Mother's Shoes

There are 3 crippled people that I know of in Villarrica, because they sit outside the grocery store and beg. The one guy is about my parents’ age, I’d guess. He’s pretty good looking. He doesn’t seem at all ashamed. His upper body is very built because his legs are deformed and he gets around by walking with his arms. Then there’s a kid in a wheelchair who sits with his mom. I think he might have cerebral palsy, but I’m not sure. The third is a heavy set woman who crawls around the dirty sidewalks outside of my apartment. I’ve been around, a few times, as she’s crossed the street, and I get embarrassed by all of the traffic that has to stop and wait for her. I never know whether I should offer to help or ignore her. I mean, what would I do to help? It’s not like I can throw her over my shoulder. But it feels wrong to just pass her and do nothing.

Paraguayans have mixed reactions to beggars. I often feel twisted up, inside, because Jesus plainly said to give generously to all who ask. But that couldn’t have been what He meant, because we know that giving to the undeserving only perpetuates the cycle of poverty, right? One time I gave somebody money and one of my Paraguayan friends told me that it is only "los malos," the bad ones, who beg. She said that "los buenos," the good ones, find other ways of surviving. They would say that the adults could get desk jobs if they wanted them, and the crippled child is probably just being exploited so that his parents don’t have to work. In Asuncion there are a ton of kids that beg, as well as mothers with babies on their hips. People tell me that I shouldn’t give them money because the kids will just take everything home to their alcoholic, abusive, and lazy parents. They say that some women actually share babies to carry when begging, because they evoke more sympathy.

It’s like that in my home culture, too. I’m always torn when I go to Chicago. I want to drop my quarters into the Styrofoam cups of those sitting alone, but usually don’t because my head tells me that the money will likely be used on more booze. However, I also know that many people’s choices are directed by unjust systems, created by the privilaged minority, that don’t give poor people many good options. And this extends to the international poor. For years I've blamed the United States’ greed for the world’s poverty, and talked a lot about social justice and unfair trade barriers. As a rich American, then, I’ve always felt exceedingly guilty for my White, American Privilage, and the extent to which I was contributing to the oppression of the poor. This guilt persuaded me to give a lot of money to the poor, but for all the wrong reasons. I gave because I was afraid of being punished for my wealth, as opposed to giving out of generosity and love. Since I felt that it was my responsibility to give but didn’t want to perpetuate bad systems, I felt burdened to discern between those who were poor because of their own choices and those who were merely victims of injustice, so that I could direct my giving, accordingly. But lately, I’ve changed my mind. I no longer feel the burden to rightly judge, because I no longer feel obligated to give.


I no longer feel obligated to give because I’ve seen both sides, now. Warning: huge and unfair generalizations coming. You will either love me or hate me based on my next paragraph. Also, the situation in Paraguay is NOT representative of the entire world, so I still believe that corrupt systems are responsible for a lot of poverty and they need to be changed, despite what I'm about to say. Now, back to blogging. I know the lives of my supporters, back home. I know of their honesty, integrity, hard work, and generosity. I also know that these values are not part of Paraguayans’ cultural heritage. They are brave, warm, flexible, and tranquilo (relaxed and fun-loving). These character traits are admirable, but not exactly wealth creating. People make choices and choices have consequences. Some people chose to work their butts off and sacrifice relationships in the process. They are relationally poor, but materially rich. Others relax and drink a lot of terere. They are relationally rich, but materially poor. Neither group should necessarily be pitied and rescued. That’s belittling because each group must be allowed to make its own choices, and accept the consequences they bring. In addition to this natural propensity toward enjoying life (as opposed to working it to death), Paraguayan leaders have never been praised for their transparency. A lot of money (not to mention people) have gotten "lost" through the years. For these reasons, I can no longer blame the US for Paraguay’s problems, or obligate my friends, back home, to provide for my friends, here. One of my young friends to whom I’ve given a lot, laughs about the fact that she cannot save money. Whenever she has a little, she spends it before the day is out. A lot of my supporters, on the other hand, aren’t impulsive spenders and do save. I cannot claim that those who have become wealthy through hard work, frugality, wisdom, and honesty (whether individuals or governments) are morally obligated to share the fruit of their labor with those who are unhappily reaping what their own hands have sown. That’s not fair.

