Yours, Mine, and Ours

     JUSTICE CONFRENCE

     A few weeks back, Austin and I attended a live stream of the Justice Conference. We both care deeply about social justice, but wanted to find a way to actually apply our lives to the cause, not just turn the radio up when a cause is being talked about. So we went. And the topics discussed pulled on our hearts.

    "When we reduce people to projects, we de-humanize them."

-Eugene Cho

     Austin and I speak often to our boys of things that are de-humaizing. It is a hot topic for us. The boys get tired of our answer to why something is inappropriate, often being "because it is de-humanizing." One of the boys has even starting calling other kids out on it.

      "I don't watch MTV, because I believe the shows that are full of men, making a mockery and          sexual object out of women are de-humanizing." This one was hard for the boys to grasp at first. But now, they don't watch MTV.

     "Using racial slurs, even out of 'sarcasm' is inappropriate, because it is de-humanizing." The boys still   disagree with us on this, but we are standing firm.

     We talk about classist, racist and sexist issues with them ... on a daily basis. But I didn't recognize was that my own heart was in need of some mending. I care about this issue of treating people with grace and love, and seeing people as people. That is why Austin and I came to Florida, for this very reason of loving "those kids" who are often unloved and overlooked.

     I find myself often thinking about the kids we work with, sighing, and concluding in my heart that "they are just one of those kids." This job is difficult, sometimes it is too difficult. I find myself wanting to give up relationship because it is too hard. I give myself tasks, I start to see them as projects. And in this, I have de-humanized them. And this breaks my heart.

     OUR KIDS, not THOSE KIDS

     It is too easy to write kids off by labeling them "those kids." But what I needed to realize, is that "those kids" are "our kids." They are somebodies kids. They are your neighbors kids. Your sisters kids. They could be your kids. As a community, we/I have a moral obligation to be there for "our kids."

They are not projects.
They are not numbers.
They are not failures.
They are humans.
They are kids.
They are our kids.

     RETURNING TO WORK 

     When Austin and I returned from the conference, we challenged each other in living out these ideas. We concluded that we too easily hide behind our paperwork and think too much about our weeks off. If we truly came to Florida to love on kids, then we need to put pre-conceptions in the garbage bag and see our boys for the people that they are.

     As with Christy Huddleston, I found this to be a challenging task. I tried to view the kids in my life not as mission, not as projects, but as kids. This took me to a whole new place of vulnerability. Missions need enthusiasm. Projects need dedication. But kids, kids need vulnerability. And vulnerability bears all.

Romancing Evil

I recently read the book Christy, by Catherine Marshall. It is one of my favorites. The heroine is a young women during the turn of the 20th century who leaves her well to do home in the big city to teach, in a rural, Appalachian town. She moves to the town, trekking seven miles through deep snow and unseen roads only to find an impoverished people group with harsh customs and mean words. Her Anne of Green Gables "romantical" expectation is completely slashed open as she discovers the world to be nothing as she imagined.

Christy and I are kindred spirits. We both have "fits of passion" and can "come on too strong." We judge quickly, we care deeply, and our hearts are easily broken. Oh, and Alice Henderson is our hero. Near the beginning of her story, Christy's "mentor" Alice Henderson speaks hard words into her life. And they have found a way to leak off the page and into my heart as well ...

     "You see Christy, evil is real - and powerful. It has to be fought, not explained away, not fled.               And God is against evil all the way. So each of us has to decide where we stand, how we're going to live our lives. We can try to persuade ourselves and wink at evil. We can say that it isn't so bad after all, maybe even try to call it fun by clothing it in silks and velvets. We can compromise with it, keep quiet about it and say it's none of our business. Or we can work on God's side, listen for His orders on strategy against the evil, no matter how horrible it is, and know that He can transform it."

Christy, of course, choose to stay in the mountains and face evil. She choose to work on God's side and listen for His orders on strategy against evil. No matter how horrible it was. No matter the ugliness and the disparity and the cruelty.

