had an opportunity to make a difference in someone’s life.
Here is what I am leading up to: WHAT IF you knew that you could do something more for these women that could have a meaningful impact on the success or failure of their lives in terms of living, working, surviving and becoming productive and useful citizens of this community? WHAT IF you did more than fix a bag lunch, drove a couple of hours a week, washed loads of towels, or made phone calls, or washed dishes -- don’t misunderstand my message here, those tasks are critical to our own sheltering project needs. You heard Tandy’s call, you heard God’s call to serve the “least of these.”
I am challenging you, I am challenging myself to do more. So What if...what if we push ourselves out of our nest, out of our comfort zone where we push ourselves to a real sacrificial level to make a difference in these women’s lives.
Personally, I want to be and do more than provide a great vacation, an interlude, two weeks of a spa-like setting with yoga, hugs, hot showers, and clean beds. Just like you, I want Fran, Faith, Dana, Jackie, Carol, Nancy, Sadia, Stephanie, Wanda, Gina, Chaney, Annie, and Helen to have a safe place to call home, the freedom to attend worship where they want to, the freedom to see family when they want to, the freedom to have privacy when they want to, and that can only happen if they are gainfully employed, and have travel resources, and clothing suitable for work, and constant inspiration and encouragement to guide them in their life decisions. Really, I know we all want there not to be anymore need to for us to shelter these women in the future and the only way that can happen is that we face up to the realities that there are many more out there who need help. It is intimidating to realize that there is a constant line of needs. When the needs are so great it is easy to fall back into the crutch of “I’m just one person, what can just one person do?”.1
Are you ready to change the way you approach serving others as God would have us do? Are you ready to change your thought process that we do matter and can make other people’s lives better so that they can feel as though they matter as well. “We have to change our mentality and incorporate this idea that we all matter into our own lifestyle. See with your eyes but more importantly see with your heart....Know that we all matter; that’s the key.”
Will you join with me and others to find a way to help our church, help our community work more towards providing opportunities, helping individuals to find jobs, help them to become employed, help to educate our community and our church that we need to take a real close, deep look at ourselves and push ourselves to do more. We have homes, we have jobs, we have pensions, we have beach houses, we have mountain places, we have education, we have friends, we have cars, we have so much, and that is as it should be -- we worked hard, we played by the rules, we did our homework, and we have more. Now it is time to make that “more” work by recognizing that we have more so we can give more, more time, more service, more talent, more treasure. It doesn’t have to hurt to give more to give at all. So WHAT IF, you don’t go to the mountains next weekend, WHAT IF you got on the phone and called your buddies who own businesses, or who supervise, and asked, can you help us find jobs.
WHAT IF you called ten people? WHAT IF you visited ten business managers and asked them for help. WHAT IF you bought 12 bus passes? WHAT IF you found 12 rooms that could be rented? WHAT IF you helped twelve women with their working wardrobe? WHAT IF you gave three women $100 a month to go towards household operating funds. WHAT if you provided furniture for a new home, WHAT IF you pushed yourself. You matter. Let’s make them matter.
1. Charlotte Observer Arts & Entertainment
Don’t Change the Channel, Jenn Snyder, Autho
We’ve written about Fran -- tall, a woman of substance, a leader within the twelve women we are hosting at Providence. Fran is full of sunshine, has a deep faith, is torn between difficult family issues and tries to befriend and help this small group of complex personalities. She has had a hard week, just recovering from a virus and not able to participate in many of PPCCOH activities and events. She had just started to feel better when she heard the news of a young woman’s death yesterday morning. Later in the morning, she would get a telephone call from her son explaining that the young woman was indeed LaQuinta Davis, the daughter of a dear friend, so close that she was considered Fran’s granddaughter and Fran was called grandmother by her and her children.
Our small group of women rallied around Fran, as did last evening’s chaperones and others associated with our project. Walt met with Fran, and we joined him in prayer for the young woman so needed, so loved, and who left her family way too soon.
