Several times throughout my last year living in the city (both Grand Rapids and Boston), the question of safety has come up. "Don't you feel scared?" or "Do you feel safe here?" or "Can I leave my valuables in the car?"
To my knowledge, I have had my possessions stolen four times in my life. Freshman year in college, the one time I left my bike unlocked, I returned from class to find it missing. Sophomore year I similarly returned from class one day to find my scooter was gone. Later, at a school dance, I returned to where my friends and I had set some of our belongings to find that those of us who had left our wallets in our changes of pants had had the cash removed. Yesterday, now back at home, and ironically immediately after my dad had warned me about some increases in thefts from vehicles in the area, I awoke to find that the police were dialoging with a gesticulating neighbor in front of her vehicle. Apparently a thief or theives had broken into every car in the circle the previous night, looking for small items of value. I had been relieved of a GPS and 3 N64 games (ok, maybe they weren't just looking for items of value, you might be able to sell those games for 99 cents on e-bay).
All of the times I have been stolen from, it was either at a Christian college or at my home in "warm and cheerful Centerville."
We perceive these as relatively safe places. People don't come to my house and ask, "Is it ok to leave valuables in the car?"
Now, I don't mean to gloss over the fact that in general, there are far more crimes per capita in densely populated urban areas as compared with suburban areas. It is important to "confront the brutal facts of reality" (to borrow a phrase from my most recent read: Jim Collins' Good to Great). A recent article I saw in the Dayton paper showed a four-fold difference between violent crime in local urban and suburban areas. However, the article highlighted that this was a decrease from what was a ten-fold difference not so long ago. While this is a significant difference, it is important to remember that our safety is not statistics: you might be at risk in areas that our society labels "safe" and you may not be in danger amongst culturally designated "unsafe" locations.
Our security should not lie in locks and locations, but in our Lord. This is why I am not afraid to move to a city that places in the top half of "The 10 Most Dangerous Cities in America" (http://yhoo.it/jd5fJR). I don't believe we ought to give up on locks, live in ignorance, or foolishly discount the possibility of God's provision through the ordinary (recall the story of the man in the flood waiting for "God to save him" (http://bit.ly/b2j4C8)), but sometimes our perceptions, influenced by a penchant for protection and precaution, can paralyze us from pursing God's plans.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Saturday, August 14, 2010
"Welcome 2010 Nizhoni Students"
This fall, when I go back to school I will be taking part in a program known as Project Neighborhood. I will be living in Nizhoni, a house which will have four other students and a mentor couple. As part of the informational/introductory e-mail that I received today , there was a link to Dr. Wayne L. Gordon's "The Eight Components of Christian Community Development." His description of how Christians should engage community describes many of the things that The Boston Project is, many of the things that Project Neighborhood strives to be, some of the things that Fair Food is (Dignity of the Dollar), and really sums up many of the thoughts I have had this summer.
It is longer than one of my typical posts, but if you have a few minutes, I really recommend that you read through it.
http://www.ccda.org/philosophy
It is longer than one of my typical posts, but if you have a few minutes, I really recommend that you read through it.
http://www.ccda.org/philosophy
Thursday, August 12, 2010
"Road Closed"
I wake up each morning never knowing quite what I'll end up doing for the day. Today I helped Tacia make bags in the morning. The volunteers from the Boston Project arrived at ten, and the only food that needed to be processed was four boxes of potatoes to bag. Knowing that the potato bagging would take less than ten minutes with so much help, I was wondering what I would have them do next. Just as they were finishing, Nancy gave me a ring on my cell, and told me to take the volunteers outside.
A uniform company inhabits the space next to us in our warehouse. They currently have a 30 foot dumpster in the parking lot that they have been in the process of filling this week. Whenever the uniform company's customers change uniforms, or go out of business, or change uniform providers, the uniform company is left with extra uniforms. The majority of these uniforms are long or short sleeve button down shirts with a name and company patch on them.
Nancy had me get some boxes, and have the volunteers begin sorting, folding and boxing the clothing. Some of it we have already given away around the neighborhood, and we have 30 big boxes left at the warehouse today. If we have time we will collect more of them tomorrow.
While we were working, one of the ladies at the uniform company told us that they have more uniforms inside the warehouse that they could give to us if we come back on Monday or Tuesday. That way we could save a step!
In other news, you may remember that the road in front of our warehouse had been torn up a few weeks after I got here. Two weeks ago they finally decided to repave half of the road. Then, last week they decided to tear up the half that they had paved the week before. Today they were working on the road again, and I believe theoretically they should do the whole thing this time. We'll see...