I, like Christy, grew up in a beautiful home. Safe from the world and ignorant to many of it's evils. Over the past eight years, I have traveled the world, experiencing pain and desperation and ugliness and some of the worst of evils. I can not un-see what I have seen. I can not un-know what I now know. The world is evil, and it will continue in this until the King returns to call us home. There are days I dream of running from it all, to an island away from it all... but even there I would not be able to escape what I have seen and what I know.

We are in this evil world, and we are to be shining beacons of light. Until the father calls us home to that perfected forever.

Lets get technical

What does it mean to be sexually reactive?

It simply means, to react sexually to the examples of sex that have been displayed for you. 

Pre-sexualization is when a person is prematurely exposed to sexual things. This includes children witnessing adults performing sexual acts, watching mature television or movies that revolve around sexual themes, or even having an adult or another person perform sexual acts on or towards them. 

When kids are pre-sexualized, their sexual development exceeds their moral and physical development, and this leaves them in a merry-go-round of turmoil and confusion.

A sexually reactive child is one who acts out in a sexual manor, because of the pre-sexualization that has taken place in their life. Examples would include; a child trying to perform a sexual act on another child, copying something that they watched. Or perhaps exposing themselves in a sexually inappropriate manner... again, copying perhaps something that had been done towards them. 

When a child exposes themselves or performs a sexual act on another child, this is still a sexual offense ... but if they are deemed "sexually re-active" then they are not usually labeled as an offender. 

This is where it gets sticky. I believe that the victim comes first. Each. And. Every. Time. But when the offender is also a victim, then both the victim and the offender need to come first... What do I mean? I mean we need to treat both victims as victims ... but to the one that offends, they also need to be treated for offending. 

For the 12 year old boy who was victimized, but never shared the abuse until he created another victim... he needs treated as both an offender an a victim. But his victim needs to be put first. His victim needs to know that they are safe. Then, the 12 year old needs to be treated as a victim, he needs to know that he is safe too. A victim/offender  CAN NOT simply be treated as an offender if they have not dealt with being a victim. 

I am not saying that we need to be softer on sexual offenders, because I do not believe that to be true. I think that the law needs to come down hard. I think that sin needs to be exposed and that offenders need to be brought into the light. But, I also believe that we need to offer victim counseling to the victim/offenders if we really want them to recover. 

Pre-sexualization is abhorrent. We live in an over-sexualized world, and we think that dressing our little girls up in bikinis is funny. But it is not. It is sick. Our world is prematurely exposing our kids to Halloween behavior. And when they act upon what they see and hear, we slap their hands. And when they become a victim, we tell them to be quiet. And when they become an offender, we gasp and say "what happened to them!?"

Oh to sleep.

"Come to me all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28

The past 72 hours have been the most exhausting and trauma filled in my life. I watched as my husband used physical strength to keep multiple people safe. I woke in the middle of the night to alarms and defiance. I learned that the police who work graveyard shift are just normal guys who went to the dentist on Tuesday.

My heart is pulsing at a faster rate these past few days. I know. I've checked. The alarm system in our house is as loud as a fire truck. Sounds like a fire truck. Repeatedly says "Intruder Alert, Intruder Alert, Intruder Alert." And it is slowly cause small doses of PTSD in me.

Two evenings ago, Austin and I found ourselves on the floor of a storage closet, crying. Surrounded by mop cleaner, granola bars and contraband items. We were a mess.

Sleep. We needed sleep. Like that "I've been traveling internationally and stuck in a terminal for two days I need sleep," sleep." But this level of tired pushes beyond physical dreariness. This job has tested the limits of our mental capacity, our marriage, and our faith.

I to the NorthWest in 144 hours - but who is counting? All I want to count right now is sheep.

Man Sized Boy Children

This job makes us laugh. And I mean seriously, laugh. I live with one man, and five boys each the size of a man. That equals me and six man sized creatures. Kind of like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs ... except I have seven dwarfs, and my dwarfs are actually giants.

In our cottage, we sing a lot of songs, we dig for gold, and I even talk to the little animal creatures outside. The songs are rap, country and screamo... Though there would be a lot of screaming if they found out I was calling it that. I find loose coins all over the house, every golden penny gets added to a jar. And outside, I find new creatures every day. This weeks creatures included roaches of variable sizes, biting anoles, and the famous annually appearing black racer snake.

