WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 21, 2009 “ Where does the rubber hit the road?"
Each year Belinda writes the “Feed Your Brian” grant. To date the Yakama Christian Mission (YCM) is the only organization that has received this grant every year since its inception! Moreover, YCM is one of only five organizations who were approved to receive the “Feed Your Brian” grant for the next three years without writing a new request every year! But you might ask, “What does this mean, practically? Where does the rubber hit the road?” Years ago, Belinda started asking local teachers what matters in a summer program. One response that came up repeatedly went something like this… Between the time children leave school in June and return the first of September they lose up to one grade of literacy. Loss of literacy over the summer is not uncommon in school districts across the country and is why the first two to three school weeks often have “catch up” time built into the curriculum. However, in our community this “catch up” time too often takes longer. What would be helpful, what would make a difference in the lives of our youth, is to find a way for youth to maintain the literacy and eliminate the yearly recurring “catch up” time. Finding a way to keep the youth’s literacy maintained over the summer called for an integrated approach. By collaborating with the Mount Adams School District, the Yakama Christian Mission provided field trips to the McAllister Museum of Aviation, the Yakima Valley Museum, the Yakama Nation Museum, and the Wild Horse Wind Farm. Trips like these tie children and youth to the land and to internal desires to make a difference in their landscape and community. These trips also instill an understanding they are unique persons in this world and what they think, what they say, and who they are, matter. Field trips don’t stand-alone though. Summer teachers and interns work hard to find opportunities to tie these adventures to the “Feed Your Brian” grant. The base of this grant is to have youth read every day. Sometimes they read quietly to themselves. Sometimes a summer teacher reads to them. Some children cannot read, so older youth read to them. Every day, time is taken to listen, read, and talk about what was read and heard. Formally and through crafts children write as well. They write on paper, or on leafs, or on bark; regardless the material, they express their five, ten, or twelve-year-old thoughts. Nurtured and quietly requested, summer teachers and interns help children find ties to the last field trip, and express those thoughts creatively through writing and art. So, where does the rubber hit the road? Last summer’s literacy statistics are now available. The youth attending the Yakama Christian Mission’s Summer Fun Program averaged as follows: Entering the 2009/2010 school year, 50% of the children maintained their literacy level from last year, and 50% of the children raised their literacy level by one grade! (This comes on the heels of last year where YMC’s stats were 46% maintained and 54% increased a grade level.) There is never just one thing that makes a difference in a child’s life during the summer. These statistics only occur by partnering and being in relationship with many. The school district is one of those partners and so are you! The work of the Yakama Christian Mission is not done in a vacuum, but by collaborating with many people and organizations. The successes of YCM are the success of many! So, where does the rubber hit the road, today? We can use your help going into 2010. We not only want to maintain our successes but we want to build on them. We dream of having a year-round literacy program. First though, is to maintain what we are doing—the Summer Fun Program. This time of year means it is time for many of us (YCM, individuals, congregations, regions, and organizations) to budget for the next year. As you consider next year’s budget please remember the wellbeing of our communities are tied to the literacy of our youth and the Yakama Christian Mission is not only working hard to make literacy an actuality, it is doing it! I am requesting your consideration that as you develop your 2010 budget to please include the Yakama Christian Mission within it. And if you have already done that, thank you!, and would you please consider an increase? During these economic times, some donors experienced a need to tighten their budgets, which has made a difference to the Mission’s donated income. If you can lay a little more rubber on the road today, it will make a difference in the lives of children and youth! ______________________________________________ |
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SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 2009 “Wouldn’t be nice to have folk who simply live with others in time of hurt?"
Seems to me it makes sense that when a person hurts it is good to have someone around for them to talk to or even just sit quietly with. If one is dying, wouldn’t it nice to have a social worker around to help them live into death? Or if one’s friend has died from cancer, wouldn’t it be helpful for them to have a pastor, imam, rabbi, or (insert your faith leader) to talk about the ache that comes with loss? Wouldn’t be nice to have folk who simply live with others in time of hurt? Caring for others in times of emotional, mental, or spiritual hurt seems as something that would benefit the whole community. Yet, healthy community, for me, is lying more in the realm of hope these days than actualization. For as I look around I find that we, as community, still stand far from a collective understanding that society is better off if all people, regardless of race, creed, education, or economics, are cared for in times of physical suffering. And if we can’t get to a place of caring for others when they physically hurt, then caring for their/our emotional, mental, or spiritual hurt exists a long way down the road. I wonder, in whose generation—my children’s, my children’s children?—will we, the community, come to understand that when we use our resources in favor of caring for the wellbeing of all people, everyone is the healthier for it? ______________________________________________ |
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TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 2009 “Don’t get me wrong. The folks here, all the folks, are hurting."
