It’s ALL Ministry

01152016 It’s All Ministry 

This morning, I woke up after approximately four hours sleep.  I was tired, but I knew that when I fell asleep on the couch, I would wake up and the world would somehow be different today than it was yesterday.  I knew as I drifted off and lifted names up to Jesus that He would be greeting someone, and would be taking them home.  Away from this place where we measure time and distance and paychecks and favors to the place where all things are perfected and joyful.  A place without pain, paychecks or measurements.  An eternity of infinity.  A paradise that I long for sometimes, without even knowing what I’m longing for.  I woke up and got my coffee cup and started sipping, then, about halfway down the cup, I got my phone and started sifting.  Looking for clues of what happened last night, searching for details and clues as to how this all ended up happening, and trying to answer the question, “Why right now?”  Then I checked texts which had been coming in for the past four hours, and I answered them.  I made some phone calls and then headed out to go where I needed to go.  I had several errands that needed to be checked off before I could pick up sticks from Wednesday’s storm.  I really wanted to get to those sticks today.  I honestly did, because soon the weather will turn, and I won’t want to go out in the sweltering heat, so I had planned to run the errands, come home to make lunch, and then go out to pick up the sticks.  Except before I ever left the driveway, my plans were changed.  God likes to do that to me, remember? 

So, I pulled my car around to the side of the house to get the mail, when I noticed a car in the park.  Cars in our park aren’t hard to miss, because the only parking lot is located at the end of our street, and no one ever parks at the park.  Not only does not one park at the park, no one usually goes to the park first thing in the morning.  Most people in this town work out of it.  When they rush off to to work or wherever, they often times leave behind a child or two in order to have less to do and make more room for conversation. 

7/17/16 EDIT: Oh my goodness what happens when a draft gets accidentally published! When the author falls asleep in a recliner and wakes up with a laptop on her lap, and in a sleepy daze, shuts the lid, not realizing that the article she was writing has already made its way into the world wide web.  Oh my goodness… what must you be wondering… thinking… well, to be honest, this is what it looks like in my brain.  I will be doing dishes and the first couple of paragraphs will come into my mind.  Maybe just a topic, and I’ll try to memorize what I want it to say, how I want to present the words in print… but then what happens is I get the dishes done, and I have lost all the thoughts of what I wanted to share with you.  I have moved on to the next thing that needs my attention.  So let me go back to this article, two days later. 

That last line, “when they rush off to work or wherever, they often times leave behind a child or two in order to have less to do, and to make room for conversation…”  I’m pretty sure, “in order to have less to do and make more room for conversation” is not the total sentiment I wanted to portray. 

We live in a working class town.  There aren’t many start-up boomers in this area.  There aren’t many white-collar workers who are choosing to settle here.  Mostly, the people who live here are retired, they’ve raised their children here and their homes are paid off.  They stay because their incomes are limited or they enjoy the quiet, bedroom community.  Those of us who are working-age generally work hard.  Whether in the agriculture, education, manufacturing, or service industry, we are working for every dollar we receive.  Our days are long and our nights, filled with the work that wasn’t done during the days.  We work to provide for our families a future and the experience and opportunities we had and more.  When we leave for work, we are generally leaving a child in the care of someone, or a child who is old enough to care for themselves during the day.  Regardless, when we leave a child, they are here in town, utilizing all that our town has to offer.  Which isn’t much.  Our town doesn’t have a store or bowling alley, no pool, playground or activity center.  We have a school, a ball field, and a city park.  The playground at the school serves as our community playground.  The ball field is pretty much for organized teams only.  I’ve seen some soccer players utilize the old ball field, where the bases are grown over by grass and the home plate is a small patch of dirt.  The backstop is really the only way you know there was a ball field there in the first place.  Good ol’ days when there were more people, more kids, and more action happening here.  The city park is basically a pavilion with a couple picnic tables, grills, frisbee golf, and a sand volleyball court.  There is a port-a-potty, however, no running water.  It’s a very basic park but allows for something to do. 

In the summer, we see a lot of cars at the park.  Usually groups of people playing volleyball or frisbee golf.  On rare occasions, we may see a small family having a picnic at the pavilion.  Oftentimes, we see a couple of young people sitting on the picnic tables, holding hands, sharing a moment together.  In the three and a half years I’ve lived across from the park, I’ve never seen anyone camp there. 