Austin and I do a lot of laughing in this cottage. We laugh, when the man sized boy creatures throw tantrums like two year olds. And laugh at their facial expressions in response to finding out that we not only have a facebook account, but we also know the lyrics to Ed Sheeran's newest song. We laugh when we trick them into doing chores and when they catch us singing to each other as we do dishes. We laugh when they laugh. It's contagious really.

What is also contagious in a different way, is the weight that they carry. It surrounds them them like a cloud, a morning fog that never lifts; anything that settles in the valley is also clouded by the fog. The more that we learn their stories, the pieces that they share, the parts that they don't, the fog falls on us, as we settle in their valley. Those are the times where no amount of laughter can lift the fog. And it can be depressing.

Austin and I just ended 15 days on. Sitting at our favorite Farm to Table restaurant in Deland, we talked about the week. We started out by laughing, sharing favorite moments of things that made us smile. But inevitably, this turned quickly into stories that had been shared with us. Moments when the man sized boy creatures let us peek in their hearts. And it just hurts. And no amount of laughter can clean that slate.

Stay

We met our six giant "man-child" boys in the afternoon. We had a meeting where we got to know each other and get on the same page. When asked if they had anything to share, one brave young man spoke for the rest; "Don't leave." He looked at us earnestly, pleading in his eyes, he left the statement sitting on the table in mid air.

"We drove 3023 miles, just to come live with you. We left everything and everyone we know to be here. We are not leaving."

My words felt so empty. Unconvincing. The silence that followed seemed to echo off the high walls. What could I say to convince them that we were here to stay? What could we do to convince ourselves?

The words were so simple, straight forward. Yet they were complex and vague. These "man-child" boys are like toddlers, crying after a mother who goes to Starbucks without them. They, like the toddler, lack an understanding of time and promises. The mom on the way out the door always says "Honey, I will be right back." But the child wails on, "No mommy, take me with YOU." And these boys, these almost men, they look at us with eyes that say "take me with you."

Coming to Florida, when people asked how they could pray, we asked that you pray that we would be the couple that would "Stay." We have heard the rumors about how many staff have come and gone with this specific group of boys. They are losing all trust and hope. We want so badly to be the people who stay. I want to grab hold of their face and promise them with all my might that I will never leave ... but I cant on a good conscience do that. I get angry about the people in their life who have let them down, who have not fulfilled promises. I get angry at the adults who have left them, who have given them up, or given them back.

We were off shift for the last two weeks. It is always a little nerve wracking coming back, we don't know what unfolded during our absence and we have to muster up all the courage we have. I wonder if any of them will be happy to see me. The school bus brakes release, I hear running feet, "Mr. AUSTIN! Ms. HEATHER!" I am so glad you are here!! I am so glad  you came back!"

We smile. "Yes" we say, "We were visiting family. We are back. We are not leaving. We are here to stay."

Invite me in

My Mama tells me stories of a church her and my Daddy attended when they were in their early years of marriage. She said that each week, a different family from the church would put lunch in the crock pot at home, ready to invite a guest over. If a guest was at church that morning, the ready family would invite them over for a home cooked meal. She said their church grew tremendously during those years.

As Austin and I moved away from our home, from our friends and family and church; we are starting to get a glimpse into the world of hospitality and understanding it in a new way. We, who are so far away from everything, long to be included ... in anything. It would absolutely make our entire month if someone would simply invite us over for lunch.

Looking for a new church community is a hard, sometimes painful process. If you have ever moved, or needed to find a new church for any reason at all, perhaps my words will resonate with you.

"Welcome to our church, if you are a guest today, please don't put anything in the offering ... fill out the information card in front of you and take it to the hospitality desk following the service (or drop it in the basket, hand it to the usher, leave it on your seat etc.) We have a free gift we would like to give you, we wont solicit your name..."

We have turned in the cards. We have given our name. We have sent emails. We have received the "gifts," the free coffee, the worship CD, Our Daily Bread Devotional ... We have received a lot of "Wow, you moved from OR-E-GUN? It's snowing there right?" We've gotten the, "We have a lot of men with beards here, you will really fit in." "Do you have children? No? ... Well when you do, we have a great children's department!" We have met people with firm grasps and people with flimsy handshakes. We have met people who looked us in the eye, and people who eyed us up and down.