September 8, 2009 The Disciples Volunteering team I came with to Eagle was the last organization to arrive in Eagle to work on flood recovery. Which means relief work began just a little more than sixty days prior to our arrival. Goes to show there is a very short time to repair, rebuild, and build new homes from the ground up in a landscape where winter is never all that far away. Because we are the last to arrive we are working on constructing the homes whom society places last. The owners of the two homes we are trying to build are folk who struggle more than others—folk like me—to participate within societal structure. Since society has structured itself for the benefit of a specific culture and way of being, some—the poor and oppressed—are the last served in times of hardship. One might think that at least the folks are getting homes built. However, in a community where it can take weeks to have goods delivered it means the basics needed for construction are long gone in the construction of the homes of the wealthy. As a result, basic needs of construction, like nails, are not readily found. Rather construction is a game of seeking and then more seeking. Moving from one site to the next, talking with others who are also building in the community, bartering, is how many materials are obtained. In times and places like this the construction of a home, certainly the last homes to be built, is a communal effort. Today the only chance of completing the last two homes needing construction in this community is through the help of others whose commitment is to the hurting. Two groups in particular from the “outside,” who are giving advice and resources are Mennonite Disaster Services and Samaritans Purse. Only through working and partnering with community will homes be ready for habitation by the time snow and temperature fall. September 3, 2009 Don’t get me wrong. The folks here, all the folks, are hurting. In the hurt, though, there is a telling aspect of our society. Talking with others whose life is spent working with folks affected by disaster I hear this characteristic of society is the norm of their lives—the last will be last and the first will be first. In other words, the poor and oppressed of disaster communities are the last served. The seventeen people who arrived in Eagle with Katherine and I, have committed to construct two homes (small homes…16’ wide, 20’ long with an 8’ porch) during the last two weeks of our time here. We recognize this commitment isn’t only for ourselves, but rather on behalf of our greater community—the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), our friends, and our families. Not so much because they have asked us, but because these are the communities from which we come. These communities have defined who we are. They have helped develop our mindsets, and our beliefs. What we do and how we think is a reflection of living and being raised in these communities. Committing to strive to construct two homes in two weeks stems from the hope and care instilled within this small community of nineteen through the culture of the communities in which we live. A core belief carried by many of the nineteen arises from the faith of their culture. A faith that has settled into their being a conviction the unhurt should alleviate (or at least try to alleviate) the hurt those who suffer, the oppressed should be set free, and the bonds of injustice removed. The desire to alleviate hurt is almost tactile. For one of faith, it is near impossible to watch another suffer and do nothing. Flooding and the loss of clothing, homes, pictures, a child’s bike, pushes at the gut and calls one to do something, anything, to bring forth the health—whatever that health may have been—of yesterday. Yet one quickly realizes that while the work of alleviating the suffering of another after a flood is a struggle, freeing the oppressed and loosing the bonds of injustice is a brawl between faith and the existing reality of society. Faith calls for a caring, an equal caring, of all people. However society is structured in a manner that places myself and the poor at odds with one another. This is to say, society has created a system where I and those who are most like me are served first while those with less are served last. Time and again the first homes rebuilt, the first cared for, are the homes of folk who look most like me. As homes have been built in this community I have come to see that the homes of people who are most like me are the first to be rebuilt, while the homes of those who struggled deeply prior to the flood are the last to be rebuilt. Talking with others who have done this work before in other places of disaster—tornados, earthquakes, hurricanes—acknowledge it is always the wealthy and middle-class whose homes and business are rebuilt first. Recognizing the system of relief is developed, funded, and implemented by the wealthy and middle-class; it isn’t surprising they are the first who receive care. After all, those who are most like me, understand the processes to receive the monies and the help needed to recover. I know how to fill out a form (FEMA or otherwise), meet a deadline, and read between the lines and say what needs to be said to receive the bureaucracies help. Like I said…Don’t get me wrong. The folks here, all the folks, are hurting. I am not trying to indict the wealthy of this community or any other who has seen and experience devastation. Rather to say the poor and oppressed are the poor and oppressed in good times and bad. They are the last to receive. They are the last to become whole. Therefore it seems worthy of our time to reconsider who is the first for care…the wealthy or the poor…and