The REAL Christmas Story

I Interviewed a Guest-Family the other day

As soon as the female walks through my door, I can tell she is pregnant.  She introduces me to her "fiance" (they all introduce their boyfriends as fiances so as to make the most positive impression), and tells me they are from out of town.

 I discover after much probing the baby she is carrying is not her fiance's, but never really understand her explanation of who the baby actually belongs to--she says it is a miracle baby but it sounds more like a one-night stand to me.  She is very pregnant, which means she won't be able to get a job for at least 2-3 months.   The government required them to move here; at least, that is what she tells me.   We talk for over an hour but I still don't fully understand the justification behind that explanation either.

They both claim they need shelter and have to be in town through the Christmas season, but do not plan on staying.  They do have relatives in the area, but the relatives have a full house because of Christmas and can only offer them the barn they have out back.

Do I go through the expense of drug testing these people?  Are they right for our program?  Can we manage all the inconvenience of admitting them the week of Christmas?  How will the Host Congregations handle them?  Will the present a positive image for our program, successfully graduating and showing the community we are a legitimate organization?  Will they just leave for another state when their 30 day time is up?  Will their relatives really make them stay in the barn?

Growing up I was always taught that the birth of Jesus was a regal, stately, earth-shattering, come-from-all-corners-of-the-earth-to-celebrate event.  After all, prophets and sooth-sayers travel from halfway around the world to present three of the most valuable commodities known in the Ancient Near-Eastern world to this young infant.  King Herod has an entire city of infants massacred in an attempt to destroy the future "King of the Jews" before he ever comes to power.  The Hebrew Scriptures even predict where this great king will be born, and the stars across the Universe align themselves to confirm the location.

In our modern picture of Christmas, a well-adjusted stable two-parent family gathers in suitable housing together for a meal and the exchange of gifts.  In the real Biblical account, an unwed mother and her "fiance" experience the birthing process far from hospital or mid-wife, with only dirty, smelly animals and shepherds around to witness the event.  Their biggest struggle in the next three to six months is not which gifts to return or which items of clothing don't fit; they are forced to flee to a foreign country as aliens and strangers, probably struggling to keep shelter over their heads and food in their stomachs, while the unwieldy powers of the world unleash unfathomable genocide on the "one-stoplight" town of Bethlehem.

My would-be guests applying for shelter paint a much more realistic picture of Christmas in my opinion than do our cultural stereotypes.  Mary and Joseph are displaced from their home town by no fault of their own--the government orders it.  They are a pregnant engaged couple and the story they tell about the pregnancy being a miracle of God is just as much a "hard sale" then as it would be today.

While parts of the Biblical narrative (specifically Matthew's gospel) locate the theological significance of the birth of the Kingly Christ in the universal, stately history of kingdom and crown, we should never forget the earthy, true-to-life picture from the eyes of Mary and Joseph.  My Sunday School teachers sold me Matthew's kingly political account growing up, but after experiencing a few Christmas celebrations in the real world, I find the earthly view from the perspective of Joseph and Mary much closer to my own experience of God choosing to bestow grace in the strangest, most back-water places.  May we all have the wisdom and the commitment to look for that grace in out of the way places and situations this Advent Season.

Grace & Peace
Mark

A Place Worth Staying Forever

One of our younger guests came in the other day and presented me a list.  He had a very serious look on his face, as if this list he was handing me was a life or death matter.  He gave me time to examine the list and then with a more excited tone he asked me, "Mr. Mark, do we go to any of these churches?"

As I looked over the list, I noticed that he had written down several of his classmates' names and beside them he had made notes about where each classmate went to church.  There were several churches listed, three of which serve as Family Promise Host churches.

"Yes," I said with a smile, "there are three churches on this list that host for Family Promise."

"Great!" he said jumping up and down, "which one will we go to next?  I can't wait to see my friends at church!"

On another occasion, this same young boy was sitting on the couch next to his mother and upon discussing holiday plans he said, "Mom, I hope we can stay in Family Promise forever."  Quite taken aback, his mother replied: "Forever?!  Oh, I hope not!  I want to be in our own place by Christmas!"

"But mom," the boy replied, "they are so nice here!"

It is often interesting to view life and institutions through the eyes of a child.  This particular child has had his share of life challenges, few of them his own making.  In his eyes, Family Promise and the congregations that partner with us are places where friends can be found and people can be trusted--a place worth staying forever.

I am so proud to be a part of an organization that gives children hope for the future, that teaches them there are people who care; there are people who can be trusted.  For some children, their upbringing teaches them a perception of the world that suggests no one can be trusted, and that the world is full of people who do not care about them or their future.  Once those children become adults, it is so much harder to change their perspective; but, if you can give them even a glimmer of alternatives to the circumstances in which they live, it stays with them a long time--it becomes a touchstone of sorts--something they can look back on and remember.  How different would your life be if you grew up believing safe places and trustworthy people simply didn't exist?

