Thursday, December 27, 2012

Finally, something to see

I don't even remember now what day we bought our house, but I believe it was June 5th or 6th.  Yep, nearly 7 months ago.

Every time we have a conversation with someone who we don't talk to regularly, we get the question, "So how's the house?'  I guess seven months in, people would expect us to have it, you know, inhabitable and decorated and hosting dinner parties every night.  Obviously these people don't know the life of two people who work more than full-time, are doing 98% of the work themselves, and have other competing priorities simultaneously filling up our lives.  Or what a house looks like when you buy it from an old couple that literally did NOTHING to it in the thirty years that they lived in it.

So when M completely re-roofed the dormer, put in a new window and put new siding on said dormer, no one "ooohed and aahhhhed" because it's a freaking dormer and really boring.  And when we painted the dining room and entry way, that was cool, but the floors still needed to be refinished and the kitchen was (is) still a ghastly sight, which sort of ruins it for the nearby rooms.

But FINALLY there's something that people can see, and ooh and ahh and begin to picture what the house will look like when it's done.  Now it's just one room (and he hasn't put the wax (?) on the floor over the stain yet) but M spent his day refinishing the floor in the first guest room.  And it is looking pretty awesome, if I do say so myself.


Granted, he still has to do more to it and then we have to prime the walls again and paint them and paint the closet door and reattach the radiator covers, but, friends, THIS is finally something I feel good showing to people. 

Seven months later, it feels like we're on the verge of things coming together.  Expect a dinner party invite sometime in 2013!

Saturday, December 15, 2012

Gun Violence


If I had to guess, I would say 80-90% of the men and women I work with every day have at some point in their life possessed a weapon.  In their world, a gun (or multiple guns) carry a three-pronged value.  They provide protection when carrying out illegal activities; they provide a way to scare/attack/revenge/teach other  “players in the game” who may need to be dealt with; they very rarely (though it does of course happen) are used to scare innocent people who may be the victim of a theft, car jacking or burglary.  Interestingly, I’ve found that those who commit these sorts of crimes rarely, if ever, WANT to use violent force, they just want to scare the victim but sometimes feel their hand is forced when things spiral out of control.  Violence, it seems, is reserved for those who are in the game.

In this world, guns are usually obtained illegally and gun control laws mean little.  It is this world that those who are against tighter restrictions like to talk about: the violence of Chicago, Detroit, DC, for example.  Here’s the problem with that argument: the majority of this violence they quote is young black man against young black man.  The gun violence of these cities is overwhelmingly confined to the urban ghetto, not the pristine suburbs.  Of course this is not the whole story, but it is a hefty, hefty piece of it.

In this world, violence stems from the game that is played, an unwillingness to be “disrespected”, a desire to protect one’s turf, product or reputation.  Most of the perpetrators would say that the victim had it coming by something they did, said or took.

Then there is the world of mass murder, like the disgustingly horrific tragedy in Connecticut.  According to the Washington Post, of the sixty-one mass murders that have taken place in the last twenty years, the guns that have been used have been legally obtained in nearly 50 of the incidents.  The demographics of the shooters are different, the shooters usually being described as socially-awkward, isolated, troubled individuals, many with a history of some sort of mental illness.

The perpetrators of the first world look at the perpetrators of the second world with the same disgust as you and I do.  They would never, ever think of walking into a movie theater, school room or other gathering of people and shoot randomly.  That’s not how they play the game.  I know, because I talk with them every day. 

So I’m left to believe that to compare the two worlds- and think that policy decisions to deal with them are the same- is so very, very wrong

The first perpetrators described need help learning how to manage anger, to feel and believe they have value outside of their reputation.  They need more economic opportunity, better school systems, stronger family support structures.  Would tighter gun control laws help?  Maybe, but probably not.   

The second perpetrators described most often need psychological help, pro-socialization support, a place to be heard and understood in a world that they feel is out to get them.  More resources spent on researching the human brain, on best practices of dealing with psychological disorders, better monitoring and better testing.  Would tighter gun control laws help?  Maybe, but probably yes.

I am sickened by what happened in Connecticut.  It is, to be frank, evil.  I am also sickened that this country is losing so many young, black men to gun violence every single day.  We, as a country, have to do something about both situations, to have the hard conversations about gun control, yes, but also about better schools, better economic opportunity, better psychological support, less violent media, and so on and so on.  May we be brave enough to do so.

