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…

Made.

Me.

Cringe.

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.

tt-blog-spark_o2

by Heather Cunningham — to learn more about Heather’s work, please visit thinktank-inc.org

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?

tt-blog-spark_o2

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

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.

TT-Blog-Spark_B2

“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.

tt-blog-spark_o2

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

Paralyzed in Poverty, Part I

This is the first 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.


Hi, I’m Andrea, and this is my first-person account of how it feels to suffer from the effects of poverty, to learn to live in it, and to struggle to climb away from it.

Once upon a time, I was an educator, top-rated and vetted by my school district, my state, and even my country. Some bad decisions and other complex factors led me to becoming a felon and I had to rebuild my life, but not before entering into extreme poverty first.

This short narrative is what has been crossing my mind as I continue my journey out of poverty.

My mind races with the following thoughts.

TT-Blog-Spark_B2

I got my LCDCII (licensed chemical dependency counselor) licensure in the mail today — a crossroads and pivotal moment is in front of me. This could be my way out of poverty.

Why am I even contemplating staying where I am?

Why am I paralyzed in poverty, I am seeing a possible way to financially get out of it?

How in the world do I get out of this?

Do I have the courage to look over the cliff? Is there a way out without hurting too bad?

I have been tenacious and determined to figure living in poverty out. I have used my intellectual gifts to navigate every resource. My experience with material poverty is situational.

(My situation today includes — recovery in addiction and mental illness, a bachelor’s degree in education that is of little value [because of my conviction] and every subsidy you can access as an under-resourced mother of three [medical, food stamps, housing, social security, the list goes on…].)

I was raised with strong middle-class value system around saving money, having work ethic, and paying bills on time. I believe in higher education.

Why won’t I let this social security check go? It’s like a stronghold. I have been traumatized by the effects of losing it all…of being thrashed into situational poverty from the effects of the disease of addiction.

I lost my career, my home, my vehicle, my retirement, and every cent to my name. I moved into a home that should have been condemned while living off of $350/month and buying money orders at the moto-mart to pay my utilities (along with buying two cartons of cigarettes to last me the month) — that was my monthly ritual. I have used resources in poverty to make my earning power be as if I am middle-class. “Ghetto rich”, I call it.

I have the experience and license and education now to go on to full-time employment without the check — but damn, it’s $700/month gone! And 20 more hours of work a week away from my home and my children to be at the same earning power that I am right now.

Is the system a trap? or am I trapped, by fear?

Why not take the risk?


Getting out of poverty is not always this glorious move with rainbows and flowers. The change process is scary. The system offers important resources, but can quickly become a crutch to getting ahead.

Sometimes the pain of a comfortable situation is easier to live with than the ambiguity of the future.

That’s the pain. That’s the truth about poverty.

tt-blog-spark_o2

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

From Divisions and Differences, Radical Alliances

I was a newly-elected legislator with hard-wired opinions about ‘the poor’. He was an advocate for them. We both were stepping into a highly-charged policy discussion about poverty: one of the most politicized topics in America, and the first impressions were not favorable. All the signals of ‘left-wing do-gooder’ were flashing in my head about him. But, he probably thought that about me — no, I am sure he did — ‘heartless, right-wing conservative’. This is how we do it, you know — with our first moments of sizing up and labeling.

But, as we spent more time with each other, sharing our life stories and the like, we discovered a common bond and purpose in our work. We both felt that ‘the Great American Safety Net’ was keeping and trapping people into poverty, not liberating them from it– and the human cost of it all was devastating to our communities. Despite our very public political and world view differences, an odd couple was born, and together we helped craft legislation directed at solving the problem. A tiny step from a public policy perspective but a giant leap for a guy who had closed his mind to new ideas that didn’t properly fit into his ideological box.. I found an alliance in the strangest of places. A radical alliance.

What do I mean by “radical alliance”? A radical alliance is, simply, a relationship that cuts across ideological, class, ethnic/racial, or even theological lines for mutual benefit. These types of relationships may be the secret to laying the foundation and principles that will lead to lasting transformation for our cities and communities. It is our contention that the formation, development, and cultivation of radical alliances is the last best hope in alleviating poverty in a divided America. Alliances such as these — whether between institutions, organizations, or individuals — are radical, because they push against the prevailing norms, fixed ideas and established structures.

They may be new friendships with people who are very different than you. Perhaps they have values, experiences, ethnicities, lifestyles, neighborhoods, or upbringings that differ from your own. It could be unsettling and awkward at first, sweeping you away from your protected comfort zone. Maybe even a little risky and provoke comments like ‘what would people think’ or even ‘Why am I wasting time with this person? This is beneath me. Or, ‘This doesn’t add to my career or reputation if I align with them.’

hand-1917895_1280

By intentionally and purposefully forming these kind of alliances, we just may be able to create positive, meaningful, and lasting community change. When we unite in spite of our differences, we just may discover the deep and sometimes hidden ties that bind us together around a particular cause, a mission, or a community project. It’s not only radical, but profoundly counter-cultural in an American civic environment. It carves us all into dozens of identity/political interest groups that intentionally pit us against one another.

The stories and narratives we tell ourselves about those so-called others, about their neighborhoods or their cultures, ethnicities, or political affiliations, can all come crashing down on us when we enter into relationship and discover that we have so much more in common than those things that divide us. We have to resist that gravitational pull away from people different than us and insist that a new approach of seeing others can deliver a powerful, spiritual, and personal rebirth that delight us when discovered. These moments of revelation can be transcendent and definitive, and have greater potential to shake us to our core, because they disrupt what ‘ought to be’ in our minds or the way things have always been. They can surprise us in their intensity and power, and beget fresh and new understandings.

