Get Back Up


I’d like a do-over for 2018,” my husband says to me in his new raspy voice.  It was Groundhog Day and we’d barely made it off the starting block for the year.

His comment caused me to pause. I guess things had been a little bumpy lately.  In fact, we had not until then verbally acknowledged the silent inventory of recent events that I had been subconsciously calculating in my head. Sudden illnesses including blood clots, the flu, bronchitis and laryngitis.  Sprained ankle, broken toe and subsequent medical bills.  Unexpected expenses, loss of income, frozen pipes, nearly every major household appliance shutting down, permanent hearing loss, dead car battery and the list goes on.

In less than 40 days our family had encountered 20 different “stop you in your tracks” kind of setbacks.  At least 20 is the number of events that I could recall in that moment, when I finally decided to write them down. I cringe when I read this because the thought of putting our vulnerabilities on display makes me sick to my stomach.  Yet, there are bigger lessons encapsulated in this small window of our lives, and I’d like to share how one might view this through a different perspective.

Glancing over this fresh list of wounds actually provided an unexpected and welcome surprise.  Rather than loathing, self pity, or an overwhelming sense of defeat- I felt gratitude, humility and and an air of hope.  Grace swept over me.  There is something about the process of being knocked down that provides an opportunity to get back up.  And when undergirded with faith, forgiveness and perspective, the rising can be a great strengthening exercise.

As I thought about our circumstances, in my mind I began to canvas all of the faces of individuals I’ve known to whom life had given a disproportionate amount of sucker-punches.  People who through the conditions of poverty had faced social exclusion, discrimination, economic and physical hardship.  

And I saw them getting back up. 

When one job was lost, they picked up two more. When they faced physical hardship, they turned their energy toward caring for others. As funds became tighter, their creativity leveraged every resource they had. Yet, in the communities where they lived, many were seen only in relation to their defeats. Shame filled the space where redemption should live.

The question we must ask ourselves in our quest for youth, wealth or perfection- where are we missing out on opportunities to find wisdom, strength and life from the broken? In our newsfeed, dinner conversation, books and podcasts – whose voices are we listening to? Our communities desperately need the voices of those who have faced immense challenges. We need the wisdom of those who have earned a few extra wrinkles and scars.  We need to trust and invest in those who keep getting back up. When we consider our own communities and the neighborhoods facing critical need – have we calculated a balance sheet that categorizes people as liabilities, and perhaps are overlooking our greatest assets?

How might the resilient in your community share their wisdom and offer their leadership?


by Marlo Fox for Think Tank, Inc. — to learn more about Marlo’s work, please visit

Surviving the storm

What’s on my heart this month: On hurricanes and kids in poverty

As I write, our hearts and prayers are with those in Florida who are picking up the pieces after Hurricane Irma. We probably all have friends or loved ones who hunkered down and weathered the storm, fearful for their homes, families, neighbors, and communities.

As I watched the news and prayed for those enduring the storm, my thoughts turned to families we know who live in poverty and the thing they have in common with hurricane victims: Living in survival mode. 

For someone weathering a natural disaster, life is very quickly focused on just a few things. Decisions are honed in on immediate needs. Long-term thoughts, like next year’s or even next week’s plans, are tabled until the storm is over.

If you didn’t know there was a storm, you might think those decisions were strange, even hard to understand. Why hole up in your house? Why not get up and go to work like other people? Why not think about your future?

But factor in the storm, and it makes a lot more sense. In the same way, the “hurricane analogy” helps me better understand the decisions of someone living in poverty: Because they are living daily in a storm that is foreign to me, and for them life is about survival.

Here’s an example. For the past month or so, I’ve been working to match a delightful young woman through our mentoring program. She’s eager to have a mentor — and we have someone eager to mentor her. But communication has been hit-or-miss and the process has dragged on. I’ll text her, she’ll confirm and then cancel a few days later. Or I’ll show up and her grandma is not home to sign paperwork. Or phones will be turned off for a week or more.

In my world, this is frustrating. But in her world, one with no car, intermittent phone, a revolving door of living situations, a grandma with her hands full, and very little scheduling, this is normal. Honestly, for someone living in a storm, she’s doing pretty well.

Living in a storm, only thinking about survival, is not a place for anyone to stay permanently. It’s not a place to flourish. But it’s a starting point for us to understand those whose decisions don’t always make sense to us.

Thank you for being an advocate for those kids and families in our community who are weathering hidden storms! Together we are seeing kids grow toward their God-given potential — not just surviving, but thriving.

Faith Bosland | SCYM

To learn more about Faith’s work visit

An Operating System Gone Wrong

Not too long ago, I found myself paralyzed in the moment.