Monday, November 26, 2012

Your Inner Self


It’s hard to imagine a world where you have to ask if someone cares for you and if that care is sincere.  I take for granted that my family and friends care of me is not dependent on what I have or what I can do for them.  Their love and affection have little to do with my bank account or prestige in what I do.  They love and care for me- though I myself sometimes wonder why!- for reasons completely separated from my financial standing.

This isn’t quite the case for Mark.  When he was sent to federal prison nearly 6 years ago and his homes, property and money were seized, friends and family somehow started falling by the wayside, too.  True, a few remained faithful to him, but the vast majority no longer saw what they could get from him and decided, no doubt, to look elsewhere.  Some still call, but it’s usually to ask “what’s good” or to convince him to get back into the game.  Hardly any form of true care or concern.

I imagine this loss of friends and family has made it desperately hard for Mark to trust much of anyone.  And why should he?  These friends and family don’t love him- they’re simply using him for what they can selfishly gain.  What does it do to a man to be abandoned- at your darkest hour, no less- by those you believed cared for you most?  What does it do to a man’s sense of self-worth?

Sometimes I really do wonder if I am one of the few people (besides his mother and sister, who I believe love him deeply, and hopefully a few friends) who care about Mark, about the future ahead of him, the possibilities that await.  Will all these so-called friends and family suddenly appear again come January when he walks out these doors?  Will he know who to trust?  Will there be anyone that he can?  How does a mid-30s man build new friendships, based on the mutual admiration of the inside of the person?  Is it even possible?

I wish I knew the answers to these questions.  I wish I could hold his hand- and the hands of so many others in this same predicament- as they make this transition home.  But then, that’s not the real world, and would hardly be helpful in the long run.  I can’t walk this path of reentering a family and a community for Mark or others.  But I can help Mark learn that there are people in this world who will and do have genuine concern and care for him and certainly don’t want him doing anything that risks his life again, whether that be by death or imprisonment.  There are people out there who won’t like you because you have money, or cars, or status. 

And maybe, the truth is, it has to start inside Mark.  Sometimes I wonder, on his darker days, if Mark truly knows that he is a person to be valued outside of his illegal activity.  If he really believes that people will love and care for him for reasons other than what they can get from him.  Maybe the best thing I can do is affirm Mark for being who he is- a child of God, a man with a past but who is no longer held captive by his previous way of living.  Maybe then Mark will see that he can trust others who genuinely care- and trust himself.

Monday, November 12, 2012

Life

Last Thursday, I spent the day with 200 men who have been sentenced to a lifetime of incarceration.  Their lifetime.

I'll let that sink in for a second.

Driving up to the Maryland state prison in Hagerstown, I didn't really know what to expect.  I had been told that I would be attending a "Lifer's Conference" which in my mind meant either 1) an anti-abortion conference, or 2) an old people conference.  Both relatively harmless.

Instead, I was greeted by- and shook hands with- man after man who had spent the last 10, 20, 30, 40 years in the prison.  There was the man who had been incarcerated after being convicted of murder in 1967, when he was just 16 years old.  There was another man who, in a burst of passion, had killed someone he loved only a few years ago and spoke of the horrible regret of his actions.  I was struck that nearly all of the crimes had been committed when the prisoner was under the age of 25.  Some seemed broken down, wearing what I can only imagine is the weight of the consequences of their actions on their shoulders.  In others, I saw a deep stillness, a peace.  In still others, the glazed over eyes of addiction or mental illness, statistically so prevalent in this population.  It was both heart-warming and heart-wrenching.

Man after man spoke of the healing power of forgiveness of self and of victim's families, and recounted the education, training and certifications, the personal development they've received while in prison.  Others shared their faith conversion stories.  Still more asked for mercy from the governor, who must sign off on any "life with the possibility of parole" parole decisions made in the state of Maryland (one of only 3 states where this is still the case).  Others sat quietly, saying nothing.

Having read and heard stories similar to the horrific accounts of what many of these men did regularly brings out a feeling of "lock them up and throw away the key."  When I say horrific, I mean horrific.  No one should die at the hands of another person, no one should fear their fellow man in that way.  No one should experience such tremendous violence.

