We're just trying to be realistic

The other night- after a Sunday spent looking at houses- M and I put together a list of what we would want in a house.  Of course I had to share.

Priorities:

3+ bedrooms (2+ upstairs)

2+ bathrooms (1+ upstairs)

full basement with separate entry for rentable apartment

has NOT been fully renovated or flipped

back yard (or yard generally) large enough for garden

good bones (not more than 100k in renovations needed)

brick or wood exterior (not asbestos or vinyl siding)

front or back porch (covered)

Pluses:

1+ Fireplace

detached garage/workshop

basement with bath & kitchen included already

detached single family home

original wood floors in good condition

second story porch

central air

large master bath

Jacuzzi out back

Wine cellar

Sauna

55 bedrooms

indoor water slide

horse

original maid and butler

dungeon

trap doors

library

money bin

treasure (preferably enough to cover the rest of the cost of the house)

chapel and chaplain

brewery

distillery

smokehouse

tobacco curing shack

teepee

Let's be honest here: the original maid and butler are non-negotiable, people.  And I'm hoping that I'll finally, FINALLY, get to actually keep a horse at my house, like I used to beg my parents for.

I guess it made a lasting impression...

Five years ago, a group of friends from our church here in DC used to go down every Friday afternoon/evening to the sand volleyball courts by the Potomac River and play a few games of pick up.  Having played volleyball very, very momentarily in high school, it was always a fun time to connect with friends, get a tiny bit of exercise and impress people with my amazing serve.  Which I'm obviously very humble about.

One Friday that summer, we had just finished a set of games and decided that the logical step after completing said games was to go gorge ourselves on local Mexican food.  A little place down on the Hill (where 99.9% of our friends lived back then) was chosen and we made the drive across the city, sweaty and sandy, but in a good mood and ready for even more of a good time. 

Sitting down at a booth once we arrived, I looked up and realized that there were more friends there than I had expected.  So of course I scooted (scootched?) down the bench, hoping to make room.  And then I felt a very sharp, sharp pain and a little throbbing.

My foot was gushing blood, punctured by a broken beer bottle that was lodged under a table.

I don't remember exactly what happened next, but I know I didn't scream or cry.  I think I motioned that my foot was gushing blood (in case people couldn't see it) and I tried to hop back to the bathroom of the restaurant.  Did I mention that my foot was gushing blood?  Spurting, really, is a better way to describe it.  I'm pretty sure there was blood on the walls.

Finally making it back to the bathroom, I began to feel light-headed.  Did I mention blood was shooting out of me?  I sat down in the bathroom and was immediately swarmed by well-intentioned women who worked at the restaurant.  Unable to understand what they were saying to me, all I could really understand was, "This will stop the bleeding" as they poured coffee grounds on my foot.  Reader, I swear to you that I am not making this up.  Thankfully, one of our friends finally had the bright idea that I needed to get to the emergency room, and so one of the guys carried me out to his car (this would have been somewhat romantic had I, 1) not been gushing blood and 2) been in a clear state of mind).  Finally arriving up at the emergency room, the doctor took one look at me, told me the worst part was the coffee grounds that had been poured into the wound and then gave me three little stitches to sew me up (did I mention he had to first dig out the coffee grounds?  Oh yes.  That was not pleasant.)

Needless to say, the restaurant felt very, very bad.  They covered the medical costs, but still felt remorse for the "emotional damage" that had been done.  How to repair that?  Why, free drinks every time I came in of course!  And reader, I'll be honest.  I took advantage of it (as did some of my friends).  When a bill would come near, I would wince and say, "oh, my foot," always guaranteed that the bill would be taken care of.

(Ok, I didn't really do that.  But I thought about it once or twice.)

This past weekend, over five years later, M and I were craving Mexican food and decided to stop by Las Plas for the first time since moving back.  We shared a meal, I had sangria, he had a beer, and we were about to ask for our check when.....

Free drinks appeared.  Not just one, but multiple.  Like, flowing.  And, sure enough, the waiter who had been there on Bloody Friday walked over to me to say hello.  Did you catch that the cutting incident was OVER FIVE YEARS AGO?  The waiter even asked me where I had been the last two years (I have good friends who didn't even realize we were gone!)  He said, "I still remember you.  It's good to have you back."

I guess it made a lasting impression. 

Seven Words

I don't know why Mr. L is at the Pre-Release Center** and I may very well not want to know.  A man in his mid-40s, Mr. L has spent most of his life in and out of prison, most of it being in.

Mr. L says "I can't read real good."  What he means by that is that he can't read at all.  Besides his name, there are very few things that he can spell correctly or even write; even though he graduated from high school (yes, you read that right) his basic language, writing and reading skills are lower than those of the 3rd and 4th graders I tutored in Chicago.

This is not ok.

And so one of the mentors that I work with, Miss J, tutors him for 3 or 4 hours a week.  Persistent, hardworking and always affirming, Miss J takes hours out of her schedule (during the middle of the work day at that!) to come and spend with Mr. L, literally starting with the ABCs.  Miss J constantly has to remind Mr. L that the levels stated on the books they're using (ages 5-6, grade K, 1 and 2) aren't what's important; what's important is that he's learning.

Last week, Mr. L had a test.  Write down, in order, the days of the week.  Miss J was certain he could do it, and told him that she knew he could.  "You already know the last three letters of each and every one of them.  All you have to remember is the others!" Miss J reminded Mr. L.  But after just a few minutes, Mr. L shoved his paper across the table, filled with what could only be described as jibberish.