In light of the everyday tragedies that fill our world, this was really just a blip on the radar — however, in that moment, I was reminded of how dependent most of us have become on technology for our most basic everyday functioning.  

It was after lunch, and I was preparing to print materials for a board meeting late that afternoon and for a presentation the next morning. So naturally, at that exact point in time, my computer’s operating system decided that it was time for an update. Nevermind that I had previously set aside several reminders to update my system, or that I was the one that had chosen to use a PC instead of a Mac. For the next 45 minutes, I could do nothing but sit and wait for my computer to reconfigure itself into something more functional.

All of us operate within systems that we did not design and likely have little control over. Most of us don’t spend much time thinking about all of the operating systems that govern our lives, humming quietly in the background. On my laptop or mobile device, I have a tendency to focus my attention on all of the shiny programs and applications that offer greater efficiency, more robust communication, or inspire new creativity. However, ask any Microsoft executive about Windows Vista and you will hear the haunting tale of an operating system gone wrong, causing Microsoft to fall behind during an important season in mobile and traditional computing. Perhaps we have something to learn about the work of poverty alleviation from our friends in technology. Connections often reveal themselves in unlikely places.

Each year, we spend millions of dollars and countless hours of personal investment on the development of new programs aimed at addressing poverty. There is no doubt that these developments have spurred progress in many areas and have helped to improve quality of life and hope for many. At Think Tank, we encourage the development and cultivation of models of poverty alleviation that focus on restoring people to wholeness. However, in that process, we think it is vital that we get under the hood and look at our operating system driving the work of poverty alleviation in our communities. In other words, it’s not just about what we do to address poverty, it’s about how we do it.  

Change is most effective when those we serve have an equal say and stake in making their communities better.

To that end, we lift up five practices that must become ingrained into how we go about addressing poverty in our communities. These five practices are essential if we are going to attack American poverty at its core.

First of all, we have an opportunity to break out of our compartmentalized way of thinking that, for example, views health only in terms of healthcare or housing only in terms of bricks and mortar. We must recognize the interconnected parts of people and communities and pursue holistic solutions.

Secondly, we must cultivate the discipline of listening first. It’s easy for people, out of a desire to help, to assume what needs are present in their community and give accordingly. Yet, better outcomes happen when we first listen to those we want to help and truly value their experiences, needs, and goals.

Instead of inspiring people to work for their communities, we should care about people working with their communities. Doing with, rather than ‘doing to’ or ‘doing for’, should be our default posture.

Additionally, we believe change is most effective when those we serve have an equal say and stake in making their communities better. That sustained change is dependent upon intentionally promoting leadership from within communities impacted by poverty.

And finally, and perhaps most importantly, we must learn to take an authentically-relational approach to fighting poverty. In an American society that continues to become more diverse, we need more contexts where people can connect meaningfully across difference. We know that relationships facilitate individual and community change, so we must build social capital — especially among, and with, neighborhoods impacted by poverty.

I am reminded time and again that change comes both in spite of us and, by the grace of God, through us. It comes, and the systems will adapt, just as they’ve always done. But, we have a choice in how change is seated within us.

Poverty is already proof of an operating system gone wrong. Will we check our own to fix it?


by Marlo Fox for Think Tank, Inc. — to learn more about Marlo’s work, please visit

Privileged Discontent

I couldn’t shake it. On the bus. In the street. At the apartment next door. Homelessness. Poverty. Drugs. Systemic marginalization. A blind eye turned. A gaze diverted. I was growing numb. Numb to the realities of a fallen world. My heart was hardening and I had to stop it.

I’d spent the past six years learning the ins and outs of some of our world’s most successful companies. From Honda to General Electric to Northrop Grumman to Boeing. I’d earned my engineering degree from The Ohio State University and soon found myself on the fast track to executive management at the world’s largest aerospace company. By many accounts, I was winning. Winning at this thing called life. Yet I couldn’t shake it. The growing discontentment. It was becoming far too easy for me to move through the routines of daily life in my safe bubble of self-absorption. Eat. Sleep. Work. Make money. Spend money. Be entertained. Do it again. Over and over.

Why me? Had I earned this life? Why are some people forced to suffer in the pits of generational poverty, while others coast scot-free on the backs of their forefathers? What was I doing to help? Do I have an obligation to help? Was I actually part of the problem? I needed to know.

These questions, and many more, plagued me. The more I learned about the complexities of poverty, the more distracted I became. I’d sit at my desk, staring at drawings of pressure bulkheads, and wonder how a man could possibly get to the point where he is content to dig his ‘meals’ out of a trash can. I’d wonder what led the young woman to work the street corner just to get by. That couldn’t possibly be her preferred choice…could it? I knew I had to do something, but I just wasn’t sure what.