But.

In meeting these men face to face, I was also reminded of their humanity.  Of their fallen-ness, of their need for grace and mercy, just like me.  I was reminded of the Apostle Paul, who- as Saul- murdered the Lord's people.  I thought of King David who, because of lust, had an honorable man killed.  Of Moses.  Of so many others.

I believe in law and consequences of breaking that law, and believe every single one of these men who are of their right mind and guilty of the charge brought against them should serve a significant amount of time behind bars, hopefully receiving the rehabilitation that they need.***  But I also believe in redemption.  In second chances.  Maybe this is ultimately why I do what I do; because I know that, though I've never been convicted of any crime, I too am in need of redemption.






***I will not go into the politics of conviction and sentencing, though I will point out that the recidivism rate amongst those convicted of homicide is the lowest of all crimes.  Not zero, but extremely, extremely low.  That said, I have not been a victim and cannot imagine what I would feel like should someone I love be a victim.         



Friday, November 2, 2012

Where We've Been

It's hard to believe that it's been over five months since I blogged last.  So much has happened that I don't really know how to sum up: we've experienced great excitement, grief, frustration and joy, celebrated another year of marriage (unfortunately in the emergency room) and flourished in our work and lives. I hope to write more about some of the particulars soon.

But one thing I continue to know and believe for certain: we have seen and know the goodness of the Lord.  He continues to remain faithful to us and good to us.  He has placed people in our lives, in our personal friendships and professional experiences, who challenge us, spur us on and challenge us to think deeply about who we are and what we are made for.  Even as there have been some supremely hard moments, it has been a time of great flourishing.  It seems fitting that today, in this month of November, I am thankful.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Hoop Dreams



There’s something quite powerful about a game of basketball.  I have seen men, beaten down by a system that is eight parts punishment and one part rehabilitation (on a good day), play their heart out on the court and- for at least a few minutes- forget that their life exists behind bars.  Despite media representations of trash talk, big egos and even larger attitudes, the men I know work hard as a team, operating as one cohesive unit, offering encouragement and support, and playing one damn good game of basketball.

In a culture that so often defines people by what they do, it’s important for men such as these to believe they are good at something, something other than the illegal activity that usually defines them.  Most of these guys are known on the street for their ability to push drugs or manipulate women or rob the right drug dealer.  Sure, basketball isn’t a great thing for most of these guys to be defined by either, since few (if any) will make a career of it.  But it’s a step in the right direction.

Basketball is just a game.  But it’s a game that has the power to affirm men who are so rarely affirmed for anything else positive.  It’s a breeding ground for teamwork and hard work.  It has the power to- even for a few minutes- remove a man from the realities of his life..  To feel his heart beat fast, to feel his muscles aching, to sprint for his life.  But for once, not on the streets...on the court. 

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Does your girlfriend know that? and A Word for women

One of the questions I have to ask when I interview an incarcerated individual for my program is "Are you married or in a committed relationship?"

Nine times out of ten, especially if I've put on makeup and brushed my hair that day (and most times that doesn't even matter), the answer is, "Oh, definitely no."  I knowingly smile and move on to the next question.

Interestingly, it always seems to be these same guys who have visits from young females who love to hug them, hold their hands and bring their children to come and see their daddies.  Oh yeah, and they bring them Wendy's or pizza or whatever it is they're craving that day.  And they put money in their accounts, buy them shoes and get them metro cards.

The thing is, I'm tempted every time I see these girls to ask them that same question...are you married or in a committed relationship?  Because I have a feeling I would get quite a different answer.  And then- in this world where I would actually ask this question to females I don't know at all- I would follow it up with the following sequence of comments.

1.  Your man is a scumbag, who won't even admit to someone that he's in a relationship.  And you do what for him?

2.  Buying him shoes, food or other things will not make him faithful to you.  In fact, another girl is probably visiting him on the days you can't come by because you work two jobs to provide for your children.

3.  You deserve more than this.  Maybe you believe you're complete trash.  But you're not.  Respect yourself enough to not give him everything he wants all the time (whether that be things or your body or what have you).