Several Sundays ago, I teamed with our stewardship committee members to help kickoff our annual Stewardship campaign at Providence with the WHAT IF resource marketing campaign to our congregants. We wanted to dream what if we had more resources, and in the well-scripted campaign kickoff, we actually heard Tandy pronounce WHAT IF we had the resources to have a 100-bed facility for the sheltering project in addition to our sheltering for two weeks. (Last year we went from one week successfully to two weeks!).
Well, WHAT IF we did more this year? WHAT IF instead of our taking these twelve women back on Monday morning to the Center of HOPE, that we didn’t just wave goodbye and go home and have a good cry, and bemoan with each other how sad and how hard it was to say goodbye, and then see each other on Sunday morning and again bemoan how hard it was to be involved with these women for two weeks at such a concentrated amount of time, effort, and expense and how we wish we could do more.
Well here it is, just about time for us to wish them Godspeed and send them on their way. Recently, I read an article in the Charlotte Observer about one Charlotte author who heard a message that many others heard about a woman’s loss of her life at the hands of another and leaving behind a young son. Jenn Snyder is executive director to Hood Hargett Breakfast Club, a Charlotte business networking association. How is it that hundreds maybe even thousands of individuals saw the CNN show and the focus on a press conference where Ohio police officers reported that a mother was missing and it was alleged that her child’s father may have committed the crime. Their son Blake was left in the home, just two years old, for TWO DAYS. How is it that Snyder heard the show and felt immediately she could make a difference in this young boy’s life. There in the privacy of her own home, she knew she was being called, and she knew she had an opportunity to make a difference in someone’s life.
Here is what I am leading up to: WHAT IF you knew that you could do something more for these women that could have a meaningful impact on the success or failure of their lives in terms of living, working, surviving and becoming productive and useful citizens of this community? WHAT IF you did more than fix a bag lunch, drove a couple of hours a week, washed loads of towels, or made phone calls, or washed dishes -- don’t misunderstand my message here, those tasks are critical to our own sheltering project needs. You heard Tandy’s call, you heard God’s call to serve the “least of these.”
I am challenging you, I am challenging myself to do more. So What if...what if we push ourselves out of our nest, out of our comfort zone where we push ourselves to a real sacrificial level to make a difference in these women’s lives.
Personally, I want to be and do more than provide a great vacation, an interlude, two weeks of a spa-like setting with yoga, hugs, hot showers, and clean beds. Just like you, I want Fran, Faith, Dana, Jackie, Carol, Nancy, Sadia, Stephanie, Wanda, Gina, Chaney, Annie, and Helen to have a safe place to call home, the freedom to attend worship where they want to, the freedom to see family when they want to, the freedom to have privacy when they want to, and that can only happen if they are gainfully employed, and have travel resources, and clothing suitable for work, and constant inspiration and encouragement to guide them in their life decisions. Really, I know we all want there not to be anymore need to for us to shelter these women in the future and the only way that can happen is that we face up to the realities that there are many more out there who need help. It is intimidating to realize that there is a constant line of needs. When the needs are so great it is easy to fall back into the crutch of “I’m just one person, what can just one person do?”.1
Are you ready to change the way you approach serving others as God would have us do? Are you ready to change your thought process that we do matter and can make other people’s lives better so that they can feel as though they matter as well. “We have to change our mentality and incorporate this idea that we all matter into our own lifestyle. See with your eyes but more importantly see with your heart....Know that we all matter; that’s the key.”
Will you join with me and others to find a way to help our church, help our community work more towards providing opportunities, helping individuals to find jobs, help them to become employed, help to educate our community and our church that we need to take a real close, deep look at ourselves and push ourselves to do more. We have homes, we have jobs, we have pensions, we have beach houses, we have mountain places, we have education, we have friends, we have cars, we have so much, and that is as it should be -- we worked hard, we played by the rules, we did our homework, and we have more. Now it is time to make that “more” work by recognizing that we have more so we can give more, more time, more service, more talent, more treasure. It doesn’t have to hurt to give more to give at all. So WHAT IF, you don’t go to the mountains next weekend, WHAT IF you got on the phone and called your buddies who own businesses, or who supervise, and asked, can you help us find jobs.