consider how to restructure emergency help in such a manner all are served equally. September 2, 2009 I’m told that there is a loss of seven minutes of daylight each day in Eagle. Seven minutes of daylight is a lot of daylight. Since I arrived, therefore, the loss of daylight has been about an hour and a half! A telling effect of the loss is the color in the trees. As we spent the two days driving from Anchorage to Eagle there was a bit of color in the hills and mountains. Mostly, though, the trees and shrubs had loss much of their bright green and moved towards that subdued green that comes just before a leaf walks away from its color of birth towards the bright, rich colors of wisdom before letting go and returning to the soil of origin. An hour and a half later the brilliance of insight that comes through living with roots deep in Alaskan soil has spread from the waters of the Yukon to the ridge of the mountains. Color so deep and splendid at the first of September speaks of an experience of God that can only come from this landscape. Not surprising the people understand aspects of the world around them in ways I might only imagine. For they know a God of a land where light fades quickly and color blossoms with haste. August 30, 2009 Last night the came the first clear night sky since we arrived. With it came Northern Lights. A seasonal event in this landscape, the lights are an indication of autumn. Landscapes live out season in different ways. In this case, autumn has arrived while it is still out on the horizon back home. This alone, seasons being lived out during different calendar times is part of what makes up culture. Landscapes come alive in autumn. Autumn speaks to the coming winter and reminds the trees and animals and people it is time to prepare themselves for a change of life. When autumn arrives in August in Eagle, Alaska compared to October back home, the chores of folk in August are different in Eagle than White Swan. When autumn chores occur in August rather than October, life is lived differently. And when life is lived differently, culture is different as well. Autumn in August leads to different understandings of the land, the wind, the plants, or the sun. Different understandings bring different thoughts and different ways of being. And so, when I think about what it means to be in Eagle this time of year, and talk to others who are not here with me, I must remind the readers of this journal and myself…I come from a land where autumn comes in October and therefore when the folks of August autumns tell me their story, speak about their culture, or talk about the northern lights…I don’t have the tools to really understand what they are talking about. August 29, 2009 Here’s what I’m thinking. A flood occurs that affects folk much of the length of the Yukon River (2300 miles of Yukon, Canada and Alaska). A flood large enough, bad enough, affecting enough people, that FEMA is called in to manage the cleanup. And we, most everyone I know, haven’t heard a word about it. Why is that? August 28, 2009 About four weeks ago Carl Zerwick and Amy Gopp contacted me and asked if I might join the disaster relief team (organized by Carl, and Office of Disciples Volunteering, and funded by Amy, and Week of Compassion—both of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ)) on the Yukon River in Alaska. Flooding had occurred in early May. Winter was much colder than normal, about forty percent colder, ice had thicken to 55 inches on the river, and when the ice began to break up rain came at the same time. All of this resulted in flooding all along the length of the Yukon. For Eagle, Alaska, it meant an ice dam resulted just downriver from the city and village. The dam in turn built water up behind it, leading to flooding. What made this different was thirty foot wide and five foot high chunks of ice moving through the communities of the city and the village. The result was not only flooding, but huge ice chunks running into homes and community buildings. Buildings were knocked off their foundations, pulverized by the grinding of buildings between five foot ice chunks, and buildings floating down river. The City of Eagle experienced high damage and the community of Eagle Village was simply destroyed. The "ask" for me to come along was out of the recognition these two communities were very rural and ethnically diverse. Which means the cultures of the communities are very different from the culture of the people joining together to help in disaster relief. My coming was not because I understood either culture, but rather to come along and help ask questions of ourselves so we might listen more carefully to the lives of the people affected by the flooding. A week ago Katherine (my daughter for those of you who do not know her), and I arrived in Anchorage with seventeen others from the Disciples of Christ. During the next few weeks I will use this space to talk about my thoughts around culture, race, ethnicity, and probably anything that makes me wonder during my time in Eagle. Internet availability is a bit spotty here, but I will do my best to keep in touch. In addition to the Mission’s Journal you will also find this posted on the Mission’s Facebook Group Discussion Board where you may respond and conversation might occur, also you can go to the blog site (gd4jc.org) set up by the Office of Disciples Volunteering which will also give perspectives other than mine from the seventeen volunteers who are here with Katherine and I. Peace, Dave______________________________________________ |
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WEDNESDAY, APRIL 29, 2009 “ Youth learn from raising and relating with animals..."