I’d grown disgusted with my unmerited privilege — a White male raised in a middle-class family. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for those that worked tirelessly to put me in this position and for the freedoms that this life has gifted me, but I just wasn’t sure that I was leveraging those freedoms appropriately.

I needed personal faces, smiles, tears and stories to be at the center of my framework. I needed them to shape me…mold me…break me. I had so much to learn. I have so much to learn.

At Boeing, I was losing my passion for a career that I’d dreamed about for so many years. The lifestyle of Corporate America was weighing on me and I didn’t have the strength to fight it. I was no longer that young man who out-hustled everyone in the workplace. I was subtly becoming okay with average work. Believe me, that is NOT okay.

So, I moved. I made a switch. I took a risk.

From Boeing to Coffee Crafters Academy. From building airplanes in Seattle, WA to making coffee inside of prisons around Central Ohio. I quit my job and promising career to serve with the AmeriCorps VISTA program.

I needed to get as close to poverty as I could. Books and TED Talks were no longer enough. I needed personal faces, smiles, tears and stories to be at the center of my framework. I needed them to shape me…mold me…break me. I had so much to learn. I have so much to learn.

For me, prison has been my playground over the past year, and I’ve been astounded by what I’ve learned. Take a look at these facts:

  • We, as a country, incarcerate nearly 25% of the world’s total prison population (over 2.3mil people without being a markedly “safer” country)
  • Our average annual cost of incarcerating each prisoner is over $31k
  • Our average rate of a prisoner returning to state prison within 5yrs of being released is an astonishing 76.6%

Folks, our prison system is not working, and it’s about time that we try something different.

Prior to joining Coffee Crafters Academy, I knew nothing about our country’s prison system. Again, a prime example of my privilege. I didn’t need to know anything about it. It didn’t affect me, but that was no excuse for my ignorance. I confess, I still don’t know much about prison and why exactly things are the way they are, but I’m striving to learn more each day.

Some days I feel hopeless and inadequate. Much, I suppose, like those trapped in our prison system. Other days, I’m overwhelmed with a sense of peace and energy to fight on.

The truth is that incarceration is trapping many families in endless cycles of poverty. Loss of income. Court fees. Poor communication. Isolation. Hopelessness. Fear. We are a people made for community, made for fellowship with other human beings. We become like those we surround ourselves with, so what do you think will happen when we group thousands of people struggling with drug addictions, mental illness, anger, and sexual perversion in the same cramped quarters? Those individuals are, inevitably, influenced. Influenced by ideas, attitudes and ways of life that are not conducive to a healthy existence. They learn to cope and survive in a world that is radically different from life outside their walls. Yet, we expect them to thrive once released? Really? Our strategy, in general, has been to make life so unbearably difficult and miserable for them that they couldn’t possibly want to go back to prison. I get it, I do. A bit of that makes sense, but that idea, on its own, is far from an adequate strategy or solution. The stories and data prove it.

Do I have all the answers? Absolutely not. But my eyes have certainly been opened to a problem. A problem that is so complex and multifaceted that is, at times, paralyzing. And that’s okay. Some days I feel hopeless and inadequate. Much, I suppose, like those trapped in our prison system. Other days, I’m overwhelmed with a sense of peace and energy to fight on. I often find myself tempted to return to the lifestyle of Corporate America, and that, also, is okay. I just may do that someday. To be clear, that life is not inherently bad. Those in that space are part of the solution as well.

However, for right now, this is good for me. It’s changing me. It’s giving me new perspectives, influencing my motives and making me uncomfortable. It’s blurring the boundaries of my life in ways that are challenging me to consider the whole. I encourage you to lean in. Embrace the messiness and not yet of this life. Soften your heart. Take a risk. It’s okay to hurt a little. In order to change anything, you must first be willing to be changed yourself.

Friends, use your freedom to serve each other in love. Life is a gift, strive to live like it.


Additional sources: The National Institute of Justice, The New York Times, Vera Institute of Justice, and the Prison Policy Initiative

by Nick Hirsch

Hirsch is the operations manager for Coffee Crafters Academy by way of the Corporation for National & Community Service’s AmeriCorps VISTA program, a partner of Think Tank, Inc. — to learn more about Think Tank, please visit

Go With Love

I do not like crumbs in the bed…

My nine-year-old daughter, Mary, organized a surprise movie night for me. She decorated my room with movie theater candy, creative homemade reserved seat signs, popcorn, and soda with fancy straws. She was so excited to unveil her surprise. She grabbed the remote and said, “Okay, Mom, let’s pick a movie!”

