I'm sending my five-year-old to public school in a poor neighborhood

Some months ago, a dear friend was lamenting again how she wants to move. I pointed out that as long as I've known her, wherever she lives, she always wants to move. But wherever you go, there you are. She protested that this was different, she wants a better school for her kids, fewer drug addicts in the neighborhood... Her bland apartment, smashed in next to dozens of others, with children always traipsing through each other's unfenced yards, is not so bad. It's not unsafe. It's just not nice. And the people aren't all nice, just average sinners, some swearing and drinking, with occasional marijuana and neglect... All the kids love to come to my friend's house, because she was born to be a mother. Her compassion grows with every (unplanned) child she bears. As we talk, her beautiful petite frame is filling out with number five. She practices kindness and patience with the neighbor kids, and shares from her consistent supply of goldfish crackers, the same way she used to put them in a cute mug for me when I first met her. I've eaten a lot of goldfish crackers at my friend's retro kitchen table, and so have the kids in her neighborhood. But she worries. Maybe this neighborhood isn't "good for" her kids. As long as I've known her, she's wanted more, always restless. Her poor husband is always scraping through to feed all the mouths and keep them under one roof. I had an epiphany while I was listening to her. Someone saddled my friend with the idea that in order to please God, you must live in a nice neighborhood and your kids must grow up in safety, with plenty of opportunities. I suddenly felt a little ire at this great and prevalent lie, that God's will is the American dream. I got on a soapbox and said something like, "You don't have to live in a nice neighborhood to be a good Christian! If that were God's will, then most of the world wouldn't be able to attain it! And what about the missionaries living in some remote place laying down their lives for love? Bet their kids don't get a lot of "opportunities" as Americans think of them. Maybe God put you here in THIS apartment complex to love and show compassion. If you love your neighbors and teach your kids to love, they will be fine. Show them that you are content in God's will. They don't have to go to a nice school, they just need to know they can trust God and love people!" My friend couldn't argue with my point, and admitted she needs to trust God more, otherwise how can she teach her kids in that way? She also seemed a little relieved to hear that God didn't expect her to figure out how to improve her status in order to be acceptable to Him. ...... Today this conversation rushed back into my mind, as I looked at the tuition prices of a Christian school. Because I'm worried. Worried that the elementary school across the street won't be "good for" my kindergartener. Will the Mexican neighbors who pick on him in the front yard treat him even worse at school, when I'm not close by? I tell my sons to love their neighbors. All the time. Love, love, love. And tell the truth. Not just "be nice," or "behave." Love from the heart and forgive; if you can't, ask God for help. But in my heart, I am afraid to send them out into the world where they will certainly encounter mistreatment. (And all the experienced moms, who have already sent children away to school and college and marriage, will smile gently and chuckle at my fear, because they remember it so well.) Of course, I don't want my sons to volunteer for abuse, but l have only taught them the armor of love and truth. The armor of fear and isolation (or at least pre-emptive rejection of strangers) would be a lot more safe and predictable. I see other little boys Lachlan's age who have already learned to swagger like their fathers and hold their heads up, and look for their own advantage. Lachlan still has no swagger, no pride, no pretense. He's tender-hearted and vulnerable; I don't want him to learn hardness and lying.

I looked up a local Christian school I had seen. $200 a month for tuition. And tears sprang to my eyes because that price is impossible for us right now. And then I recognized the same mentality my friend was struggling with--this is what it means to be a good Christian American family: You're supposed to own a house, one or two cars that don't break down, send your kids to Christian school or home school, live on only one income, have dinner together every night. Well what if you're poor!? Then you need to work harder so you're not poor anymore, then you can be the kind of Christian God is looking for? What a pile of crap.

And on the other hand, I know what's "good for" most people---a healthy dose of challenges and trials, passed through with patience and faith. Humans are always trying to avoid pain; some Americans seem to take any pain or difficulty as an infringement on their rights. Doesn't the Bible say something about being "patient in affliction"? It's sort of un-American, but it's definitely part of basic Christianity. So, then, perhaps the "best" thing for Lachlan will be to go to a school where he is part of the racial minority. Perhaps the best thing I can do as a parent is to strengthen him to endure a little rejection and mistreatment, to pass through it with dignity, confidence, and patience. Will the armor of love be enough? I hope so.

Freely I have received

As I have been practicing giving cheerfully, and not under compulsion, it seems that every time I give I receive back something unexpected. I never give because I want to selfishly gain money, but it's wonderful to receive so that I can give more.

My friend and step-cousin, Jordan Bentley, recently became a full-time staff member at a local prayer house, where he has to raise his own financial support. After being on a worship/prayer team with him for more than five years, I know him to be faithful, diligent, and patient. He's also smart and a great musician, a great contribution to the house of prayer staff. I could brag some more, but to summarize in a cliche, he's worth his salt. A year or so ago, I asked him if he ever intended to go on staff, and he said yes. At the time I was staying home with the kids and my husband was unemployed, but I gave Jordan a (measly) $5 and said, “Here is the beginning of your support.” Less than a year later, he became a full-time staff member at the house of prayer. Since I became a waitress last fall, we work literally across the street from each other, so I can just walk over and drop off some cash with him--effortless! It gave me such joy to give, especially because I hadn't really been in a position to give for several years. I love it! I get excited to bless him. Sometimes I give what is convenient and sometimes more sacrificially—I just give what I can give cheerfully. (I don't have a system or formula to offer---sorry!)