WHAT IF you called ten people? WHAT IF you visited ten business managers and asked them for help. WHAT IF you bought 12 bus passes? WHAT IF you found 12 rooms that could be rented? WHAT IF you helped twelve women with their working wardrobe? WHAT IF you gave three women $100 a month to go towards household operating funds. WHAT if you provided furniture for a new home, WHAT IF you pushed yourself. You matter. Let’s make them matter.
1. Charlotte Observer Arts & Entertainment
Don’t Change the Channel, Jenn Snyder, Autho
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Getting some Christmas Spirit! - Saturday 11/13
With a bit of apprehension, plans were made to take six women to the Southern Christmas Show. Southern Shows was generous with their donation of 16 tickets at my request and six wanted to go. Realizing that I could fit six in my car, I didn't ask around much for anyone to go with me. Everyone has been so generous with their time so it didn't bother me to go alone. I felt differently about that in the middle of the week. I wasn't too sure about doing it myself with six women I didn't know but by Friday I was really looking forward to the day. This is a delightful group of ladies. They are compatible and grateful for everything we do.
The group decided that we were going to stick together - I was going to be the Mother Hen and they were going to follow along! We had a pleasant ride to the Merchandise Mart but it took about 30 minutes to get parked. We walked to the main entrance and agreed - just in case we got split up - to meet outside in 2 1/2 hours at this same entrance. Of course the decorations were beautiful where we entered with all the Christmas trees and lights but it wasn't five minutes before I realized that 3 of my 5 ladies were gone and on their own! That was fine with me because the more independence they showed, the better I thought it was. Sardia and Stephanie stuck with me and we ventured out to see all we could in the time allotted. Part of the apprehension I had in the beginning had to do with a discussion Nancy, Jill and I had about whether taking the women to the Christmas Show where there was going to be so much to buy was going to be fun for them or depressing. Thankfully it turned out to be a positive experience at the time. Lots of oohs and aahs about tree ornaments and dolls, pocketbooks and clothes and not much about the fact that they couldn't buy any of it. The model train layout was a big hit for the three of us as we watched the trains move around the neighborhoods and noticed all the little model people playing out their roles. Neither woman had ever seen model trains so it was fascinating for them.
We moved on through all the aisles and rows of decorations and hand-made items. Of course, neither of them attempted to buy anything. They didn't have the money and unless they could wear it, they would have to carry it around. We enjoyed lunch together on the benches in the walkway between the buildings and watching all the people walk by. Sadia started to tell me about her ex-husband whom she met in London where she lived and how as his fiance she came to the States where they married. She didn't tell me, but Paulette told me later that she said that her husband was an ambassador but we don't know of what country. She has been here for about 20 years, I think, and has been divorced about 15 years. (I might have to correct that later!) Her ex-husband has stalked her for years. At one time she drove an 18 wheeler from Canada all the way to Florida but because of a reported accident that she says didn't happen, she can't get another driving job. Her partner on that truck was on drugs (doesn't that make you feel safe?) and she told him that she would report him if he didn't stop driving. Vindictively, he told their boss she had had an accident on the trip and they fired her even though there was no police report or damage to the truck. This report keeps showing up when she interviews and she keeps getting turned down on jobs. Sounds believable and outrageous at the same time, doesn't it? And we will probably never know how real or fabricated this story is.
Both ladies wanted to go into the other buildings where there was reported clothes and jewelry. We walked and oohed and aahed at everything we saw until it was time to meet the others to return to the church. Everyone was waiting where they were supposed to be full of stories of what they had seen and liked.
Would the hesitation we had taking them to the show play out? Would it initiate sadness at what they didn't have and their station in life right now or would it give them some happiness having a day that was different than all their other days of wandering, "hoofing it" and boredom? What I heard was "That was a different day." "That was fun. Everything was so pretty." But I did hear a quiet "Couldn't buy anything" from the back seat on our ride back.