What we have not yet received is an invitation for lunch.

And I know this is like against our culture. I know we are not in the Middle East, the magical place where strangers invite strangers in for tea. I know that we need to put ourselves out there. But of all the "free gifts" we have received, what we would really love is someone to have lunch with.

At each of the churches we have been too, we have straight out said "We are new, were looking for friends,  they don't even need to be our age, what do your small groups look like?" And we have been referred to the website. Every. Single. Time.

Now, I am not trying to gripe about churches here, because I really could write another blog on the great things about each of the churches, but I think something needs to change about the way that we as the American Church run our "hospitality desks." Most people are not looking for a free pamphlet about your church, most people, if they are new, are looking for someone to eat lunch with.

I write these words and feel guilt rushing over me like a broken shower. How many people have I instinctively shaken hands with on a Sunday Morning and never once invited them out? What makes it worse, is that I can think of times when I thought of asking people over for a meal, but I justified it with statements like:

"I am having lunch with my friends today, bringing someone new would be weird."
"I was planning on a quite day at home."
"Maybe if I see them again next Sunday?"
"Maybe someone else is taking them to lunch."
"Maybe they don't want to go out to lunch with me."
"I have too many people in my life, I don't have room for anyone new."

Its that last one I think that usually gets me stuck. But this time, I am the one that doesn't have enough  people in my life, and I wish I knew someone that I could invite over for lunch.

I guess this is an urging, to be open to sharing a meal with someone you don't know. To ask a guest at your church if they have lunch plans. I know that I am waiting for the opportunity to turn this around and ask someone to join in a meal with me. And when I do, I will let you know.

"For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in. For whatever you do for the least of these, you do for me." - Matthew 25:25

Not in Kansas anymore

People use umbrellas here. They drive their car everywhere; from one end of the parking lot to the other. They drink plastic, bottled water. And they don't recycle the plastic. They talk with a bit of an accent, walk at a slower pace and eat grits with their eggs.

They don't have coffee shops. They drink Folgers, and McCafe and Dunkin Donuts. Like seriously, the google results for "coffee shop" include 7-elleven and Dunkin Donuts. I am guessing that people don't go to coffee shops to meet up with friends, or to use the wi-fi or to study. I am guessing that coffee culture really is a North West vibe and that if I want to fit in I should probably start to drink soda pop.

People here say OR-E-GUN, as if it is three separate syllables. One person thought that the New England snow storm was affecting our home, and most people ask if we moved to Florida to escape Oregon's snow.

Grocery stores use plastic bags. We get strange looks, deep sighs and questions when we offer our own reusable bags. One kind cashier asked if we would like our food wrapped in a plastic bag before being placed in our own cloth bags. We kindly declined his offer for the double bag.

It was sunny and 64 degrees. We were wearing T-shirts and sandals. On the Floridians, we saw winter parkas, turtlenecks, down coats, wool hats, thick gloves and boots.

The fruit here falls off trees. Grapefruit and oranges line the roads. The fruit in the store is very expensive, and imported from Guatemala. I am rather confused.


The roads here are nine lanes thick, and you can't turn left. U-turns are not just allowed, they are expected to ever turn left. I read the entire drivers manual, no where does it actually say that you can U-Turn, it only says to not do so if there is a sign telling you not to. Cell phone usage is still allowed for drivers, though texting is a great fine. But the most appalling: motorcyclists are not required to wear helmets. They zoom in an out of lanes, with no helmet. It gets me every time.

Everywhere we go, we find things that feel different from home. We see new brands, new stores, new advertisements. We listen to new radio stations, visit a new library, and travel down foreign roads. There are exotic animals everywhere, large dropping mossy oaks, and sunshine.

It is exciting still,  to open my eyes everyday and see what the world has to offer. To look upon things fresh and new. To experience and breathe in the unfamiliar. This is the stuff that brings life, the wind that unhinges our desires to stay grounded to the familiar. The amount of newness is overwhelming, and having but one other person to share it with is lonely, but I think for right now, it is good.

