It happens each year. First there is a knock on the door and then the boxes of Christmas presents are delivered. It is a God-send. Sometime around Thanksgiving the children come home from school and start to tell all who will listen what they want for Christmas. Just like every other child, they want what they see on TV. They write and rewrite letters to Santa, they sit on Santa's lap, and they don't hesitate to tell Santa what they want. The excitement builds until Christmas day. Meanwhile the mom has to sign up for gifts, bringing in the necessary documents to be sure they qualify. She leaves the names and ages of the children and she knows that by Christmas every child will have a gift under the tree. It may not be exactly what they asked for but there will be something. Year after year, while others are waiting in line to buy their presents, the "underresourced" wait in line for the "free stuff". The "free stuff" has been given by generous people who want to make a difference. It is a year in the making: dolls cleaned up, dressed and hair fixed, games sorted to be sure all the pieces are in place, stuffed animals washed and cleaned. It is all good stuff....really good stuff. It is much needed and much appreciated. When the children open their packages on Christmas Day, the excitement increases as they rip open one package after another. Their house is filled with joy! Well, almost.

The man of the house sits on the couch and watches his children open the packages. He senses their joy. He helps them put together the gifts they just opened. He enters into the fun, pitching the ball back and forth with his small daughter. He is thankful for the help. However, his stomach aches, and what is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year is awful to him. It is a yearly reminder that he doesn't make enough to provide for his children. He thinks of himself as less than a man. When the children start talking about Christmas he thinks, "No, not again". He works every day but the $5.15 he makes an hour ($180.00 per week take home pay) barely keeps food on the table. The odd jobs in the evening keep him away from his kids, but at least he is able to buy them shoes. Christmas comes and reality hits him: he will never make too much more than he makes now. It is the same year after year.

He keeps a folder in his sock drawer where he places his pay stubs, his monthly bills, along with the family's birth certificates and social security cards. He keeps everything together so his wife can easily grab it: the folder is her ticket to secure "free" school supplies, "free" school clothing, "free" food from the local food pantries and “free" Christmas presents. He knows nothing is "free". On the day the toys are delivered, he stays in the bathroom out of sight. He tries to keep some of his pride and reminds himself that everything that is "free" costs something. He learned long ago that "pride" is a small price to pay to see the joy on his children’s faces. On Christmas Day he is thankful, thankful for the gifts that his children are enjoying, and thankful that Christmas comes only once a year.

*This is a composite of many stories I have heard over the past year. Someone told me about the folder in the sock drawer, another told me how her boyfriend hides in the bathroom when the gifts arrive. Others have shared their difficulty of working for minimum wage. The elements in this story are true, but the family is fictional.

It is the time of the month that makes me sad. For most of those on the porches it is a relief. It is the first day of the month. The money has arrived. For families who have had little to nothing for the past ten days, the first could not come soon enough. Some young men in the neighborhood refer to this day as “Mother’s Day” (the day that mothers get paid). It is the day when most will live a normal middle-class life: minutes are added to pre-paid phones, personal hygiene items are purchased, McDonald’s Happy Meals and pizza arrive, and other “normal” things are obtained. The part that makes me sad is seeing - - - tickets littering the alley. I’m not worried so much about the litter; it is the thought of spending money trying to win their way out of poverty. I personally have not met a “winner”. I am sad when I see the big cars with tinted windows, usually from out of state, driving slowly up and down the street. I am sad because I know that in about eight to ten days “normal” life will have slipped through the hands of many of my neighbors.

However, what saddens me most is what “Mother’s Day” does to little boys and men. Absent fathers seem to be the norm in our neighborhood and for many in poverty. There are only a few positive father figures in the lives of most of the children. All children, but especially boys, need a male to look up to, to mentor them, and to help them figure out what it means to be a man. s are able look at their mothers to learn about women; yet they too, are lost on what real men are like. It is not that the mothers don’t try to be mom and dad, they try hard. However, when most the other boys have their dads at a scout meeting, fishing clinics, or coaching little league, a mom just isn’t the same. Boys growing up in this culture experience shame and humiliation, from other boys. Eventually, because some of these boys grow up without the positive discipline and example of a father, they can become angry and violent. Their lives are not like the other children in school. Even in families where there is divorce, there are often weekend visits, child support, birthday gifts, and Christmas presents. Intact families usually fare better.

When boys grow up with too much time on their hands, they get into trouble. They often find that cigarettes, , alcohol, and make them feel like real men. Run-ins with the law and jail time are common. As a young with little education, having not learned about work, and with little skill - - - options become limited. Some will end up homeless, living on the street. Others have no option but to move back in with their mother or someone else’s mother, which means that many men live with single moms and their kids, trying to be a “father” but really not knowing how. I wonder if the cycle can be broken. I wonder if we in the church spend more time caring for our buildings than we do building into someone else’s life. I know that all is not lost as I do know many good fathers and have met some remarkable single fathers in our neighborhood. I know of at least three; I will post their stories later.