I'm taking three more on Friday. Hopefully it won't be as crowded, we won't spend 30 minutes in line in the car to find a parking space and the ladies will enjoy the show as much as the first group seemed to!
The group decided that we were going to stick together - I was going to be the Mother Hen and they were going to follow along! We had a pleasant ride to the Merchandise Mart but it took about 30 minutes to get parked. We walked to the main entrance and agreed - just in case we got split up - to meet outside in 2 1/2 hours at this same entrance. Of course the decorations were beautiful where we entered with all the Christmas trees and lights but it wasn't five minutes before I realized that 3 of my 5 ladies were gone and on their own! That was fine with me because the more independence they showed, the better I thought it was. Sardia and Stephanie stuck with me and we ventured out to see all we could in the time allotted. Part of the apprehension I had in the beginning had to do with a discussion Nancy, Jill and I had about whether taking the women to the Christmas Show where there was going to be so much to buy was going to be fun for them or depressing. Thankfully it turned out to be a positive experience at the time. Lots of oohs and aahs about tree ornaments and dolls, pocketbooks and clothes and not much about the fact that they couldn't buy any of it. The model train layout was a big hit for the three of us as we watched the trains move around the neighborhoods and noticed all the little model people playing out their roles. Neither woman had ever seen model trains so it was fascinating for them.
We moved on through all the aisles and rows of decorations and hand-made items. Of course, neither of them attempted to buy anything. They didn't have the money and unless they could wear it, they would have to carry it around. We enjoyed lunch together on the benches in the walkway between the buildings and watching all the people walk by. Sadia started to tell me about her ex-husband whom she met in London where she lived and how as his fiance she came to the States where they married. She didn't tell me, but Paulette told me later that she said that her husband was an ambassador but we don't know of what country. She has been here for about 20 years, I think, and has been divorced about 15 years. (I might have to correct that later!) Her ex-husband has stalked her for years. At one time she drove an 18 wheeler from Canada all the way to Florida but because of a reported accident that she says didn't happen, she can't get another driving job. Her partner on that truck was on drugs (doesn't that make you feel safe?) and she told him that she would report him if he didn't stop driving. Vindictively, he told their boss she had had an accident on the trip and they fired her even though there was no police report or damage to the truck. This report keeps showing up when she interviews and she keeps getting turned down on jobs. Sounds believable and outrageous at the same time, doesn't it? And we will probably never know how real or fabricated this story is.
Both ladies wanted to go into the other buildings where there was reported clothes and jewelry. We walked and oohed and aahed at everything we saw until it was time to meet the others to return to the church. Everyone was waiting where they were supposed to be full of stories of what they had seen and liked.
Would the hesitation we had taking them to the show play out? Would it initiate sadness at what they didn't have and their station in life right now or would it give them some happiness having a day that was different than all their other days of wandering, "hoofing it" and boredom? What I heard was "That was a different day." "That was fun. Everything was so pretty." But I did hear a quiet "Couldn't buy anything" from the back seat on our ride back.
I'm taking three more on Friday. Hopefully it won't be as crowded, we won't spend 30 minutes in line in the car to find a parking space and the ladies will enjoy the show as much as the first group seemed to!
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Interesting personalities, heart breaking stories, much like us.
You know, I love to write but I am finding this most difficult. I think if I ever ended up writing the great American novel it would have to be a fairy tale because I don't like this reality stuff we are seeing this week.
For instance, one of the women told me this morning that she was being "exited" from the Center of Hope this Saturday. I asked her what that meant and where would she go. Her response was that she had no where to go. When I asked her about family she said she had no family although she told Paulette that she didn't want to stay with her family. I called her case worker and asked if she could at least stay with us through Monday and she returned my call saying that they would extend her stay until December 1st, a bit of a reprieve but then what?