Truck Count

We used a U-Haul Trailer to carry our things to Florida. The rules of a U-Haul included : don't exceed the speed limit of 55 mph.

My mama said that this would help us enjoy the country.

I decided to make a game out of it. Seeing that we would have to drive in the right lane, I thought it would be fun to count how many semi trucks would pass us on the trip. Just past The Dalles, Oregon, I asked Austin if he thought I could count 200 on the trip? We pulled out a notebook and started to keep track.

Day Three : 167 I stopped counting.

That day I decided mama was right, 55 mph was helping me enjoy the country.

In Birmingham, we went to the Institute for Civil Rights. We watched videos and looked at artifacts. We read about a time in our not so distant history. We saw the site of the 16th street church bombing. On our way back our car, we met Jessie Strong.

He walked us around the block, telling us about what it was like to grow up in Birmingham during the sixties. He pointed out the "black district" where a once booming urban block now sits decaying. He pointed out the corner where his friends house use to be, where they use to gather on the porch before the protests.

He told us the history of the richest black man in Birmingham, and mapped out the buildings that man owned. He showed us the record store where he bought his first temptation album. He told us that times where hard.

We spent two hours at the museum, reading and trying to learn. But our two minutes with Jessie made it all real. It is not just history, it is real people, now.

Oh to Move and Work

Emilie is a beautiful woman in her early sixties, with silver hair. She stands tall, and gives the air of someone who might have been important. She had bangles on her wrist, and a state school pin on her lapel. She was friendly, reminding me of an aunt, a category which I refer to as "The Jewels." And she was one.

We met her at gift shop at the Arkansas State Capitol. We were buying post cards for our family, and she asked where we were from. We shared a little of our story about driving across the country to a new home, how we were planning on it being only two years. We shared about our love of Arkansas and how we were pleasantly surprised at the beauty we found in the "Natural State", and how her state was our favorite stop on the trip. She proceeded to share with us her story, and we were glad she did :)

She moved to Little Rock with her husband, six years ago. She had been a school teacher in Louisiana for the sixteen years prior and had no intention of leaving her home. Her husband said it would only be for two years. She said she would go - but not without throwing a fit.

When they arrived in Arkansas, it was a rare,  cold January winter day ... that day locked into months. Emilie, a fresh retiree with her husband at work , was at home, fuming with anger at the current situation.

"It was the coldest winter in the history of Arkansas. I had spent my life in Louisiana, no snow, no cold, and especially no ice. One day as my patience grew thin, I went on the back deck, I decided I wanted, no I NEEDED, to get to my BBQ. I found it covered in layers of ice. I didn't have any snow shoes, I was from Louisiana for goodness sake! So I went to the kitchen, and I boiled all my pans of water, then I slowly skated across my ice pond deck and I poured the water over the BBQ. It was to my great surprise that instead of melting the ice, the water turned into more ice. Pot after pot ... more ice."

"My breaking point was that afternoon when my husband came home to find me with a hammer, trying to break through the layers of ice. That was when he told me it was time for me to get a job. Through my tears, I agreed, and I came to work here."

"You see, I agreed to move, but I didn't want to leave my home. I thought, 'what's in Arkansas anyway?' But I had no idea the beauty. Arkansas is my home now, it is a hidden gem."

Hidden Golden Gem

We had planned on spending ten hours tops in Arkansas. Drive, sleep, and leave.  The only thing we knew about this place was that it was called "The Natural State." We assumed that everyone 1: had accents, and 2: drank sweet tea. We were right on both accounts, but we were missing so much in between. We expected very little of Little Rock, but thankfully the city pushed past our expectations and proved herself to be a lovely, welcoming, and glimmering gem.

We booked ourselves at a B & B in the historic neighborhood of town, hoping to find some culture. What we found was the cities oldest standing house and one of only two buildings in the city of the Queen Victorian style architecture. We just so lucked out on being the only guests for the evening, and after a brief introduction from our host Susan, we locked ourselves into the three story mansion for an evening of royal proportions. We played hide and seek on creaky stairs, we drank decaf coffee in cups with gold rims, I took a bath in a claw foot tub. And when we went to sleep, we stayed in the turret room ... something I could have only dreamed about.