As it turned out, this new relationship in my life inspired legislation to be passed and enacted. A relatively modest positive step in the grand scheme of things, but the process was in place for new relationships and new learning in how to impact communities engulfed in poverty. The lasting truths, however, for me and my own spiritual journey have been profound, notwithstanding some painful and humbling self-reflection. It took someone from the other side of the aisle, as they say, to shake up some assumptions and value judgements. I am a richer man for it, and I just bet you, he as well.

tt-blog-spark_o2

by John White — to learn more about John’s work, please visit thinktank-inc.org

Everything Has Purpose

Entering through the door, she held up a wrinkled Ziploc bag containing a five-dollar bill.

“You know, once I go back home, my uncle won’t take me back out for the weekend. Could we stop at the thrift store later? I’d like to get some clothes.”

It was an unusually warm February evening, and we had a few things planned, but I assured her that we could fit in a short shopping trip. Serena was entering that stage where girls become aware of the fact that clothes are suddenly more valuable than toys to them, as they awkwardly try to hang on to childhood while reaching for a more grownup identity.

We sat around the table eating pizza and talking about our day, as my daughter began to describe an all-too familiar experience for kids her age. Apparently, a clique of girls at school had shot nasty looks to she and her friend, gossiping and saying mean things about them. These kinds of episodes are pointedly painful for my daughter, as her people-pleasing instincts and fear of being alone cause her to internalize even the slightest hint of rejection. In a moment, the raw vulnerability that had been expressed opened the door for a flood of advice and sharing of her own experiences from Serena.

As Serena viscerally described the names that had been ascribed to her and the ways in which she had been bullied, sorrow welled up in all of us. I wondered, how it is that we’ve allowed the experience of poverty or condition of obesity to serve as justification to treat others as objects to be beaten down? If any justice could be found in the situation, it would be in the fact that a caring and no-nonsense principal was doing her best to foster a culture of affirmation and accountability among all members of the school — teachers and students alike. Still, no system can mandate love and even though her peers were forced to ‘behave,’ Serena knew what they really thought of her. After a bit of encouragement, the kids moved swiftly on to less weighty subjects and activities.

Quickly the evening passed, yet we had one last thing on our list to do. Nothing must be worse to a thrift store clerk than three hyper youth with a handful of dollars, streaming into the store just before closing. I quickly stepped into the role of sergeant, trying to keep the kids focused on what we were there to get. Then we began sorting through a pile of larger-sized clothes that seemed to be fashioned more for a 50-year-old than a young teen. Making our way to the back of the store, there were a myriad of random items sitting on a shelf. As a minimalist with a very strong aversion for clutter, I couldn’t help but think how awful all of this stuff was. Perhaps of the same mind, one of the clerks came back our way, putting an old candle on the shelf. Trying to make conversation, she said, “This candle is really ugly, isn’t it?!” And then…a magical thing happened.

Without missing a beat, Serena looked stone-face at the clerk, and calmly, but clearly, said,

“Nothing is ugly. Everything has purpose.”

It was as if the voice of God had just spoken to us. For a brief moment, all the clerk and I could do was look at one another, knowing we had been called out.

Youth have no use for cliches. What Serena said was a glorious truth that by grace had been revealed to her in her pain. And at that moment, the truth was not only meant to bring redemption to her own experience, it was also redeeming the clerk…and me. For all of the times I had arrogantly claimed beauty for some parts of my community and ugliness for others, I needed that truth. For the times I’ve looked at others with suspicion, contempt or didn’t even see them at all, I needed that truth. And in that moment, I was grateful for the profound truths that children have to share with us when we are present enough to listen.

tt-blog-spark_o2

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

Listen

Today I picked my eight-year-old daughter up from her elementary school (we only live two miles away). I pulled up and she jumped in the car, as she was excitedly flashing a smile on her face. Before the car door was even closed shut and her seat belt buckled, she was talking 90 miles a minute. During the three-minute drive home, I was totally bombarded with the details of her day. Full blast.

I’ll be honest — it was exhausting to hear. The lunch room, her teacher, the playground…you get the picture. At one point, I turned the dial on the radio, hoping she’d take a breath — but she just talked louder. When we pulled into the driveway, I quickly dismissed the conversation and headed in the house to get our evening routine started.

Recently, I have felt similar feelings when surfing Facebook, watching the news, or having conversations with friends. It’s no secret that our political climate is full of social ambiguity and anger. People are talking 90 miles a minute, spewing their thoughts like third-graders all over social media and really any other platform they can. It’s exhausting. I just want to dismiss all the conversations and stick to my routine.

But what if I take a moment to listen? Not respond, but truly listen.

Communication is complicated. Sometimes, when we want to share our story or experience, we result to a rapid firing of every thought, every detail. When we feel others aren’t listening, we get louder. This is a result of not feeling heard (and truthfully, many times, not being heard).

During dinner, my husband asked the standard question, “How was everyone’s day?” Our daughter went to explain that she was excited about a class presentation that she was in charge of. I said, “Wow, that’s great — I didn’t know that!” And of course she said, “Mom, I told you all about it in the car!”

As exhausting as it can be, I encourage you to hear others. Listen and reflect. Because you may miss something important.

tt-blog-spark_o2

by Heather Cunningham — to learn more about Heather’s work, please visit thinktank-inc.org