"Mr. L, you know this.  You can do this.  You know the answer!" Miss J reaffirmed as she pushed the paper back across the table to Mr. L.

And this time, after another 3 or 4 minutes, Mr. L slowly passed the paper across the table.  "There, I'm done.  I think I got it."

Glancing quickly across the words, Miss J knew that he had written each and every day- all seven- perfectly and in order.  "You did it!" Miss J cried.

And what Mr. L said next is what brought me to tears as Miss J told me this story over lunch one day.  "Never in my life have I spelled seven words correctly, all at one sitting.  I didn't think I could do it."

Seven words.  And a jolt of self-confidence so desperately needed.

_______________



**The Pre-Release Center is a county facility at which inmates may serve out the last 3-12 months of their sentence.  Focused on rehabilitation, employment and support, the PRC provides the much-needed step between full incarceration and civil society.  As the Welcome Home Program Coordinator, I get to match the residents of the PRC up with mentors from around the greater Washington area.

A new look

Having somewhat settled into life back in DC, the next obvious thing to do was to update the blog.  But because I am:

1) technologically slow
2) somewhat lazy when regarding said technology

I...

3) decided to keep the blog address (hydeparkheroes.blogspot.com) as it is and just change the title and pictures.  Nifty!

The main picture you see here at Capitol City was taken last night, as the last few guests of a small "welcome home" party grilled, talked and watched the sun set and the moon rise.  It was pretty breathtaking, if I do say so myself.

And I have a feeling that our life here, especially in the next few years, is going to be breathtaking as well.  From new jobs (me with inmates, M with economists), to a new apartment- and hopefully someday soon a new home of our own- to old and new friendships, the whirlwind has already begun.  But in a city and among a population that likes to pride itself on how busy they are, what does it mean to live well here, to work for and create calm and peace in every day life, and to live intentionally in relationship, where most people have a deeper relationship with their blackberry or iPhone?  I think we have a lot to learn.

And one last thing.  You'll notice that the title of this blog is Capitol City (hence the picture), not Capital City.  Though both could work in this particular context, because I'm always trying to make the world a better place, I leave you with a link concerning the difference between the word "Capitol" and "capital."  It's really not that hard, people.  Thanks, Grammarist.

It's good to be home.

All That's Left

All that's left now in our apartment is a blow up mattress, a couple pairs of shoes, some clothes and odds and ends that will make it in the car for our travel across country.

As much as we have been looking forward to this move, it's hard to believe it's actually here.  Driving down Lakeshore one of the last times yesterday, I was struck by how much we don't deserve any of the amazing blessings that have been given to us, especially in these last few weeks.  How many times did we doubt that something would work out?  How many times did we (ok, maybe I) question if God really wanted us back in Washington, DC, as nothing seemed to be coming to fruition?  How many times did I wonder if He would really provide for all of our needs?

And now we're here, on our last day in Chicago.  While I've been preparing and hoping, I will still be sad to leave many things of this city behind.  An amazing community group (and three of our favorite kids in the world), an incredible job and rent about half the price of what we'll pay in DC.  Even the skyline, the lake, the views will be something I no doubt reminisce on, as I look out at the squatty (though beautiful) DC skyline. 

There's still quite a lot to get done today.  Bank run, cable box return, POD pick up, final car packing and clothes washing, plus my last day of work.  But tonight we will make sure that we celebrate this city that has been home for the last 22 months, that has been a place of education for both M and me and- most importantly- a place of substantial, beautiful growth.

And finally, it's official

Well, it's official.  M and I are moving back to Washington, DC!

Today, M accepted a position doing his "dream job," and I accepted a position last Friday working for an organization I'm really excited about as well.  It has been amazing to see these things come together in just a matter of weeks.

And the reality is that- while we've worked hard and done our "due diligence"- we also know that we have been blessed beyond measure in getting both of these positions.  As I've said before, the health and wealth gospel that so dominates even mainstream American churches tends to make us think that if we love God then He's going to bless us with a job, a happy family and a white picket fence. 

How wrong we are to believe that this is the case.  God doesn't promise us material blessing.  He promises us more of Himself.

It is with that perspective that we are, therefore, overwhelmed (in a very good way) by what we have before us.  And we are so thankful that we have this opportunity.  Next weekend, July 2nd, we'll trek halfway across America, back to our home of DC.  Sure, we don't know yet exactly where we'll be living, but hey, that's minor, right?  We'll finally be able to take a couple of days off and enjoy the Eastern Shore, and will end our "holiday week" with M's family in Alabama.  And then, once again, the hard work of laboring with Him to see His kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven, will start again.

Now, what to do about the name of this blog...

My Proudest Moment

On Friday, the Breakthrough Youth and Family Services had its 10th annual Youth Awards Night.  Dinner under a tent, a robotics demonstration, artwork, dance and drums, the night was absolutely awesome for the 450 or so friends, family, youth, volunteers and donors who showed up.  As a tutor myself on Thursday afternoons, I was excited to celebrate the hard work of our kids.

And yet the thing that struck me the most about the night wasn't the awards or the cute dance or the great bucket drummers.  It was this video, "My Proudest Moment" (which I actually didn't get to see until today).  Watching it reminds me of the wonderful work that Breakthrough is doing.  That God is doing through Breakthrough.

My proudest moment?  Being even just a tiny, itsy-bitsy little part of the work that God is doing in this community and in these kids' lives.