A uniform company inhabits the space next to us in our warehouse. They currently have a 30 foot dumpster in the parking lot that they have been in the process of filling this week. Whenever the uniform company's customers change uniforms, or go out of business, or change uniform providers, the uniform company is left with extra uniforms. The majority of these uniforms are long or short sleeve button down shirts with a name and company patch on them.
Nancy had me get some boxes, and have the volunteers begin sorting, folding and boxing the clothing. Some of it we have already given away around the neighborhood, and we have 30 big boxes left at the warehouse today. If we have time we will collect more of them tomorrow.
While we were working, one of the ladies at the uniform company told us that they have more uniforms inside the warehouse that they could give to us if we come back on Monday or Tuesday. That way we could save a step!
In other news, you may remember that the road in front of our warehouse had been torn up a few weeks after I got here. Two weeks ago they finally decided to repave half of the road. Then, last week they decided to tear up the half that they had paved the week before. Today they were working on the road again, and I believe theoretically they should do the whole thing this time. We'll see...
Monday, August 9, 2010
"I'm Stahving"
Sunday
Today I went on a crazy bicycle adventure. I had many stops along the way. This is just a record of my adventure, nothing too deep or thought-provoking.
I left around 10 in the morning, and my first stop was church. After failing to convince anyone to accompany to my next destination, I took off riding solo. From the church I headed for the South Boston WWII Memorial. I just tried to head east, knowing that I would have to hit the water. Eventually I found my way to the Harbor Walk and began riding North (http://bostonharborwalk.com/placestogo/). I came to the memorial where I had been with my parents and distant cousins last week. The name Thomas J. Lyons, that of my great-grandfather, appears on the memorial. It is from him that I received the 't' in jth5 (my college username). From the memorial I ran along the Head Island Causeway to Fort Independence. I showed up just in time for the 1:00 tour. It's an amazing old pentagonal fort, and the eighth fort to be built in that location. It has sheer granite walls rising up 30 feet on all sides, and the walls are nearly six feet thick. They have 50,000 pound guns which were crewed by 14 men, and could hit a target three and a half miles away. After the tour I ran back around the causeway, ate my lunch (leftover salad and some corn tamales that Miss Susie made with the corn we gave her), and watched six or seven kite-boarders. The extreme sport of kite-boarding has always seemed like one that I would like to try. The riders strap on a board, attach a harness, hook their harness to a giant kite, then go out over the water to catch huge air. When the wind-dancing was over, I hopped back on my bike.
I followed the Harbor Walk as much as possible, which meant that I rode in and out quite a bit along the water's edge. The sea breeze certainly made for pleasant riding.
I stopped by The Seafarer's Mission, one of the sites that My team from Calvin College helped out at when we were here in the Spring. The Mission was closed, as was most of the harbor, but it was nice to revisit the spot again.
I revisited The Barking Crab, a restaurant that we ate at in the spring.
I found where the city of Boston stores their extra recycling bins.
Upon hearing music, I turned aside to hear what it was. The Sons of Italy Drum and Bugle Corps were out in full force, putting on a parade through the streets. I followed along with them for about a block before heading off.
I ran across a kind of street preformer that I have heard described before, but never seen in person. I saw what at first glance seemed to be an entirely bronze statue statue. However, the cloak blowing in the wind quickly dissolved that illusion. With no wind the main clue to the statue's live nature would have been the slowly filling vase of money sitting before the black pedestal upon which she stood. I turned aside and watched the woman for a while to see if she would move under any conditions. Several parents walked by with children, and I thought she might interact with them, but alas she remained in character, as stationary as a guard at Buckingham Palace. I was about to leave when a gentleman put some money in the vase. To this she curtseyed, blew a kiss from her bronze hand, and assumed a slighly different pose.
I saw the underside of the beautiful Leonard Zakim Bunker Hill Memorial Bridge (which we drive across every time we go to the market) (http://lh5.ggpht.com/_l_iB-toQBZY/RuGegln1OEI/AAAAAAAAAOg/I75bHwOPJL4/s512/SA704671.JPG).
I saw functioning boat locks in person for the first time.