The Day I almost Cut My Nose Off

I had no idea when Friday October 15 started I would wind up in the Emergency Room.  I knew it would be a busy day.  A group of Army Reservists from our local unit here in Anderson were headed to the Day Center to help underbrush our back fence line.  They did an excellent job.  By now you are probably thinking my injury must have come from some chain saw accident, or maybe a limb falling on my head, or perhaps I tried to pick my nose with a pair of hedge trimmers.  All of those would be fairly expected answers--but of course life is much more comical than that.

 Ryan Smith, our Guest Advocate here at Family Promise was helping me pick up our Network trailer so we could move some furniture that was graciously donated by Anderson University.  Since we had so many strong, capable Reservists on location, we decided it was the perfect time to move this furniture.  Now you might be thinking maybe somehow the trailer door hit me in the face, or maybe some large piece of furniture I was lifting popped me as I picked it up.  You would be wrong again.

Arriving at the Day Center with our first big trailer load of furniture, I stepped into the garage to make room for our massive furniture hall (50 dressers, over 100 place servings donated by Amark--massive is not an overstatement).  Several wood slats and a bed rail were standing up in a corner and a few had fallen down to the floor--conspicuously in the way.  I bent down to stack them back in the corner and before I knew it BAM!  here came a very heavy antique bed rail with a metal hook on the end right for my nose.  Ouch!

Before I could react I began to see drops of blood on the floor.  I lifted my hand from my nose--full of blood.  I went into the bathroom and grabbed a towel, wiped the blood from my nose and looked in the mirror.  I looked somewhat--no--I looked EXACTLY like Jack Nicholson after his knife fight in the move Chinatown.  I walked out of the bathroom, and not wanting to panic our guests, asked Ryan to take a look. 

"Uh, yeah, that's gonna need stitches," he said with this strange mix of "what in the world happened to you" and "boy are you clutsy" look on his face.  So, Charmian (our van driver) loaded me into our van and drove toward the Emergency Room.  This is where it gets interesting.

As we rode down Greenville Street and turned onto Fant my mind began to race: "who will take care of overseeing the furniture move?  How will the Reservists know what to cut and how far to trim everything back?  Who will oversee the guests while I am gone?  How are the Reservists going to get their Chik-fil-A lunches if I don't go and pick them up?"  My mind continued to race as I held the bloody rag on my nose.

If you have not yet had an experience in the Anderson Hospital's ER--you should try it--just not on weekends, late evenings, or during the day.  Like many things in Anderson, the speed and quality of your service depends on your DNA and on your circle of friends.  Luckily, Charmian knew someone who happened to be working at the time so I got in quickly.  Then I proceeded to lay on a gurney for approximately 30 minutes, which was more than enough time to continue my mental tirade.

As my mind continued to construct doomsday scenarios about my absence from the Day Center, a quiet thought began to whisper in my mind: "do you really think the world will stop turning without you?"  At first I ignored the whisper knowing that there was just no possible way this Friday, October 15 could go on at the Day Center without me personally there holding it all together.

Imagine my surprise when Ryan swung by over four hours later and picked me and my newly stitched nose up outside the ER--and no one was hurt, no trees had crashed down on the Day Center, no fingers or appendages had been hacked off in a blatant disregard for safety, and catastrophe (so far as I could tell) had not destroyed the day.  When we pulled into the driveway, all 50 dressers, along with several other loads of furniture were tightly and neatly stacked in the garage.  It was as if everything had gone exactly according to plan and I wasn't even there to execute it.

To this day Ryan is convinced my wound was self-inflicted--the only way I knew I wouldn't have to move furniture and yard debris all day.  I, on the other hand, am a bit disappointed that my absence was essentially unnoticed and everything ran just fine without me.  Of all the dangerous things I have done in my life, I never expected something so trivial as a bed rail would bestow upon me the worst physical injury I have suffered to date--9 stitches in all.  I certainly never expected a day so packed with activity and "organizational challenge" to turn out so well without me.

I am convinced God is the ultimate Humorist.  Life has a way of being so painfully ironic at times you have no other choice but to laugh and go on.  I hate to ask for help.  I despise having to organize and plan just so a large group of people can show up and mess up all your planning.  I prefer to just do it myself--if you want it done right do it yourself. 

This reminds me of Abraham's attempts to fulfill God's promises his own way--first by questioning them away, then by using Sarah's maidservent Hagar in a haphazard attempt to make practical God's unbelievable claims.  Finally, after much drama and intrigue, the son is born--his name--"laughing boy."  But the story of "laughing boy" doesn't end there.  This same ironic twist at the end of Sarah and Abraham's life would be placed on an altar, ready to be sacrificed to God by Abraham at God's command.  But Abraham has learned not to work things out his own way this time, and his son is spared.  Thus an everlasting covenant is made between God and Abraham.

So God is teaching me that this Family Promise thing is bigger than me.  It has to be--that is the way God designed it.  We all have to do this thing together.  If you are unwilling to ask for help, watch out for those bed rails.  If you get a call from me asking for your help, you'll know I've decided I'd like to keep my nose on my face.