Scott

The large shiny cross necklace hung around his neck. It seemed so big for such a little guy. He was being held by his father who, by the way, had on the same kind of necklace. Scott is a single dad raising a nearly two-year-old boy. They both look alike, dark crew cut hair, same eyes, nose, and sheepish grin. Scott also has a daughter. His daughter lives with his wife and his son lives with him. Scott’s tattooed arms, goatee, the bling of his jewelry, and his dark clothing make it obvious that he is not a “Ward Cleaver” kind of Dad. Those who don’t know him might never guess it, but he did more than father a child. He is a dad, one of the best I have seen. He pulls his son in a red wagon all over the neighborhood. Scott is a quiet man, sticking near his apartment, full of wisdom, and seems to be making good decisions. He holds his son with pride; he loves him unconditionally. He strives to do what is right. He protects him from the harsh realities of life that sometimes surface in the neighborhood. He spends all of his spare time with his son. He is the kind of dad that every child longs for, a dad who is building a child who will grow into a man who will respect others and be a man of integrity.

Joey

Sitting on the step of her apartment is a beautiful black-haired wearing a frilly white dress. She had been watching me knock on all the doors of the apartment building. As I came to her house, she informed me that her father was home and it was OK to knock. I knocked on the door and he opened the door. I explained that I was collecting food for Katrina hurricane victims to be loaded on a truck and sent to Mississippi. He invited me in; his apartment was neat and his kitchen was clean. He opened his cabinets and began to pull out food, a can of beans, some corn, and a dented can of tomato paste. He gave me all that he could spare. In our conversation, I learned that he worked at a meat-processing company about twenty-five miles away. He thanked me when I told him he had a beautiful daughter. He looked so young. I took a bold step, asked his age, learning he was twenty-three years old. When I asked about his daughter, he proudly told me that she was six. I’m not too good at math but twenty-three minus six leaves seventeen. A seventeen-year-old with a child. I had trouble imagining that. He then told me that he had raised her by himself since his daughter was a baby. I immediately asked if he diapered her, feed her, and bathed her. “Of course”, was his answer. “If not me then who?” He explained that the ’s mother abandoned them and he doesn’t know where she is. He tried to stay in high school, work, and raise a child on his own. That didn’t work well so he quit school. He, too, is a good dad, who is concerned with his daughter. When gas prices got too high, he collected soda cans at the cook-outs. Times are very hard, yet he works everyday. He worries about raises, because it causes his rent to increase. He tries to get ahead but he soon finds himself behind. He is often tempted to give up, but he goes on for only one reason…..his daughter.

Marcos

Marcos was living the All American Dream. He and his wife are college-educated, were holding down good jobs, living in a middle-class neighborhood, in a nice house, driving nice cars, living a good life. They had two sons who could easily pass as twins. Everything was going well until the older one contracted cancer. The strain of doctor appointments, hospital stays, and chemo treatments became so difficult that the marriage fell apart. It was so stressful his wife disappeared, and there is little contact with her. Marcos had to quit his job in order to drive his son to Indianapolis several times during the week for treatment. He soon lost everything and was forced to move out of his house into public housing. He had no idea that he would lose it all. Marcos is a single father who refuses to give up. He keeps moving forward. He scrapes each month to provide his boys with the necessities of life. His sons are polite, well groomed, yet all boy. Marcos is always positive. His great love for his children caused him to sacrifice, not just some things but everything. By the way, his son is in remission.

I was driving through a nearby town on the way to a meeting, had some time to spare and stopped at an old downtown, run down, thrift store. It almost looked closed as it was dark inside. I guess they were trying to save electricity. I enjoy going to old downtown stores to view turn-of-the-century architectural elements. I love it when the wooden floors creak under my feet, and I can gaze at the high tin ceilings. From the outside it looked like I hit pay dirt. As I approached the door the first thing I saw was a sign. We've all seen signs in stores and in churches; usually they have kind of adouble meaning. The sign on the door said, “Cash Only" (which really means too many bad checks and you can't get credit). "OK, fine", I think "I've got a five". The next sign I encounteredsaid, "Children must be controlled by parents" (that really means you're a bad parent and your children are brats). MMMMM" As I turned around I saw another one, "You break it you buy it (don't touch our stuff; it was donated to us and is very, very valuable)." The signs got stronger the farther I moved into the store, "DON'T ASK US TO MARK ANYTHING DOWN!!!!! (we can't help it if you don't have the money)”. Soon it seemed like all I saw were signs, “No public restrooms" (we have restrooms but not for you, you might get them dirty or something). "All shirts $2.00 except on this rack, priced as marked (we save the nicer stuff for those who really don't have to shop here). As I left, there was a sign at the cash register that said, "No refunds!!!!!" and right below it said, "Jesus loves you and so do we" (sure you do).