I revisited the USS Constitution where I had been last week with my parents. This time I visited the museum, rather than touring the boat. The display that I thought was most interesting was an interactive one. There is a yard (round horizontal wooden beam which supports a sail) that one can shimmy out on, with a footrope beneath it to stand upon. The whole thing is suspended such that it can swing a little (though it hangs only just off the ground as to not be too dangerous). Upon reaching the far end, one can draw up the sail and tie it off. I enjoyed getting to feel a little bit what it was like to be a sailor in those days.
I saw an official Bocce court for the first time. I guess people who come to the public courts to play must be serious about their Boccee, because in the one round that I watched, the fellow who threw the palino was able to get two of his balls to come to rest touching it.
I heard a legit Boston accent.
I saw seals at the aquarium.
I came across a drinking fountain that arced the water three times as far as it should.
I asked for directions from a lady who only spoke Spanish.
I had an Italian sub for dinner from a shop in Somerville.
I returned home around 9:15.
Approximate Route: (note, my odometer needs a new battery, but with all the ins and outs I made along the harbor walk, I probably went closer to 50 or 60 miles)
http://tinyurl.com/jimsbostontrek
Today I went on a crazy bicycle adventure. I had many stops along the way. This is just a record of my adventure, nothing too deep or thought-provoking.
I left around 10 in the morning, and my first stop was church. After failing to convince anyone to accompany to my next destination, I took off riding solo. From the church I headed for the South Boston WWII Memorial. I just tried to head east, knowing that I would have to hit the water. Eventually I found my way to the Harbor Walk and began riding North (http://bostonharborwalk.com/placestogo/). I came to the memorial where I had been with my parents and distant cousins last week. The name Thomas J. Lyons, that of my great-grandfather, appears on the memorial. It is from him that I received the 't' in jth5 (my college username). From the memorial I ran along the Head Island Causeway to Fort Independence. I showed up just in time for the 1:00 tour. It's an amazing old pentagonal fort, and the eighth fort to be built in that location. It has sheer granite walls rising up 30 feet on all sides, and the walls are nearly six feet thick. They have 50,000 pound guns which were crewed by 14 men, and could hit a target three and a half miles away. After the tour I ran back around the causeway, ate my lunch (leftover salad and some corn tamales that Miss Susie made with the corn we gave her), and watched six or seven kite-boarders. The extreme sport of kite-boarding has always seemed like one that I would like to try. The riders strap on a board, attach a harness, hook their harness to a giant kite, then go out over the water to catch huge air. When the wind-dancing was over, I hopped back on my bike.
I followed the Harbor Walk as much as possible, which meant that I rode in and out quite a bit along the water's edge. The sea breeze certainly made for pleasant riding.
I stopped by The Seafarer's Mission, one of the sites that My team from Calvin College helped out at when we were here in the Spring. The Mission was closed, as was most of the harbor, but it was nice to revisit the spot again.
I revisited The Barking Crab, a restaurant that we ate at in the spring.
I found where the city of Boston stores their extra recycling bins.
Upon hearing music, I turned aside to hear what it was. The Sons of Italy Drum and Bugle Corps were out in full force, putting on a parade through the streets. I followed along with them for about a block before heading off.
I ran across a kind of street preformer that I have heard described before, but never seen in person. I saw what at first glance seemed to be an entirely bronze statue statue. However, the cloak blowing in the wind quickly dissolved that illusion. With no wind the main clue to the statue's live nature would have been the slowly filling vase of money sitting before the black pedestal upon which she stood. I turned aside and watched the woman for a while to see if she would move under any conditions. Several parents walked by with children, and I thought she might interact with them, but alas she remained in character, as stationary as a guard at Buckingham Palace. I was about to leave when a gentleman put some money in the vase. To this she curtseyed, blew a kiss from her bronze hand, and assumed a slighly different pose.
I saw the underside of the beautiful Leonard Zakim Bunker Hill Memorial Bridge (which we drive across every time we go to the market) (http://lh5.ggpht.com/_l_iB-toQBZY/RuGegln1OEI/AAAAAAAAAOg/I75bHwOPJL4/s512/SA704671.JPG).
I saw functioning boat locks in person for the first time.
I revisited the USS Constitution where I had been last week with my parents. This time I visited the museum, rather than touring the boat. The display that I thought was most interesting was an interactive one. There is a yard (round horizontal wooden beam which supports a sail) that one can shimmy out on, with a footrope beneath it to stand upon. The whole thing is suspended such that it can swing a little (though it hangs only just off the ground as to not be too dangerous). Upon reaching the far end, one can draw up the sail and tie it off. I enjoyed getting to feel a little bit what it was like to be a sailor in those days.