On Thursday, Feb 7, I checked my email. I saw a message from Josh Garrels, which reminded me I had wanted to send him money. Josh Garrels lives in Portland, Oregon, and he is changing the culture of music. His last album he gave away for free online, and he is building a studio with the intention of giving opportunities to broke, unknown artists. My impression is that the studio is pretty much being built by donations. Anyway, I found a physical address on the email, so I got an envelope, wrote him an encouraging note, and went to my tip jar in the cupboard. I thought of giving him $40, or $100, but I settled on $50. I sealed the envelope but didn't have time to stick it in the mail before I had to go out the door. That night at work, I made over $100 in tips, which was a record for Thursday night (usually I make $30-$60 in tips on a Thursday evening.) It did not even make sense--we were not very busy, and I didn't wait on any particularly big/expensive tables. But everyone I waited on tipped me 20% or more. My boss even double checked the credit card tips and asked me about it, because it seemed like a mistake to her, but all the numbers were right. I was delighted, and thought, maybe I should have given Josh Garrels more!

The next day, Friday, February 8, my husband called to say we had received our federal tax refund. He told me to give $400 to Jordan first. I got really excited to give him a bigger gift than my usual $20 or $40; I knew it would really help with his finances. I was looking forward to my lunch break when I could walk to the bank and then take the gift to him at the house of prayer. As I got excited, I told one of my co-workers (Leo from Guatemala) that we got our tax refund and I'm going to give to my friend who works/volunteers across the street. I told him, when I give, then I receive more. I told him about the gift I set aside on Thursday, and how I made twice as many tips as I expected that same day.

A few weeks ago, I gave Jordan $100 on a Thursday or Friday. On that Saturday night, I made more tips than I had ever made in one shift--$200! But today, the Lord set a new record for me--and a new record for the restaurant, I think!

Tonight I waited on a table with two men--one in his 30's perhaps, with glasses and I thought he was kind of funny-looking, but seemed very sweet. The other man had white hair. He was pleasant but not remarkable or particularly memorable. They had their tea, their food, and then they ordered a couple dishes to go, following the chef's recommendation for the spiciest dishes. I worked hard to serve them well, but waiting on them was uneventful until I took their payment. The older man paid--I saw that it was cash, and I asked if he needed change. He firmly said no. I took the money to the register, and the tip was $130! Embarrassed, I took a receipt to him and asked sheepishly, are you sure you don't need any change? He firmly said no again, and said, "I know what I put in there, it's for you. You might think I'm a fool, but 'a fool and his money are soon parted.'" I was flabbergasted and stuttered a thank you. I went to get their to-go food, and almost felt embarrassed to go back to the table. I immediately recognized that the Lord was already giving me more to give. I told the man, stumbling on my words and almost choking up, that I have been practicing giving and I just today gave someone a large gift (maybe I told him it was $400, I don't remember) and this is amazing to already receive more. Somehow I think I communicated that I thought this was a blessing related to the gift I had just given. The man said cheerfully, "well, enjoy your weekend!" with a twinkle in his eye. I replied, "I'm going to have fun giving some more!"

Oh but the story gets better. As I am delivering food to another table, I cross paths with the giver on his way out the door. He says loudly, “Miss, would you stop a minute?” So I pause, and he says, “This is also for you,” and he sets down some folded money near me. I quickly put the plates on the table a few steps away and rush back to grab the money. I see another $100 and I stuff it in my pocket, again blown away and slightly embarrassed. I tell my co-workers he gave me another $100, and I tell them how I have been practicing giving and I keep receiving. My Thai Buddhist manager acknowledges that buddhists also believe that if you give, you will receive. And, she says, "it works."

It's near the end of my shift, so I finish the paperwork for my credit card tips and get cash for them. We are supposed to tip the kitchen 15% of what we make, but it's split between 3-5 people. On a good night, they get $10 each and the servers get $80 each. I often feel bad that I make so much more money than the cooks, who work as hard as I do, so I often tip them more than I have to. On this night, thinking I have earned about $300 in tips, I give the four cooks and one dishwasher $20 each. I did not intend to get attention for it—I just feel happy to share the blessing! My co-workers, who were amazed at my large tip, are also stunned when they see all the cooks' tip buckets (in plain view) with $20 bills.

I told Leo in the kitchen about the big tip and he joked, I don't believe you--you must be kidding me. So right before I left, I went into the kitchen and pulled out the two $100 bills for him to see, but when I unfolded the bill I had shoved in my pocket, there were TWO and not one! I gave $100 to the kitchen and then discovered I had $100 more than I thought! This last discovery, I did not share with all my co-workers that night. It was too overwhelming. The server who has been there for 12 years, very hard working and good at her job, seemed more bewildered than anyone. She kept saying, I don't understand--why did he give that to you? The youngest server, who is a believer like me, knew that it was God's hand. Before I left I said to her, "I cleaned all my tables but I didn't set them. Do you need me to set them before I go?" She replied, "I don't even care! I'll do anything for you! You just got a huge tip and I can't stop smiling!"