First a few drops, then a steady rain carried on from first light. By 9am the rain stopped and by noon scattered clouds gave a distinguishing air to the blue valley sky. A perfect beginning for an afternoon of judging 4-H and Future Farmers of America (FFA) youth and animals for the upcoming Central Washington Junior Livestock Show. Each year, about this time, the high school sets aside an afternoon for youth who have spent their school year raising sheep, hogs, and beef to practice their showmanship skills and demonstrate the meat quality of their animals. Judging began with sheep. The judge, who had raised sheep in 4-H and FFA herself and honed her judging skills in college, had taken the day off from her job as an agricultural loan officer so she could participate in this community event. She watched how the animals moved, felt their backs and loins, considered the overall health of each animal, watched how the youth moved, controlled and set their animals, and then placed each animal and their handler from first to last. She talked about why the animals were placed as they were—conformation, fat to leanness, length and stockiness, and the handler’s showmanship. She also addressed how the youth might improve their skills and the presentation of the animal for the upcoming Jr. Livestock Show. During the next two hours, the same processes occurred with youth and their beef and hogs with similar experts giving opinion on meat quality and showmanship. Every community creates opportunities for youth to learn the community’s ethics and morals. Little League and Girl Scouts are a few examples found throughout the country. Some communities, like White Swan, also have FFA and 4-H. Through human-animal relationship, these programs teach aspects of life such as why shelter, clean water, healthy food, and exercise are important for all animals, human or otherwise. Youth learn from raising and relating with animals that from birth to death life can be very good if one lets go that which is not sustainable and focuses on caring, relationship, and the basics of life that support emotional, mental, and physical wellbeing. Come May 3, the White Swan youth will begin three days of showing their animals at the Central Washington Junior Livestock Show. The show concludes May 6 with the livestock auction. Each year the Mission attends the auction and buys enough hogs to meet the meat needs of the yearly Learning and Serving, Workgroup, and Mission Group volunteers. This works well not only for the youth, but the Mission knows exactly where the meat comes from, who raised it, how it was raised, and what it was fed. This year, though, because of economic conditions, we expect fewer buyers at the auction than in the past, which may lead to lower prices for the youth, which might mean they do not attain a break-even price (about ninety cents per pound) for their work. If you are interested in helping White Swan community youth meet their breakeven costs and support FFA and 4-H programs for another year, contact David or Jill. Let them know you would like to buy a quarter, half, or full hog for your yearly pork needs. The Mission understands the problem that most food in the United States travels 1,500 miles or more to reach your supper table. The Mission is also in full support of buying and supporting local farmers and ranchers. But if you are currently buying your meat out of the local market and do not know where your meat originates or who raises your meat or how it is raised, this might be an option for you—your meat might travel a few miles or across the country, but you will know the youth who raised your food! Contact David or Jill for details. ______________________________________________ |
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TUESDAY, MARCH 31, 2009 “…beauty settled along the edges of garden yards..."
One of the last chores of the fall is to mow the vines, bushes and weeds of the garden. Some years we leave the mulch on top of the ground and other years we turn it under for the winter. One raised bed though never saw the mower this last fall. The weather stayed a little warmer and the tomatoes stood against cool mornings longer than in past years. By the time cool mornings turned to cold mornings and tomato vines nuzzled the earth, the mower was stored for the winter. Vines, bushes, and weeds continue to stand in the raised bed and on this late winter morning, birds are taking advantage of our not finished fall chores. Each year, sometime in mid to late winter, I hear at least one news story telling us not the feed the wild animals. Leave them alone and they will fend for themselves—otherwise they will become dependent upon us and die when we tire of feeding. A few months ago, as birds peck weed seeds out of the untended garden and I heard this news story again, a friend living in town came to mind. He drives his neighbors a little nuts. He let go the notion of a manicured lawn years ago and instead has a yard of native grasses and bushes that fit an arid land. He has not done this out of laziness, he doesn’t have to do the weekly mowing of his neighbors, but rather with thought and reflection. The landscape of his home is arid—about ten inches of rain each year—and he figures the land gives much beauty in its natural state. Interestingly enough, when I stop by there are many animals choose to live in his yard rather than his neighbors. After all, who or what can live upon a manicured yard? There is little doubt his neighbors think him an eccentric, but his work shows that even the smallest of yards given natural settings make a difference in the life of animals, plants, soil, water, and air. The mass number of manicured yards, even in arid areas, isn’t surprising when taking the past into consideration. Manicured lawns were once the venue of the wealthy. The common people could not afford lawns—if they could afford a yard. Instead of grass yards, it made much more sense to use the land for gardens and fruit trees and nut trees. These gardens were not without beauty, rather beauty settled along the edges of garden yards, say, rose bushes. However, they gave more than the flowering of reds and yellows and oranges, they also kept the cool early spring wind at bay and allowed the yard soil to warm a little quicker and sprout garden seeds a little sooner. On one hand, the garden and fruit and nut trees that filled the small available space of the common folk made a difference in their meals and way of life. On the other hand, the manicured yard indicated lives well off enough that they did not need to do the work of canning; rather others would provide their beans or pears in the winter. As common folk left subsistence living behind, the obvious choice of change was to do as the wealthy, so instead of looking for another model of living, as a whole, we choose the manicured yard. This is not to say there should not be lawns. I think there is a need for a bit of grass. Our neighbors of poverty give a good example. Most all of our neighbors have at least a small patch of grass. Often with a tree and a garden along the edge, these lawns are sanctuaries during the heat of the summer where friends and neighbors come, sit, have a coke or a beer, eat and tell stories. These lawns, while appreciated, are not places to be looked at but rather to be lived. Found in the front, back, or side yard, lawns of the poor are an extension of the home where community and family are welcomed. Too often we think the problems of the world are too large for any one of us to make a difference. Difference though seldom shows up on the marquee but arrives in small stories that slowly lead to awareness. Difference arrives when neighbors tell stories of neighbor who has given up the heavily watered manicured lawn in favor of a welcoming patch of grass edged by a summer garden of tomatoes, corn, and spinach…with maybe a fruit or nut tree? Perhaps neighbors think the owners of front yard gardens eccentric, maybe they are laughing. There is solace though. First, the neighbors are at least thinking and talking! Second, Albert Schweitzer reminds us that when we think and then act differently than the masses we become a people who are “not afraid of being laughed at as sentimental.” For “it is the fate of every truth…to be a subject for laughter until it is generally recognized.” As spring nears and I look at the thousands of square feet of grass around the house, I am rethinking the landscape of yard. It seems that no matter how small or large a yard might be, changing it from close clipped grass and manicured edges to a bit of grass surrounded by flowing tomato vines, wild spreading squash plants, lazy hanging green beans, and the in-your-face reds and yellows of peppers, could make a difference. Children can reconnect with the earth by planting seeds and harvesting fruit, birds gain a little extra weed seed in the winter, an earth worm lives in rich soil, and in December family and friends might come together on a cold evening, laugh a little, and eat peach cobbler thanks to a back yard tree. It is also fun to imagine what community might become in a neighborhood where families spend summer evenings tending front yard gardens. It just might be that a little soil, water, seed, air and hospitality in the landscape of our neighborhood could transform our world.