I can't imagine what it must be like to know that in about two weeks you will be out on the street in the winter with no place to go and probably no money either. That has to be absolutely terrifying and I feel so utterly helpless. This person has told us that she is a graduate of Chapel Hill and has eight years in law. Last year we had someone who gave Paulette entirely false information to put into her resume and when it was found out, it broke Paulette's heart because she had worked so hard to help this woman. You honestly don't know what to believe but you know that you want to believe them. We have heard from other women that the resident about to be exited pulls her hair out one strand at a time which has created a large bald spot. Well, let me tell you, I would be pulling my hair out by the handfuls if I were in their shoes.
One of our women is 72 years old and is in touch with her daughter. How do you let your 72 year old mother be homeless? I'll admit, she is a bit contentious and hard to be around so maybe her family just through up their hands and gave up on her. She says she is in touch with her daughter because I let her use my phone (hers was dead) to call. She didn't reach her, wouldn't leave a message and insisted I delete the number from my call log and watched me do it!!
One young woman had no pants that fit but came to church Sunday anyway trying to hide the open zipper with her too small blouse and a broken belt. Jill bought her two pair. She walks with a different cadence now, a little more confidence. She never lost her smile.
One is in leukemia remission and very brave about it. One has a beautiful voice and has "joined" the choir and is enjoying it immensely. One has a daughter with a 2 and 4 year old that she was with last weekend. She was worn out! One enjoyed walking with me through the cemetery telling me how she was scared once as a kid into believing the dead would come out of their graves. She is the same one who was an ice skater as a child and won trophies and taught her son how to skate so he could join an ice hockey team. One is the Big Mama and has wonderful leadership qualities, leads with her sense of humor but tells it like it is. One grew up in London and came to the states with her fiance who now as an ex-husband of 15 years still stalks her. One is quiet and reserved and irons her clothes almost every evening for the next day. She was sitting on the bench beside the spring Saturday afternoon enjoying the peace and quiet and the beauty of the leaves when I arrived talking with another and disturbed the quiet. She laughingly forgave us!
Like us, just ordinary people with extraordinary problems.
For instance, one of the women told me this morning that she was being "exited" from the Center of Hope this Saturday. I asked her what that meant and where would she go. Her response was that she had no where to go. When I asked her about family she said she had no family although she told Paulette that she didn't want to stay with her family. I called her case worker and asked if she could at least stay with us through Monday and she returned my call saying that they would extend her stay until December 1st, a bit of a reprieve but then what?
I can't imagine what it must be like to know that in about two weeks you will be out on the street in the winter with no place to go and probably no money either. That has to be absolutely terrifying and I feel so utterly helpless. This person has told us that she is a graduate of Chapel Hill and has eight years in law. Last year we had someone who gave Paulette entirely false information to put into her resume and when it was found out, it broke Paulette's heart because she had worked so hard to help this woman. You honestly don't know what to believe but you know that you want to believe them. We have heard from other women that the resident about to be exited pulls her hair out one strand at a time which has created a large bald spot. Well, let me tell you, I would be pulling my hair out by the handfuls if I were in their shoes.
One of our women is 72 years old and is in touch with her daughter. How do you let your 72 year old mother be homeless? I'll admit, she is a bit contentious and hard to be around so maybe her family just through up their hands and gave up on her. She says she is in touch with her daughter because I let her use my phone (hers was dead) to call. She didn't reach her, wouldn't leave a message and insisted I delete the number from my call log and watched me do it!!
One young woman had no pants that fit but came to church Sunday anyway trying to hide the open zipper with her too small blouse and a broken belt. Jill bought her two pair. She walks with a different cadence now, a little more confidence. She never lost her smile.
One is in leukemia remission and very brave about it. One has a beautiful voice and has "joined" the choir and is enjoying it immensely. One has a daughter with a 2 and 4 year old that she was with last weekend. She was worn out! One enjoyed walking with me through the cemetery telling me how she was scared once as a kid into believing the dead would come out of their graves. She is the same one who was an ice skater as a child and won trophies and taught her son how to skate so he could join an ice hockey team. One is the Big Mama and has wonderful leadership qualities, leads with her sense of humor but tells it like it is. One grew up in London and came to the states with her fiance who now as an ex-husband of 15 years still stalks her. One is quiet and reserved and irons her clothes almost every evening for the next day. She was sitting on the bench beside the spring Saturday afternoon enjoying the peace and quiet and the beauty of the leaves when I arrived talking with another and disturbed the quiet. She laughingly forgave us!