She invited me to sit on my bed, with her hand full of popcorn to watch the movie. I could see the crumbs tumbling down into the bed before the movie even began. And the sight…




I had to make a choice.

I decided to go with love, instead of focusing on the kernels dropping on the sheets.

While this small event may be just a fleeting memory in my family history, it inspired me to think about the space between discomfort and a connection to something greater. In order to live in a community, sometimes I have had to take up my discomfort and recognize the opportunity to transform it into love and understanding.

Think about…

The single mom who has more children than she can afford, and you don’t like that she’s pregnant with another. Go with love.

The recovering addict who seems to have only curse words in his vocabulary, and you don’t like that he cusses in church. Go with love.

The felon who is covered in tattoos, and you don’t like that he lives with a woman he’s not married to. Go with love.

The stinky guy who always wants to give you a hug at the community meal, and you don’t like that he has poor hygiene. Go with love.

Sometimes we miss opportunities to create moments of genuine connection, because we can’t sit with a certain level of discomfort within our beliefs. We miss experiences that we never forget. We miss times that teach us more about ourselves than others.

When we go with love, it can be hard. It can mean navigating situations that go against our norm, and forgoing control and comfort.

Our movie night was wonderful. We watched Pete’s Dragon, one of my favorite movies as a child. I didn’t say anything about the crumbs in the bed, but instead I focused on the important stuff, and I chose love.

What does it really mean to choose love? 

Love is courage, not comfort.
Love is a decision, not a reaction.
Love is selfless, not selfish.
Love is connection.


by Heather Cunningham — to learn more about Heather’s work, please visit

Paralyzed In Poverty, Part III

This is the third and final chapter of the Rethink Community mini-series, Paralyzed In Poverty, an as-told-to narrative based directly on the account of Andrea Harper and her perspective on living life in poverty.

Harper, a former presidentially-recognized mathematics educator from Springfield, OH, was put on the road of redemption after dealing with a combination of circumstances which left her struggling in poverty and having to reclaim her good name when left subject to the judicial system.

Currently earning her master’s degree in rehabilitation counseling at Wright State University, today, the former Princeton Review professor is a licensed chemical dependency (LCDC II) counselor and serves as a poverty-alleviation training facilitator and speaker for Think Tank, Inc., a federal partner of the Corporation of National & Community Service (CNCS).

In case you missed them, please read Part I and Part II.

“Now remember, Andrea — you only have 30 minutes travel time from the time you leave work to pick up your child.”

That’s what I tell myself. The Title 20 social worker asked why my card swipe times were so inconsistent for picking up my baby. God forbid that I go to the store really quickly, or run home to throw a load of laundry in, or do the dishes, or have some decompression time before I pick up my kids. They have taken over the management of my life and determine who lives in my home. And so we make decisions I’m not proud of to make ends meet. Claiming his income would mean a loss of food stamps or a raise in the PIPP bills.

Sometimes I wonder how I fit it all into a 24-hour period. I do not seem to get much help. I work full time, I am responsible for all the appointments for the kids — and don’t forget to get documentation for every one of them, so you can get your gas cards at the end of the month. I do the grocery shopping and shopping for everything the home needs. I have a 1-year-old; a 12-year-old whose school calls me at least 3x/week, due to her special emotional needs; and a 17-year-old who lives her own life and is honestly not much help. I have to fit all the laundry, cleaning, and organization of the home in there, too — on top of my NA meetings on lunch break (instead of eating), my counseling to keep me sane, and my medications to keep me stable. I get jealous of those who can afford house cleaners and nannies that come to the home — or someone that cooks every meal.

I have worked so hard my entire life. Why the short end of the stick for me? Why do I always feel like I am working harder than every single person around me? Maybe not at work, but for sure in all of life.  Most days I am filled with gratitude and peace from a God of my understanding and that personal relationship carries me through.  But other days, days like today, I just feel some type of way…perplexed…frustrated.

Scarcity exists in poverty. There is no ‘off’ switch. There is no vacation.

Now I know what some of you that are reading might be thinking (especially if you are a typical working mother in 2017), ‘I have to run around and do all of these things in a day too! What makes poverty so rough?!?’ Really, this is a point of intersection of shared experience between people in poverty, people of middle class, and people of wealth. I encourage you to share in that feeling of being overwhelmed and connecting our shared experiences of scarcity — whether it’s in financial resources, social capital, or time.