One of the challenges of working with the under-resourced is to care and help without it becoming a degrading experience for both of us. When we give to those who do not have, we can give in a way that sends a message, "this is for you but you have nothing of value to offer to me". The givers often feels like they are intruding into the private lives of those who have trouble caring for themselves, and it is uncomfortable. The receiver is exposed and vulnerable. Of course we can't stop giving, helping, and showing compassion. Perhaps the whole system needs to be rethought. What would happen if the large number of retired baby boomers who have business sense were to help folks start small businesses? What would happen if church benevolence funds were given to fund the endeavor? Perhaps experienced folks could share their expertise with those who would like to move from life "sustaining" jobs to life "giving" jobs.
Could communities be transformed by providing day-care centers, janitorial help, window washing, roofing, yard care, small grocery stores, or even thrift shops that would be owned or at least managed by and employ folks who need jobs that will give some self esteem?

Maybe the sign we as Christians put up says, "We care for you". Do we care for you (meet your needs) or care for you (love enough to become involved in a life working side by side to improve a family's lot)? Maybe we do both, meet needs while enabling those in poverty to fulfill their calling. Jesus' sign says, "I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly". (John 10:10) Maybe that is our calling - - - to help people not just survive life but to have it more abundantly.

*Recently, I read a book called, Theirs is the Kingdom by Robert Lupton, (San Francisco: Harper Publishing, 1989) in it is a chapter about church signs (pp 48-50), it reminded me of my experience in a Thrift shop that I visited while traveling some years ago.

I was just beginning to write about Josh when he rang my doorbell. He needed to borrow an extension cord to work on his car. Josh and I talk a lot. He has shared his life with me, much of it dark and depressing - - - abuse, drugs, jail, and only he and God know what else. I remember seeing Josh move his girlfriend and her three children into the apartment right across the street from me. For some reason, right from the start we hit it off. Josh and I talked one night about what it would mean if he married his girlfriend. We talked and after a bit I told him that if he got a marriage license I would perform a wedding ceremony. One night the doorbell rang and it was Josh with a marriage license in his hand. I knew a wedding would happen before the day was out. At first it was going to be in our backyard but soon it was moved into the church. While those on the porch helped the bride get ready, my son and I prepared a "surprise" reception. We bought a cake, iced down some sodas, and found a card table and tablecloth. The day before someone had given us some plastic ware wrapped in a napkin and tied with a brightly colored ribbon. At the agreed-upon time, we went into the church and they were married. They celebrated all the way home. My son and I quickly set up the reception in his front yard. As my son and I slid into the shadows, we saw the neighbors join the celebration. Cake was cut, cokes were shared, and congratulations were heard all around the neighborhood.

Josh will tell you he struggles. Money doesn't come easily for him. He makes his money selling blood plasma, making $200.00 per month if he goes twice a week. He worries about his family and sometimes wonders where the money he needs will come from. He finally got a break; he enlisted in the National Guard, working very hard to complete all the requirements that are needed to get in. He and his wife have both secured jobs. He is working on his car to get it ready to go to work. His wife will drive to work. He will ride a bike to his new job. Josh is generous; he has helped me many times, mowing the grass, unloading cars and trucks that often show up at the church filled with donations, sorting clothing, and loading trucks with stuff that will be given out throughout the neighborhood. His wife works right along beside him. I have a great deal of respect for Josh. He really wants to do the right things, support his family, and be happy. He often struggles, has doubts, and is tempted to go backwards. Josh can have a temper; his wife sometimes says she has four kids as Josh is bouncing off the wall again. Each day my respect grows. When I look at Josh I see a man who is not afraid to take chances, does not easily give up, a hard worker, and a man of his word. Josh is a great example of what can happen when given a second chance. After all, isn't that what Christmas is all about? It is about a God who loves us so much that he is willing to give the world another chance to know him. Jesus was sent into the world not to condemn the world but to give the world another chance. What a gift - - - another chance. And there is more: God gives us a third, fourth, fifth, hundredth, or even a millionth chance. Just like Josh.

A fourteen year old boy runs up to me, saying, "Pastor Jeff, Pastor Jeff, guess what?

"What", I respond.

"My mom got her tax check" the boy replied.

"What did you do?", I asked.

"You won't believe this, you just won't believe this", the boy said, " I had the best night of my life last night".

"What did you do" I replied impatiently.

The boy responded with great excitement, "My mom took us to Mc Donalds. You won't believe this part, Pastor Jeff, she bought me two Big Macs, a large fry and a coke. Me, my brother, my sister, and my mom sat around a table for over an hour eating and drinking all the coke we wanted. We laughed and joked and had a good time. I will never forget that as long as I live. The last time I was at Mc Donalds I had a Happy Meal, I think I was 5 or 6 years old."

All I could say was, "Wow", as I remembered going through the drive-thru yesterday, scarfing down a sandwich and stuffing the paper under the seat of my car. This young man has more than he knows.