Don't get me wrong; there are some gentlemen I work with who truly love their wives and/or significant others.  But most days, what I see is young girls offering themselves to be used by guys who don't give a flip about them.  Unfortunately, too many of these girls end up pregnant and alone or grasping at anything and everything possible to get this guy to stick around, to love them.  Most days, I don't get the opportunity to talk to these young girls about what they're doing.

But what I can do- and do as often as possible- is remind the guys here that those girls who sacrifice so much for you?  Who gave you children?  They're someone's daughter.  They're someone's treasure.  They're Someone's creation.  And whether you want to be with them long-term or not, at least have the decency to treat them with an ounce of the respect that you so desperately seek yourself.  You don't have to love them.  You don't have to be with them.  But you have to respect them.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Around the House

When you rent an apartment (even when it feels like your rent is higher than 90% of the country's mortgage payments), there's a tendency to not really make it your own.  "We won't live here THAT long" or "It's not ours anyways" somehow become excuses for blank walls, boring spaces and general malaise toward decorating.

Let me be clear.  When it comes to our rented apartment, I = malaise.

But in an effort to make our rented apartment feel a little bit more like a home (we did move in back in July, after all) M finally framed and hung some of our favorite pictures of the Chicago's World Fair.

What you can't see in this picture are the high-hanging light bulbs that need to be replaced

And yesterday, after getting rid of four large trash bags of clothing from our closet, I 1) organized my clothing by color, 2) did two loads of laundry, and 3) marveled at how productive I was being.

And now, NOW, I can hear M upstairs cleaning the bathroom.  I would go up there, but I surely don't want to distract him.  I mean, I am probably more effective sitting here blogging than helping.  Because who likes help when they clean?  Certainly not me.  I prefer to do everything by myself, so that I can complain later that I had to do everything by myself.

Because the reality is that, whether you rent, own, squat or whatever, where you live is your home and should- at least I think- reflect in some ways the things you love.  We've chosen to decorate our home with paintings and pictures that we've gathered on our travels: a large painting of a cityscape from Croatia, another of pomegranates from Bosnia, two small paintings from Slovenia (though I'm not really sure the meaning behind the one where it looks like a housewife is being washed after talking to a devil...) and other art, gathered from around the world.  We have pictures of our families, books we love and mirrors picked up at the local flea market.  

So maybe we don't own it, and maybe we won't live here forever.  But we're working to make this little apartment in DC our home, by the things we put on the walls, the people we invite in and the love that we share with each other during this unique time in our lives.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Thankful

This time last year, Mason and I were unsure what exactly we would be doing a few months down the road.  And by "unsure" I mean "completely stressed out and emotional because we had no idea what was going on."

But then God- because that's who I believe was at work- ended up leading not one but both of us to jobs that could not have been better fitted to us and, AND the city that we love.  About a year away from that time of stress, we are both able to look back now and see the clear hand of God in this move back to Capitol City.


And it reminds me: sometimes when you're in those deep moments of despair, when you just can't seem to figure out what the hell, I mean HECK, is going on, it's good to remember these times when you have been provided for.  And not just provided for, but blessed the freaking socks off of.  

That's a technical term.

I'm weary of the "health and wealth Gospel," as if God wants all His children to be multi-millionaires who never get hurt or sick or laid off or always get exactly what they want or...whatever.  But I also know that God is ultimately good, and that He often times works the most in my heart when I am petrified stiff, scared or unsure of what in the world is going on.  

And I'm thankful for that.


Friday, March 16, 2012

Hey, I have a blog!

Somewhere around November of this year, our lives kicked into overdrive.

Chalk it up to our international travels...

Or maybe our domestic ones...


And craziness at work for me...

And Mason...
(No, he's not a mason.  Ok, he IS a Mason but not a Freemason.)

And what you're left with is a woefully under updated blog.

And, if I'm really honest, it's been an emotionally, spiritually and physically exhausting few months, with lots of internal processing, thinking, wrestling (figurative, mostly) and trying to understand the realities of the things I face every day at work.

But I'm back.  I can't promise much more than a few posts a month, and I don't even know if anyone is still around to read this thing.  But more posts are to come, many reflecting on incarceration, poverty, funny stories and other lighthearted moments.  

Because seriously, if you can't laugh, you might go crazy.