We ventured out for dinner and found a bustling downtown. We found a lit up walking bridge, blues music, crawfish, accents and sweet tea. Our personal trolly driver informed us that the best coffee shop in all of Arkansas was situated next to our B & B.

In the morning, instead of exiting the city quickly, we found ourselves at a coffee shop equaling or perhaps even surpassing our "Portlandy" expectations. This coffee shop called Mugs Cafe is also a church, and as we drank our 7:00 am espresso, we deliberated about staying in this quaint city of trollys, coffee and Victorian Mansions.  We walked the 26 steps back to our B & B where Susan had created a breakfast just for us. As we ate on antique china, she sat at the end of our long table and talked to us all about why she moved to Arkansas and why she thinks it is a hidden gem.

Susan told us about the amazing hiking trails, the night life, blues music, and the campground where people still strike it rich each year when they find gold laying on the ground. She gave us advise for our trip south and gave us the address of where to eat when we stopped in Memphis.

After such a morning, we simply could not just pull our trailer out of the city, we decided to delay our trip, and take our trim in this gem. Having driving through at least two other capitol cities and not stopping, we took ourselves to the center of the political world of Arkansas - The State Capitol.

The What

Ok, so what is this that we are talking about? It is a position called "House Parent." For those of you from the south, this might be a familiar term, but for those of us in the North West, it is very foreign. It refers to two people who live in a home for children and play a parental role. These homes are often part of a greater community; communities found both in the private and public sector.

We will be joining a pre-existing organization, one that has been around for 100 years in fact. For the safety of the kids we will be working with, and for purposes of this blog, we will be leaving our organization unnamed. In references in this blog, we will refer to where we live as "Live Oak."

Live Oak is a community that serves children from 7-21. They come from personal references, professional references, and state references. Each child stays for an amount of time that best suits their needs. Our role will be to live in a house that will be provided, and take care of the daily needs of 8-10 children. We will cook meals, do laundry, drive children to school and dr. appointments, watch movies, cry, laugh and simply live life.

We will work one week on, one week on, sharing our responsibilities with another couple (whom we have not yet met.) On our off weeks, we will live in an apartment separate from the children. When we are "On" we will be very busy, caring for the needs of the 8-10 children, filing paperwork, cleaning and trying to show love.

We are BEYOND excited for this opportunity. We have been praying since we met for the chance to work together. Everything about this next step was very guided by the Lord. Not only do we get to do ministry, but we will get paid for what we do and not need to spend time fundraising. We anticipate this to be a difficult transition, with many days of stress and tears. But, we feel called and able to do this.

This blog will follow our journey. I hope to use it as a place to process my thoughts. To share and update those of you who want to know what we are doing. While our physical address will soon change, our love for friends and family will stay the same. We will need your relationship just as deeply when we leave as when we are near. Please stay in contact with us. Read my blog, call us on the phone, or if you wish, come visit!

The Why

      When were first met, Austin and I were linked on one thing: We wanted to do youth ministry together. We both cared deeply about kids and youth who were under privileged, marginalized, unloved or tossed away. I have always dreamed of opening my own community center, Austin has goals of bringing mental health awareness to the church.

      We have both had Social Work as a degree in our line of focus at some point and are both passionate about social justice. I have spent the last five years working at a community center and with children who have behavioral and developmental needs. Austin got his youth ministry degree and has spent the last year and a half working for a non-profit with youth who have behavioral needs. We know that this population can be challenging. We have been cursed out, spit at, bit, had objects thrown at us, publicly humiliated and felt extremely defeated; yet when we come home from our daily jobs, we still find stories to tell each other that make us laugh until our ribs hurt. We know that we have been gifted and strengthened to do this sort of work well.

     During our initial interview, we were asked "Why Florida? Why do you want to move all the way here?" Our response? "Why not?"

     We have nothing holding us back, we have no mortgage, no pets, no plans in cement. As we have begun to share with people what is next, the most common thing we hear is "This is the perfect time in your life to do this!" And we agree.