***For those who are DOC, are interested in new and old ways of understanding the land, and who are attending the General Assembly of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) this summer, you may find the “Green Learning Tracks” an interesting opportunity. A first for the General Assembly, the Green Learning Tracks will run the gamut from theology to hands on opportunities. While Jill and David will lead out one of these opportunities, there are many others from which to choice. For more information go to: http://www.disciples.org/GeneralAssembly/LearningTracks/ItIsntEasyBeingGreen/tabid/497/Default.aspx*** Andrew Linzey, Animal Theology, Pg5. ______________________________________________ |
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FRIDAY, FERRUARY 13, 2009 “…something in the landscape that has continually raised a hand..."
As darkness moved to light it slowly became apparent the sun would only lend its light this morning. Light filtered through fog. Observation was not necessary, for the ice-covered limbs of the willow in the back yard told the truth, but that oddball need for absolute knowledge—as if it could ever be gained!—made me look at the thermometer. I learned what I already knew; it’s cold outside! Fog frozen landscape does a few things for me. First, I notice stuff I didn’t before. Horsehairs I had never seen on the fence were a good half-inch round and plain to the eye. Second, frozen mornings call me to stay inside and complete work I should have gotten done weeks ago (thus this writing!). Third, while looking out the window and wondering how much more ice will accumulate on the willow, I have the opportunity to think about summer days. *** It was a warm day, last summer, when a group of about twenty youth and adults were at the farm. During the day, willows were planted for future bird cover and goat and sheep had hooves trimmed. Like many groups there was a fair share of talkative folks, some not so talkative but voiced, and one young man who might be called quiet. At the end of a full day, folks were tired; however, more work waited at the Mission campus and folks hurried back into vans. I stood to the side as the vans started out the drive when the quiet young man came out of the port-a-potty. He walked to the drive, the last van was maybe ten yards in front of him, and he lifted one hand. No yelling, no jumping up and down, no waving, just a lifted hand, it was as if he was saying, “see you soon, no problem you did not notice I’m not in the van, after all, the day is good.” The raised hand, in silence, was as if he were blessing the group as they drove away. It took a moment, maybe because it took my breath away, or maybe I was just holding my breath, in either case, as I sucked in air, it seemed to me, that I had just witnessed something different, something deep, something that has to do with relationship between the raised hand, the vans moving down the drive, and the land on which we stood, something holy. He turned, saw me watching, shrugged his shoulders, and walked over. We stood there a few moments, now in an awkward silence. I was the first to break the silence—no matter how much I believe in the voice of silence, it still bothers me at times in the presence of others—and suggested that we shut the gates that were left open and then jump into the truck and meet up with the group at their next stop. Yes, I could have used the cell phone to stop the caravan heading down the drive, but how could one not hope for the chance of more of the holy that might be emanating from this one standing beside me? So, in my selfishness, we closed gates, walked to the truck, and headed down the drive (a cell call came before the vans got to the end of the half-mile drive, but instead of having them come back, I let them drive on). For the next twenty minutes, nothing broke silence other than road noise entering through the rolled down pickup windows. There is much to say when reflecting on the Yakama Christian Mission over the last year (And as you move through this writing, you will see I probably have said much more than you wanted to read!). It was a year of good surprises and sad realities. Yet in all cases, good and sad, there has been something in the landscape that has continually raised a hand, given a blessing, and comforted Creation. Call it God, call it Creator, call it Mystery, call it what you will, but it is something deep, something caring, something on which to hang your hat and live life breathlessly. *** Breathless is not a bad way of thinking about 2008. There were many stories over the year, some found their way to journal entries, and others stay in the recess of our minds. Many called each of us to take a breath and live into the next moment. What follows is a little less story and a little more structural, but we hope you find this synopsis as we do; one of challenge and hope and an indication that what occurs in the course of a year is due to the good work of Creation and Creator living and working together.