I saw an official Bocce court for the first time. I guess people who come to the public courts to play must be serious about their Boccee, because in the one round that I watched, the fellow who threw the palino was able to get two of his balls to come to rest touching it.
I heard a legit Boston accent.
I saw seals at the aquarium.
I came across a drinking fountain that arced the water three times as far as it should.
I asked for directions from a lady who only spoke Spanish.
I had an Italian sub for dinner from a shop in Somerville.
I returned home around 9:15.
Approximate Route: (note, my odometer needs a new battery, but with all the ins and outs I made along the harbor walk, I probably went closer to 50 or 60 miles)
http://tinyurl.com/jimsbostontrek
"Crocodile Dundee"
Some Thursday?
I went to the market today, but left early with Uncle George When the other guys got back from the market Derrick told me that some of the guys had been asking after Crocodile Dundee.
Ways I have been referred to here, in approximate order of frequency (most of the generic terms are from Nancy, as she is much more likely to use generic terms than people's names):
Jimmy
Jim
boy
kid
man
brother
amigo
Crocodile Dundee
caballero
n-----
honey
dear
Ohio
Indiana Jones
Jim Jones
James
Mister Feather in his Cap
primo
John Wayne
I went to the market today, but left early with Uncle George When the other guys got back from the market Derrick told me that some of the guys had been asking after Crocodile Dundee.
Ways I have been referred to here, in approximate order of frequency (most of the generic terms are from Nancy, as she is much more likely to use generic terms than people's names):
Jimmy
Jim
boy
kid
man
brother
amigo
Crocodile Dundee
caballero
n-----
honey
dear
Ohio
Indiana Jones
Jim Jones
James
Mister Feather in his Cap
primo
John Wayne
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
"Nose Goes"
Tuesday
Having finished all of the necessary bagging this morning, our volunteer crew broke for lunch early. Before we began eating Meghan asked if anyone would like to pray. Quickly, members of the group placed their index fingers at the ends of their noses in a classic ritual for deciding who will be stuck with an unpopular task. In this case, the slowest person is then expected to lead the prayer. I understand some people's reluctance to pray in front of groups, large or small. It can be intimidating when a group's attention spotlight shifts to the individual, waiting for some impromptu, meaningful words. And maybe this is just a quick way of diffusing the potential awkward pause as everyone decides whether or not they are willing to volunteer to pray. However, I have seen 'nose goes' used to decide who should pray in many times times and settings, and it has always rubbed me the wrong way. Isn't it an honor and a priviledge to be able to communicate with Almighty God simply through talking and telling Him what is on our hearts? Shouldn't we be fighting over who *gets* to pray instead of who *has* to? What does a non-believer think when they see Christians trying to avoid talking to God? Would that kind of god be a god worth worshipping and praising?
I must confess, I am not afraid of speaking in front of people, and actually rather enjoy it. From a young age, my father asked a different family member to pray over our dinner every night, so praying in front of people is not something that I am uncomfortable with. However, how else will people become comfortable unless they begin doing it?
Perhaps one culprit is our tendency to view prayer as very polished and collected. God can listen to us just as easily (and perhaps more so) when we simply say what's on our mind instead of worrying about how to say it. I think of the man in the Bible who prayed by beating his chest and saying, "Lord, forgive me. I am a sinner." I think of the Spirit interceding for us with groans that are deeper than words. I think of how we are to "Pray without ceasing," and I don't see how that could be if prayer is understood only as formalized, concrete sentences directed towards heaven with folded hands and closed eyes. Prayer is an area in which I feel extremely lacking, and should like to grow.
Having finished all of the necessary bagging this morning, our volunteer crew broke for lunch early. Before we began eating Meghan asked if anyone would like to pray. Quickly, members of the group placed their index fingers at the ends of their noses in a classic ritual for deciding who will be stuck with an unpopular task. In this case, the slowest person is then expected to lead the prayer. I understand some people's reluctance to pray in front of groups, large or small. It can be intimidating when a group's attention spotlight shifts to the individual, waiting for some impromptu, meaningful words. And maybe this is just a quick way of diffusing the potential awkward pause as everyone decides whether or not they are willing to volunteer to pray. However, I have seen 'nose goes' used to decide who should pray in many times times and settings, and it has always rubbed me the wrong way. Isn't it an honor and a priviledge to be able to communicate with Almighty God simply through talking and telling Him what is on our hearts? Shouldn't we be fighting over who *gets* to pray instead of who *has* to? What does a non-believer think when they see Christians trying to avoid talking to God? Would that kind of god be a god worth worshipping and praising?