Like us, just ordinary people with extraordinary problems.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
I was in the kitchen - it was 5:40 PM Thursday evening - and I was expecting Irene to arrive any minute and then I got the word - she was in the Fellowship Hall. I hadn't seen her in months but we had stayed in touch and I was so excited to see her. I'm not sure what the strong tie is but perhaps it is the feeling of her being our only "success story" knowing full well that we had very little to do with her success.
You know, these women are so "normal". They laugh, they cry, they have children, they have problems, they have dreams; they are so like us. And they are so not like us. Or maybe it is that we are so not like them.
Anyway, Irene looks absolutely wonderful. Big hugs all around, pictures taken. You know, she looks confident. I think that's the right word - confident that she is in control and can handle life. Her daughter had to work and couldn't join her. We were disappointed but proud that she was still working with the same employer one year later.
It wasn't very long after our greetings that I noticed Irene gravitating over to the round table where three of our residents were sitting quietly having noticed our excitement to see this stranger. She wasn't a stranger long but seemed to dig right in with the purpose she had in mind when she agreed to come. The conversation started immediately and you could see the interest on everyone's faces as they listened to her responses.
On into dinner and Irene sat with a table of residents and again you could see the interest and the camaraderie that began to develop. Irene's caring attitude and matter of fact delivery impressed the residents that this was someone they could talk to and trust. After dinner, I went looking for Irene to say good night before I left for choir and found her in one of the bedrooms with another group of women. I am so glad I thought to ask her to join us. Not only was it so good to see her but it was so important to our women and I pray that her example gives them the inspiration they need to understand that homelessness does not have to be their life forever; there is hope.
We're real pleased at the number of women who have decided to stay for the weekend - nine on Saturday and seven on Sunday. Nancy went to choir practice with me and Paulette and did quite well with new music. She is excited about Sunday and being fitted for a choir robe. It's such a good feeling to see these women becoming more and more a part of our church family and already I am beginning to realize that once again when they leave there will be a big gap in my heart.
You know, these women are so "normal". They laugh, they cry, they have children, they have problems, they have dreams; they are so like us. And they are so not like us. Or maybe it is that we are so not like them.
Anyway, Irene looks absolutely wonderful. Big hugs all around, pictures taken. You know, she looks confident. I think that's the right word - confident that she is in control and can handle life. Her daughter had to work and couldn't join her. We were disappointed but proud that she was still working with the same employer one year later.
It wasn't very long after our greetings that I noticed Irene gravitating over to the round table where three of our residents were sitting quietly having noticed our excitement to see this stranger. She wasn't a stranger long but seemed to dig right in with the purpose she had in mind when she agreed to come. The conversation started immediately and you could see the interest on everyone's faces as they listened to her responses.
On into dinner and Irene sat with a table of residents and again you could see the interest and the camaraderie that began to develop. Irene's caring attitude and matter of fact delivery impressed the residents that this was someone they could talk to and trust. After dinner, I went looking for Irene to say good night before I left for choir and found her in one of the bedrooms with another group of women. I am so glad I thought to ask her to join us. Not only was it so good to see her but it was so important to our women and I pray that her example gives them the inspiration they need to understand that homelessness does not have to be their life forever; there is hope.
We're real pleased at the number of women who have decided to stay for the weekend - nine on Saturday and seven on Sunday. Nancy went to choir practice with me and Paulette and did quite well with new music. She is excited about Sunday and being fitted for a choir robe. It's such a good feeling to see these women becoming more and more a part of our church family and already I am beginning to realize that once again when they leave there will be a big gap in my heart.
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