When I left my house to do the many morning errands I’d planned on Friday, I noticed the car first, as I pulled around to get my mail, and head out of town, I saw people sleeping in a makeshift bed on the ground.  Right there in the open.  I was a bit shocked, but said good morning to the man in the car, then glanced to the far side of the park where someone was cutting the fallen tree in the northeast corner.  I noted the car tags were from California and thought about how some hipsters were probably traveling the countryside this summer, staying in parks, trying to experience the world.  I made a call to the Mayor, to see if this was legal, and continued on in my car, with my kids, to do the errands I had planned.  As I headed out of town, I felt that maybe I should go back and see if the family needed anything, to introduce myself and ask if there were anything I could do to help them, you know, be Iowa nice.  However, time was ticking and I didn’t have the fuel in my vehicle to be making so many trips around town, so I made a deal in my head, “if this family is still there when I get back, I will go to them.  If not, I’ll know that it wasn’t meant for me to deal with.”  and I kept ongoing. 

I ran some basic errands.  Fuel was first, as I was literally running on fumes.  Then, I went to pay off some debt and stopped in at a local gift shop for something small to give a friend of mine.  As I entered the gift shop, I see that an old family friend is sitting behind the cashier’s desk.  We exchange greetings and I go about searching for the perfect thing for my friend.  My children also help, they each think they have found the exact item, everything they touch is treasure, and their love for a friend is evident in that they want to give them everything.  However, we can’t today.  We do not have the money to pay for everything or even anything.  We are struggling.  It happens every July.  It’s our “tight” month when we never have extra, and we often have to cut things we normally enjoy.  This month, I planned and budgeted, and secured the food we would need for the month.  We have been careful not to spend any money, not to make plans outside what was already organized for the month.  But this friend just had a significant loss, and we want to honor her.  Something to know that we love and care for her.  As we took our meager items and headed toward the front, I noticed a man standing in conversation with the woman at the counter, and recognized him as her husband.  I greeted him as well and we sparked a conversation about Wednesday’s storm.  He made the comment that he had been in the park that morning, cutting up a felled tree.  I asked him if he noticed the people, he said he had and had spoken with them to apologize for waking them.  His wife, now with interest piqued, asked about the family.  What were they doing there?  How many were there?  Neither he nor I knew, but he thought they may be homeless, as they were definitely dirty.  I had not gotten a good look at the kids.  Only the man.  I told them I would check in when I got home.  I made my purchase and I went on back to the house.  In conversation with God as I drove, I reminded Him that approaching strangers is not my comfort zone, but that I would if they were still there when I got to the house.  And sure enough, that car from California was still sitting in the one parking spot across the street from my house. 

I texted my friend, to let her know what I was doing, and then told my kids to stay in the house while I went to speak to the people next door.  I prayed for safety and then sat my cell phone on the back deck with my car keys, and walked over to the park visitors.  I approached slowly, but friendly.  The woman was first to come and greet me, stating that I looked familiar.  I told them they did too.  I asked if they had been the family who had come to Bible school at our church.  They confirmed.  We exchanged simple statements, and I asked what brought them to the park and if they were camping.  They stated that they had gone off in search of work, and that hadn’t panned out, so they had been driving all night, and this little town with its kindness and sense of community had appealed to them, so they stopped here.  They searched for signs that forbade camping in our park but didn’t see any, so they decided to sleep here, yet the car wasn’t comfortable.  So, they slept out under the stars.  They assured me that they did not want to break the law, and seemed very worried.  I told them that I wasn’t the police, and I wasn’t sure of the law.  I told them that I am the Youth and Family minister for the church, and a city council member.  I assured them that I would ask the question so that we could find out the law, but in the meantime, I asked them what they needed.  I offered to take them to breakfast, but they said they had snacks.  I asked if they planned to stick around this area or if this was just a stop-off.  They said they wanted to stay around here.  I told them that I would be willing to make some calls for them to see if we could get a place for them to stay until they could get one on their own. 

My kids came out, against my direction, and my son began to play with their son.  In my mind, I wondered if he knew what was happening.  Curious by nature, he made a comment about the amount of “stuff” in their car, and the woman made the comment that they were moving.  I tried to tell him that they were camping and that they just had their camping gear in their car.  Whichever thing he chose to accept, he happily raced off with the little boy with the shaggy brown hair.  My son, with the mohawk, toting his iPad, in his clean clothes played and laughed and chased the dirty little boy with the bug bites and stuffed full car.  My daughter, a bit more cautious, came over and met the girl with the long hair.  She was two years older than my daughter, but perky and happy to meet another girl.  My daughter was pleasant, but clearly distant, as, after the introduction, she walked back home and into the house.  My son had ran to the garage to get popsicles for these new friends of his, as I stood and tried to make a plan to help the adults.  After we had a plan, and the boy had brought popsicles, we all separated, with the idea that they would come back and we would regroup later, hopefully with a place for them.  They went off in their “car-home” to find some odd jobs.  I went back to my big, safe, home on the corner, and started making phone calls. 