Yet neither was it fair that God had mercy on us and became a man. I’ve always struggled to receive His grace, probably because I’ve never really given it. But I am the lazy, greedy, insolent, crippled beggar who never learns and always comes back for more. Just like Paraguay, my human culture is headed for destruction by its own doing. He wasn’t obligated to do anything about it. It wasn’t His fault that we made poor choices. We brought it upon ourselves. I brought it upon myself. He wasn’t bound by some cold theology. He didn’t have to come. Obligation cancels out love. But although He didn’t have to, God loves me and so He came, anyway. And not only did He come that once, but He keeps coming. I screw up and He still comes back. I am the one who has nothing to offer. But God still loves me. What if the Father had said to the Son, "You know what? This whole ’I’ve come for the sick/salvation by grace through faith thing’ really doesn’t give people much of an incentive to clean up their acts. Let’s scrap it and create a system in which the consequences are more reflective of their choices." But He didn’t. Though it hasn’t fit into any kind of effective model for social change, God has continuously and freely shown me love and mercy. Mercy. Free. I am that crippled beggar. But my Father sends rain on the righteous and unrighteous. And my Father pours out blessings upon ungrateful men. I am that crippled beggar, but I have been adopted. He didn’t have to and neither do I. But I want to be like my Dad, and I know no greater joy than to stumble about extending mercy like a little girl playing dress up, clumsily parading through the house in her mother’s shoes.

tag

First of all, I had posted a new blog, earlier this week, and then removed it. I’m sorry to any of you who were confused by this move. It was called Shining Like Stars and dealt with the nature of missions, salvation, and spiritual fruit. If any of you would like to read it, let me know. Secondly, I’ve been virtually tagged by my sister in Elkhart, Indiana. Have any of you been tagged, yet? I didn’t get a very clear explanation of this game, but I think it means I get to tell you 10 things that you may not know about me and then tag 5 others. OK. Here goes...

1. I pretend to be deep and into making a difference in the world. I’ve been a missionary, a teacher, and a youth pastor, and I want to be a professor of theology, someday, but my favorite job was baristaing (being a professional coffee maker) at The Crossing.
2. I was once the youngest member of the Cleveland Little League’s All Star softball team.
3. I love my balcony, especially around sunrise and in the rain. I have a hammock and homemade compost bin under the roofed portion. Next week I’m hoping to plant a balcony vegetable/ herb garden with seeds from my wonderful sister-in-law, Kristin.
4. I don’t change my sheets nearly enough. I should make a chart to remind me.
5. My favorite (and only) pieces of furniture are my extension table and spice rack that my granddad made me for college graduation, a twin bed frame, dresser, and nightstand that he made for my mom when she was little, and the bookcase that I designed and built with my dad.
6. I got detention in the 7th grade for starting a riot in PE. Our teacher, Ms. Wesdorp, hated us slamming our locker doors so several of us did it over and over again just to make her mad. She came in and only caught one girl and gave her detention. I announced that wasn’t fair because there were obviously several involved and our teacher was obviously being discriminatory. She responded that if anybody else wanted to come forward she’d gladly write them up, as well. So, full of holy justice, idealism, and insufferable insubordination, I announced that I, too, would gladly suffer her fate.
7. This may not be news to anybody, but I also sat through one or two Saturday Schools in high school for having too many tardies.
8. I’ve come to LOVE helping kids learn, especially those to whom it doesn’t come easily. When we were dividing up the English classes, this year, I volunteered for the 3rd graders, a class that has had the reputation of being incontrollable since preschool. I acted like I was being a virtuous martyr, but really I was excited about the challenge of it all.
9. I just killed a fly by clapping my hands above it the way my grandpa taught me.
10. OK, I’m back. I just took a break to go wash my hands from the fly guts. I think I’ve always repressed my secret desire to be a cheerleader, and hidden it by making fun of them, instead (my sister receiving the brunt, of course). Yesterday I taught 10 girls, ages 7-22, the "We’re Dynamite" cheer that I’ve had so much practice mocking through the years.