Income: Income was the same stickler as it has been for the last nine years. Some areas of income increase while others decreased. What can be said is over the last year individuals and congregations and Regions (One of the Mission’s closest ties is to the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) which is broken into “Regions.”) have increasingly and wholeheartedly found ways to support the Mission. Grants were of great help over the course of the year. Some, like in those that have traditionally supported much of the food and literacy bills for the Summer Fun Program were maintained (It is good to recognize that a few of these are grants not normally given for the number of years we have received them. This is due to both good grant writing and programs that year after year have exceeded the guidelines of the grantor). Others were new grants that help support existing programming. Expenses: Though expenses were less than budgeted at the beginning of the year, they continued to outpace income over the course of the year. No surprise as to what occurred when this happened; the Mission tapped into its low supply of savings to make ends meet. Just the same, there were a number of programs lived out during the last year. Programs: Let me take a moment and talk to the literacy goal. This area of the SFP program is support by individuals and groups who take time and give of their resources to help children read. Additionally, a grant is written to help support this effort. This is important because, statistically, children in poor communities drop grade levels over the course of the summer. Schoolteachers have talked with Belinda over the years about the weeks and months it takes to bring children back to the literacy levels they were at when they left school at the end of the last school year. Under grant guidelines, summer interns and staff test children’s reading abilities at the beginning of the summer and then again at the end. We are happy to say that, statistically, 46% of the children attending SFP maintained their grade level last summer and 54% increased their reading by one grade level! JustLiving Home—The affordable house build entered into its second summer of construction. This summer the emphasis was on siding, exterior painting, inside electrical, plumbing, insulation, and drywall, and connecting the building to municipal water, sewer, and electricity. However, because the JustLiving Home is faith based, construction is not the only emphasis. There is a second emphasis, theology. Theological talk leads to conversation and conversation often centered on the overwhelming need for affordable housing in our communities and the causes for this need. The latter emphasis is one we find increasingly important. Important, because, as we speak with people who participate within other organizations who build affordable housing, we have learned that more and more organizations are moving away from volunteers doing construction because they can build cheaper and quicker without volunteers. So, it seems worth saying, that while it might be true volunteers slow down the construction of a building and costs might be higher, it is increasingly important to have people, who live comfortably, work on a home that will give shelter to a family who would not otherwise attain it. It is important because this work helps bring us, who are the comfortable, into an intimate realization there are hardworking people who work every day but cannot afford simple shelter for their family. Additionally, this work helps the comfortable to begin asking questions of their own homes, lifestyles, needs, and wants in contrast to those families who work hard but cannot sustain the basics of life for themselves or their families. Learning and Serving (L&S)—For roughly ten weeks of the year people come individually and in groups to participate in a program that is based in workshops and community service. During this time people whose ages range from six to ninety observe, question, and reflect on poverty, disenfranchisement, anti-racism, cultural appropriation while also working to better the lives of people in poverty. People attending L&S this year worked on the JustLiving Build, the Farm, and the Mission campus. Conversations were at times lively and at other times contemplative. Work was hard and rewarding to both those living on the reservation and off. JustLiving Farm— Learning and Serving groups did an abundance of work to maintain the flocks of sheep and goats. Last spring over twenty-five baby lambs and kids were birthed. As a result, youth and adults worked giving: tetanus and selenium shots to babies, trimming hooves of sheep and goats, shearing sheep (if you have never done this, this is backbreaking work for the unskilled!), and a little herding of animals to vegetation that cannot be fenced in. There are two objectives to the Farm each year. One is to have guests begin to think about where their food comes from, and consider how the earth is treated to maintain their lifestyles. For instance, for some it is their first time to shear or trim or herd an animal of whom they will turn around and eat that evening (figuratively). The second is to provide meat each year to families who cannot otherwise afford meat. Many local families are mostly vegetarian, but not by choice. Local stores sell rice and beans by the ten and fifteen pound bag. Because a large percentage of local families live in extreme poverty (families of four earning eight to twelve thousand per year) the cost of meat is overwhelming. This reality has led the Mission to raise and give away lambs and goat kids to low-income families so they may have meat in times of celebration. This year’s Thanksgiving-Christmas season saw five families with meat on the table! Clothing Room—Each year, clothing arrives at the Mission from all across the country. The clothing room is maintained and run by Magdalena who has the great ability to both cloth families and build community. This year was exceptionally cold and it is good to say there was an abundance of coats, gloves, and hats, in addition to the shirts, pants, underwear, and baby clothing. This is a uniquely lived out program. Though the givers and receivers seldom see one another, neighborliness is deeply realized. English as Second Language (ESL)—We are sorry to say that funding and volunteering over the last year made this program impossible. While staff visited and spoke English with Spanish speakers throughout the year (the Clothing Room is one of the many places where this occurred), it was always informal and familial. So, in a nutshell, those were the base programs of the Mission over the last year. Of course, much of what occurred is that stuff that never makes the list. Because the Mission is faith-based and staff are pastors, there were weddings, funerals, visiting of the sick in homes and hospitals, bereavement, workshops on the road, speaking engagements, preaching, and small group work. A busy year, but one well lived! *** After basing the Mission’s 2009 budget on last year’s income and expenses, staff and board came to the following conclusions for 2009.