Grace & Peace,

Mark

Family Promise of Anderson County: Homeless 4 Homeless Box City 2010

Family Promise of Anderson County: Homeless 4 Homeless Box City 2010: "The Night I Spent Sleeping in a Box. . . So Family Promise of Anderson County has an event every year to raise money for our program. The ..."

Homeless 4 Homeless Box City 2010

The Night I Spent Sleeping in a Box. . .

So Family Promise of Anderson County has an event every year to raise money for our program.  The idea is you pay 30 bucks to become homeless for one night.  Now, of course it isn't really as hard as the real experience--usually lots of friends are there doing it with you and few actually "sleep."  Still, the experience provides several teachable moments for anyone who is open to them.


Registration began at 6pm and my poor son Jackson had to go to the doctor Friday morning because he had strep throat.  So I arrive around 4pm way behind with lots of things to get done before the event even begins.  I make small-talk with our board--many of whom had been there since just after lunch setting up.  I drag my boxes to a spot that looks good, flat, and comfortable.  I pile my stuff there and return to role of Network Director making sure everyone has everything, knows where to go and what to do.


At 8:30pm we hold a service--a strange mixture of education, worship, and challenge  (mental note: gotta get a more consistent theme for next year).  David Neece from Anderson University did a wonderful job putting together a band that, by the end of the night, literally blew a circuit breaker they played so well (yes, literally).  Dawna Harrison from Faces of Homelessness shared with everyone a bit of her experience, how many of us tend to stereotype homeless people, and then a former graduate of T.L. Hanna shared about her drug-induced  journey from a good middle class upbringing to staying in the Salvation Army shelter.  She also shared how she got back from there, and emphasized how important it was for her journey to have those helping agencies there for support.


The crowds then went back to building their box cities, and I spent some time in the lounge chair I had strategically remembered to bring at the last minute.  Many of our volunteers who had been there since noon left, the band loaded up their equipment, people stacked chairs, and things began to wind down.  Kids behind my box were playing football and another group was playing soccer.


As I looked around I actually thought, "Hey, this isn't so bad, I just might be able to do this."  Then I thought about my family.  I could probably live in a box if I had to--if I was alone.  But being a father and a husband--that would make being homeless a lot tougher.  All the challenges of living hand to mouth with no place to call "home" would be all the more amplified with 3 other individuals (2 of them children) I feel responsible to care for.  I thought about the affect this would have on my self-esteem--"I can't even take care of my family" a voice would echo in my head (another mental note: what a teachable event for families to experience together, we need to invite more families next year).


Then it came time to turn out the lights and lay down.  My so-called "flat, comfortable" spot turned out to have a hump of dirt right where I had planned to sleep--so I spent the night on a dirt hump that, despite my best efforts, could not be ignored.  After the lights went out around 12:30 (some poor girl kept coming up to me saying, "when are you going to turn the lights out, I'm tired1") things got fairly quiet.  In all the merriment I think the brutal fact that "we are sleeping in boxes" was mostly avoided.  Several groups did a wonderful job decorating their boxes, bringing in blow-up palm trees, lights, adding graffiti to their box, and even building a box "cul-de-sac."

But as things got quiet, I think it began to sink in.  For a night, it was something most of us survived.  But what if a night turned into a week?  A month?  A year?  Anderson County identified right at 500 homeless school children in districts 1-5 last year.  Some stayed with relatives, some moved from friend to friend, some slept in cars, some stayed in tents on land that wasn't theirs. 

At 5:00 am I gave up and declared the hump the victor.  I spent some time with several youth from Boulevard Baptist who had stayed up all night, only to fall asleep outside at 5:00 am.  Breakfast followed not long after--wonderful chicken biscuits from Chick-Fil-A, homemade grits, milk, juice, the works.  Boy, did that taste good.  Andrew Gibson from the Lot Project came and spoke that morning and I spent the majority of the morning talking with him and Nick Pratt from bocim.org, "dreaming big" about what we learned about homelessness and how we can do better next year.

Later that morning, after everyone else left, I spent most of the day hauling all the cardboard from the box city to our recycling center-- it took me 3 trips!  As I loaded the crushed and broken-down boxes on the truck, I thought about all the people who attended, and hoped that they learned something about what it might be like to be homeless.

We raised close to $3,000 for Family Promise, but most importantly, I think we challenged people to be aware of the plight of the homeless.  We forget about how difficult that might be.  I think of the scene from The Blind Side where Leigh Anne Touhy invites Michael Oher into his new  bedroom and after an approving smile he says, "I've never had one before."

"What your own room?" Leigh Anne asks, "No, a bed." Michael replies.  It is at that moment Leigh Anne realizes just how much she has been given, and that making room in her over-sized McMansion was a very small sacrifice compared to what Michael Oher faced in his life.

In the end, our program is about the kids.  Regardless of their parents' decisions--good and bad, the kids have never been given an option.  The children in our program never got to choose their circumstances, and the small sacrifices we make to show them there are people who care doesn't compare to what they have sacrificed already in their little time on this planet.

Grace & Peace,
Mark A. Wise
Network Director
Family Promise of Anderson County