Don’t quote me on this, I am recalling this from memory…but, I heard this story about a former President. The headline read something like, ‘President goes golfing after threat to America’. But, I thought about it… this man might have just wanted to turn off for a minute before making a huge world-changing decision that would weigh heavy on his heart. This man has the resources to go golfing. I could judge him and say, ‘Must be nice.’ But I also can identify with that feeling of ‘I JUST NEED A BREAK!!!’

As an addict in recovery, I can understand that feeling of wanting to turn off. There were many times when I thought that using drugs was my only option and resource to tune out for a moment. I thank God that I have been able to rid myself of the weight of substance abuse. But that feeling remains. I don’t feel like I have a means to turn off the switch of life’s expectations. That is the scarcity that exists in poverty. There is no ‘off’ switch. There is no vacation. Often, there are no social resources to just get away for a weekend.

This is not meant to produce guilt. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, because I don’t get a vacation. I am asking you find the space for understanding when you read stories of people in poverty or meet people with limited financial resources. I think that the feelings of isolation and brokenness are more pronounced in poverty. And I know this both from my personal experiences in poverty and my life as a middle-class teacher. But we all feel isolated and broken sometimes. Let’s use that common experience to connect us.

How can we experience restoration together?


by Andrea Harper for Think Tank, Inc. — to learn more about Andrea’s work, please visit

Paralyzed In Poverty, Part II

This is the second part of the Rethink Community mini-series, Paralyzed In Poverty, a first-person account of living life in poverty from the perspective of Andrea Harper.

Harper, a former presidentially-recognized mathematics educator from Springfield, OH, was put on the road of redemption after falling victim to a combination of circumstances which left her struggling in poverty and having to reclaim her good name when left subject to the judicial system.

Currently earning her master’s degree in rehabilitation counseling at Wright State University, today, the former Princeton Review professor is a licensed chemical dependency (LCDC II) counselor and serves as a poverty-alleviation training facilitator and speaker for Think Tank, Inc., a federal partner of the Corporation of National & Community Service (CNCS).

In case you missed it, please read Part I.

The following are Harper’s own words.


“Mom, why would you tell him we were ghetto-rich?”

My 12-year-old was shocked and embarrassed that she found out we make way less money than her uncle, my brother. I have literally built my life up from ground-zero poverty twice in my life. I mean poverty in every area, except intellectual, and sometimes, that spoke of the wheel even felt broken due to the heavy amounts of mental health medications I had to take at the time.  

Together for a family of five, we make $24,000/year and that includes the $700 monthly social security check and the $5000 of cash odd jobs we do throughout the year.  Our credit is good, so we buy new cars, both of us, my husband and I. Our house is paid off, but on the borderline of being condemned, due to damage to the foundation and malfunctioning windows in the home. We don’t have to pay a mortgage — just $110/month for insurance and taxes.  We all have new cellphones, iPads, and computers in the home. We pay cash for braces for our 12-year-old.  

My husband’s family comes from deep generational poverty and thinks we are well off. It is only because I can navigate the resources and know every program that can give me a break or benefits to offer. We don’t pay for childcare, but we have to leave our precious baby — the most important thing in our life — with someone we met once and has mediocre childcare.

We don’t pay for gas for my car. Or food. Or medical expenses. We all have name brand wardrobes. But, we have no money for vacations. We live off our tax returns for high-price items throughout the year.

Poverty comes with a great deal of stress with having to have all your documents and receipts and proof of attendance all in a row, and at the right time, because having one thing off means a benefit is cut off — just like that. My children don’t have to be without, and they get mostly what they ask for. So, by some of our families’ standards, we have it all together.     

Poverty is relative. Middle-class values, work ethic, and organizational skills can make you successful in the navigation of the resources available to those of us in poverty who think ‘middle class’. But, the system is not set up for those with a generational poverty mindset. The appointment and documentation and organization and tricks of the trade are way too much for someone who lives only in the moment. It is too much to manage for someone who does not have transportation or has a crisis in his or her life. We have a system that sets some up to be ghetto-rich (if they have the knowledge to become so) and others to fail miserably, trying to survive.   

How do relationships play a part in this real-life story…my real-life story? An employer allowing flex-time for appointments, or letting me leave an hour early to go home to clean or grocery shop before I pick up my kids. Someone who is willing to pay a living wage that would allow me to let go of the social security check (which has personally become my security blanket, if you will). A family member who would do childcare for you; a member of the family who would help a lot with the cleaning and cooking. One person, one relationship, can lighten the load — it can really make the difference.

So, the system, it may stay the same, so the individual may stay the same, but the relational interaction of just one person can be a game-changer in very small ways or very large ways. A relationship can move a family from living ghetto rich to middle class.


by Andrea Harper for Think Tank, Inc. — to learn more about Andrea’s work, please visit