*** Yes, 2009 will look much different than 2008 for the Mission. Yet, there is great hope living into 2009. Hope, because there are moments. Moments we do not fully grasp or fully understand, moments that have little to do with expenses or income, moments that cannot be forgotten, moments that are a sign to something more, something different, something holy, moments that arrive in a silent blessing heard in the raising of a hand. ______________________________________________ |
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SATURDAY, DECEMBER 20, 2008 “Solstice is an ending to a unique moment..."
Coffee is important this time of year. Okay, for some of us coffee is always important, but I think it’s fair to say that even for us who need, yes need not want, coffee throughout the year, it takes on special significance in late fall. Winter solstice is but a day away. The sun lives in the southern horizon. Below freezing temperatures birth each day. This is a season when coffee is more than just another beverage. Late fall is a season all unto itself. It should have its own seasonal name. Seasons identify an unmistakable feel of the landscape: wind, temperature, limbs—leafed or not, color of sky, birds—chirping and animate or fluffed and hushed, ground and water, speak to changes and a fullness that cannot be hidden or ignored. Placing the year into four seasons isn’t enough. It might be said the months are a tell to smaller changes within a season, but months seem a little too structural—wrapped up a little too much into time frames. Season is something more of feel than time, something that exists outside of framework and definition. Seasons come from that which is deep within creations gut. Birds or humans, coyote or hawk, know there is something different in the air, on the ridge, in the sky, in the color of the air. And seasons have a fluidity to them. This nimbleness, unlike calendar months, allows seasons to begin a little earlier or go a little later depending on the landscapes feel to an individual and their community. I, for one, place winter beginning with the winter solstice. Yes, it kind of goes against the idea of seasonal fluidity, but there is something about the shortest day-longest night of the year that is creational-spiritual-transitional. Solstice does not seem as much time-based as the finale to weeks of freezing temperatures and colored skies unlike any other time of year. Solstice is an ending to a unique moment that started weeks ago, a moment that is neither fall or winter but a season unto itself. In this time between fall and winter life itself is different. And, it is readily apparent in the animal life of the landscape. It isn’t so much that daily patterns of life change, as there is a subtle tweaking taking place. Tied intimately to the landscape, animals have a familiarity with land’s dexterity. The Harrier Hawk, known for flying low over fields and pastures, grasps the continual change of ground and air temperature. Flight patterns and hunting times are constantly tweaked and in this time between fall and winter there is a different feel to the hawk’s low-flight. The long glides across fields continue, but in this colder landscape, there are moments when the hawk catches an edge and turns down a path not seen in other seasons. Though the Harrier Hawk lives year-round in this landscape, it is distinctive in this moment between fall and winter. Therefore, it is appropriate to think of this season as the season of low-flying hawk. The season of low-flying hawk is a visiting season. Unlike the summer when people visit in groups, low-flying hawk season is when individuals, pairs, three’s and sometimes foursomes visit. These are a special breed of folk. They come to the Mission or the Farm to walk frozen and muddy ground, watch ducks rise from ponds, ride to the Satus and watch wild horses, visit the mountains and ski, or watch a V of geese in a western sunset sky. There is something about these folk who dress in layers until they look like bears in their bulk of winter fat; who then head out across frozen fields with a joy of experiencing numb fingers and toes. These are also folk of low-flying hawk coffee. (Honestly, there are folk of low-flying hawk tea as well. But be sure, while tea hawks and coffee hawks both love this cold seasonal landscape and dress similarly, their outlook on the landscape weighs in differently. The difference may not be more than the weight of the downy feather found just below the stiff tail feathers, but their experiences are different—and those differences make this a wonderful season!). Morning coffee talk rouses the mind to the day’s potential. Noon coffee talk is of the landscape experienced and intimate bonds with horses or snow or geese or frozen ponds. Evening coffee leads to thoughts, questions, discussion of practice, theology, justice, life, and the similarities between landscapes of home and reservation. Evenings of low-flying hawk season are a gifted time when life slows and attention and thoughts deepen. The coals of an evening fire elicit moments of unhurried discussion and allow that rare silence among people to infiltrate. A time of old enters and discussion lingers between silence and voice. Embers remind the instinctual gut of the bitter cold lying in the dark beyond the warmth of flame and friendships become stronger. This season of long nights allows relationships, like the low-flying hawk’s flight, to be tweaked just a bit and the landscape becomes vital because guest and host bring a new story to an old land. The gift of low-flying hawk season is life lived differently; the mind is called to ask new questions, the body re-grasps its vulnerability to freezing weather, and the soul remembers ancient relations. It is a gift, which for some of us, comes by another name; from a land we no longer remember; by way of a story our fore-parents would not let us forget: Advent. Well…there is one other gift. Coffee takes on that taste of old, knowing bark against the sunset of a cold winter sky…and that’s important, you know, this time of year. ______________________________________________ |
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TUESDAY, OCTOBER 25, 2008 “Barbwire attentiveness keeps the senses on edge."