I must confess, I am not afraid of speaking in front of people, and actually rather enjoy it. From a young age, my father asked a different family member to pray over our dinner every night, so praying in front of people is not something that I am uncomfortable with. However, how else will people become comfortable unless they begin doing it?
Perhaps one culprit is our tendency to view prayer as very polished and collected. God can listen to us just as easily (and perhaps more so) when we simply say what's on our mind instead of worrying about how to say it. I think of the man in the Bible who prayed by beating his chest and saying, "Lord, forgive me. I am a sinner." I think of the Spirit interceding for us with groans that are deeper than words. I think of how we are to "Pray without ceasing," and I don't see how that could be if prayer is understood only as formalized, concrete sentences directed towards heaven with folded hands and closed eyes. Prayer is an area in which I feel extremely lacking, and should like to grow.
"Remote Control Robots"
Monday
We have another group of volunteers this week. Due to a mix-up about when they were coming, the volunteers were at the warehouse by themselves for about an hour yesterday. Meghan (TBPM staff member from Calvin) was with them, and she called Nancy to figure out what to have them work on. They cleaned up around the warehouse until we got back from the market. At the market we a little pineapple for the first time this summer!
When we got back, we unloaded, then sorted baby potatoes and onions. These potato boxes were some of the worst that I've seen this summer. They may have been sitting around for awhile though, since they were sitting in the warehouse over the weekend. Most of the kids were reluctant to stick their hands into the box, so they were slowly picking out baby potatoes one by one. Some of the guys were challenging one another's 'manliness' over who was willing to handle the nasty potatoes. I had no idea that manhood had anything to do with potatoes...
For a couple months during my senior year of high school, my church youth group divided by gender for the lessons. The guys were supposed to be learning what it meant to be a (godly) man. Despite devoting many weeks of discussion and teaching to it, I don't think those lessons gave me any kind of answer. If I had to make a stab at an explanation, my first attempt would involve loving deeply, especially loving God and one's family. That doesn't seem to answer the question, though, as I would hope that women would feel called to that same role. Is there really some sort of special office deigning how men should aspire to live that is different from how women should aspire to live? There are plenty of stereotypes about each gender, certainly, but there are plenty of sterotype breakers as well (take the mechanic/carpenter/jack-of-all trades Nancy for example). It seems like most artificial definitions of manhood are thinly disguised chauvinistic jabs. I can't think of too many times when I have heard women told, "Come on, be a woman!" but I have heard the reverse said often.
If someone could offer up a good definition of manhood (or womanhood) I would be glad to hear it. (Yes, there are the obvious biological differences, but of course that's not what I'm talking about).
We have another group of volunteers this week. Due to a mix-up about when they were coming, the volunteers were at the warehouse by themselves for about an hour yesterday. Meghan (TBPM staff member from Calvin) was with them, and she called Nancy to figure out what to have them work on. They cleaned up around the warehouse until we got back from the market. At the market we a little pineapple for the first time this summer!
When we got back, we unloaded, then sorted baby potatoes and onions. These potato boxes were some of the worst that I've seen this summer. They may have been sitting around for awhile though, since they were sitting in the warehouse over the weekend. Most of the kids were reluctant to stick their hands into the box, so they were slowly picking out baby potatoes one by one. Some of the guys were challenging one another's 'manliness' over who was willing to handle the nasty potatoes. I had no idea that manhood had anything to do with potatoes...
For a couple months during my senior year of high school, my church youth group divided by gender for the lessons. The guys were supposed to be learning what it meant to be a (godly) man. Despite devoting many weeks of discussion and teaching to it, I don't think those lessons gave me any kind of answer. If I had to make a stab at an explanation, my first attempt would involve loving deeply, especially loving God and one's family. That doesn't seem to answer the question, though, as I would hope that women would feel called to that same role. Is there really some sort of special office deigning how men should aspire to live that is different from how women should aspire to live? There are plenty of stereotypes about each gender, certainly, but there are plenty of sterotype breakers as well (take the mechanic/carpenter/jack-of-all trades Nancy for example). It seems like most artificial definitions of manhood are thinly disguised chauvinistic jabs. I can't think of too many times when I have heard women told, "Come on, be a woman!" but I have heard the reverse said often.
If someone could offer up a good definition of manhood (or womanhood) I would be glad to hear it. (Yes, there are the obvious biological differences, but of course that's not what I'm talking about).
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