Belinda and I have had the good fortune to travel for a fair part of the last two weeks. Traveling by car, we found it a pleasure to drive through new and old landscapes. We stopped and talked with folk at vegetable stands (while the big box stores have pretty much eliminated the local grocery store, it is amazing that, even in the fall, one can find all the fruits and vegetables desired on the side of the road), folk bucking the last hay bales out of their fields, and folk plowing fields for fall planting; sometimes we stopped, sat on the edge of the road and watched the animals, the plants and the wind living upon a landscape. When driving in the fall, sooner or later, one is flagged down for road construction. Fall is that time between the heavy summer road use and the cold frozen roads of winter to rebuild and rework roadbeds, guardrails and such. When luck was with us, we were at the front of the line and had the opportunity to talk with the flagger. In those cases, we heard about soil structure lying below our feet, how cold a fall morning can be on the west side of a ridge, the need to turn a back to the blowing dust out of a gully and how the fall hunting season is going. Locals always have the best stories. Dust has a certain smell and feel to it. Between Madras and Redmond, Oregon a few miles east of Highway 97, a hay field butts up against a ridge. We stood leaning against a five-strand barbed wire fence and watched as the last bales of an alfalfa field were bucked onto a trailer. Barbed wire fence helps keep one attentive. When leaning against the wire the barb pushes up against shirt and jeans, not quite penetrating the cloth, as long as you’re paying attention, but seemingly waiting for an opportunity to pierce cloth and deliver a scratch with rusty point. Barbwire attentiveness keeps the senses on edge. A breeze kicked up, came across the field, and brought dust from the hay bucker’s work. A fine dust, one smelled more than felt. Dust carries a tale of the landscape from which it comes. It speaks a little to the water of the land, more about plants grown in its mother earth, and much about the soil of its birth. Its tone is heard in the breeze or on the wind that shoulders it. Experiencing dust always seems to lie in one of two tales—smell or feel. Sometimes it is both, maybe more often both for those who are more sensitive to the language of land. Dust at times is so light it comes in the most gentle of breezes. When it does, it brings rich tones to the nose that speaks deeply of its home. In such times the skin seldom feels dust settling on the face, but the gift—the breath—of nose brings it alive. Other times dust comes heavily on the wind. So heavily, one might wonder if it is more sand or even small clods than dust. The dust of heavy wind has smell, but mostly noticed is its striking quality upon the skin. Dust of heavy wind is the dust I think of when I hear stories, or see pictures of the Dust Bowl era. That time elders speak of when skies darken and day becomes night. The dust of this era may have been both light and heavy, but dust of heavy wind brought about darkness and overwhelming seepage into clothes and homes and ears and eyes. Dust of such tales fall heavy upon the ears of one listening to yesterday’s life of unimaginable skies. Dust of such tales also brings wholeness, for such stories speak not to landscape, but landscapes—the whole land. These are tales of multiple landscapes gathering in dust clouds reaching to the heavens howling to humanities inability to pay attention to, or care for, the needs of landscape. To the south of Santa Rosa Road, about three miles northeast of Highway101 in Camarillo, California a John Deere tractor with rubber tracks pulled a disc and packer. Roughly thirty acres of ground showed remnants of a butter squash crop. The plowed ground indicated the current pass of disc and packer being the third or fourth. Plant tendrils and remaining squash had been turned under and now were more of the soil than not. A heavy breeze came across the field (the Santa Ana winds were to return the next day) and dust bellowed off the disc, into the air, and to the face. There was a smell in the air, but more of the ocean eleven miles away than of dust (Yet, isn’t the small particles of ocean mist carried on the wind really ocean dust?). Other than the intrusiveness of dust in the eyes, the dust had a soft feel. This soil, turned by tractor and disc, was more loam than sand or clay, more plant than rock. Dust speaks infinitely to the landscape from which it arises. Like the people of a landscape, dust has a culture speaking to the virtues of the land. Tales of floods, droughts, earthquakes and volcanoes, plants and animals are told by the dust in a breeze. The art, faith, food, and love of a land exist in dust rising from a rabbit trail wandering through the brush. When listened to intently, closely, it is possible to hear the voices of the ancients and the murmurings of the future in dust. Dust is a reminder the land is noble. That landscapes, whether they are of home, or mid-Oregon, or Southern California are of one land, of one family, and in their differences—smell and feel—are bound together. Dust is a reminder of what has been and what will be. Dust is a truth teller. ______________________________________________ |
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