It took nearly all day to work out an arrangement of what to do.  Every phone call leads seemingly nowhere.  We have not one shelter in our small rural communities.  The closest shelter from here is 32 miles, and that has a waiting line.  Which means that you show up at a specific time, and you stand in line.  If there happens to be space enough for you by the time you get in the door, you will be given an interview, and the possible hope for somewhere safe to stay.  If there is no space, you are turned away, searching for a place to stay.    In conversation with the homeless shelter employee, and even now, I think about the way this works and how fortunate I am to have never had to stand in line to sleep indoors.  I am grateful that I have not had to worry about whether or not I will have a place to sleep at night.  Even when we struggled in our early marriage, when we ate lots of bread and white gravy and ramen noodles; when we had no phone and no fuel, we never worried about a roof over our head.  It’s the one bill that gets paid, no matter what. I remember when we had very bad credit, and we needed to move.  Where could we find a place that would accept us?  We had a steady income, but those darn reports kept us from getting past the office.  Those were very real worries and still are.  But we always had a place.  We were never forced to sleep on the ground. 

I took them for a ride, and as I moved things around in our vehicle, I noticed all the “stuff”.  We’ve talked about it before, how we live paycheck to paycheck, and sometimes we feel “tight”, pinched financially, but we really don’t need to.  We, after all, have a lot of “stuff”.  It’s embarrassing to think about, when you’re standing face to face with people whose “stuff” fits in a car smaller than yours, and a car they will have to return sooner or later.  It’s pressing, uncomfortable, and truly humbling to think that my children just earned their iPads back for good behavior, and here are two children who may or may not get a shower later tonight. 

I fought back tears as I entered the store to buy them a phone card.  My two kids were safe with my cousin, “helping” her to care for her daycare kids, while these other little ones were playing, carelessly in the park.  How different their worlds were.  Am I glad that my kids don’t know this world?  Am I happy that they don’t understand the peril that it is to live in unknown.  Does it give me peace to know that my husband and I work to provide for them a safe place, a schedule, a secure world, in which they can count on us every day?  While we don’t have great wealth, we sure aren’t lacking.  We don’t have the extravagance of some, but we don’t have the uncertainty of others.  How do I feel about this?  Why is this suddenly a topic in my brain?  Is God showing me something I need to be doing? 

I see the neighbor lady walking over to them, with a bag full of groceries, as I approach to reveal some of the plan with them.  They are visiting, and glad to have a meal.  I look at the neighbor lady, the one who just moved here not long ago.  I smile at the knowing how precious she is without this gesture, and warm at the thought that this morning, before I left them, I prayed that God would provide their daily bread, and here it is, provided through this neighbor, this kind woman.  Later, I find out that she was following nudges, as I was. 

I lay down the offer, and promise to return.  I ask them to come, to let us know what they decide.  Because all of this is a decision, after all.  Just like our salvation.  God never said, I’m sacrificing my beloved Son and you MUST accept Him.  He said, all who accept Jesus will not perish, but will have eternal life.  He made the provision, it’s up to us to make the decision.  So it was with this family.  The park people.  While some in town have driven by multiple times, not stopping, just staring; while some have made phone calls from their safe homes, grumbling about the people in the park – God has been at work, carefully making a plan, a way, a portion for them, allowing others to be a part in His work. 

When the day drew to a close and I went back to check in with the family, they were gone.  I was disappointed that they chose not to accept the accommodations that were secured for them.  I was bewildered, wondering where they had gone, why they didn’t stay, and what would happen to them now.  I could not understand the mindset that would allow a family to leave provisions at least for the weekend.  Something until the pastor returns from an out of town trip, something to carry them over until someone smarter and more resourceful than me comes to help them.  The sun went down and I had to feed my family.  We enjoyed fresh corn from the garden, cooked on an electric stove in water from our tap.  Combined with hot dogs and hamburgers from the fridge.  I thought about them in all the things we did as a family in our safe, warm home.  When the rain came later, I went out looking for them.  I could not imagine them sleeping out in the rain.  I wanted them to come back.  I wanted them to take the help.  I wanted them to sleep in the church and to settle in our town.  But for all the wanting I did, it ultimately was not my choice.  It was not up to me. 

My experience left me in a curious place.  I like things wrapped up, neat and tidy; completed.  The unfinished is not a comfortable place for me, hence, why I’m finishing this post.  I’m not at ease in the unknown.  And guess what, this is not about me.  It’s about God.  It’s about a few people trusting God to provide, a few people trusting God to direct their steps, a few people giving God the ultimate authority to write the story and move the mountains.  It’s not about the phone calls I made or the influence I had (or lacked), it’s not about the way I wanted it to go.  I sought God, I listened, I paid attention to the nudges, I obeyed what I felt called to do.  I prayed, I shared and I hoped.  All for something other than myself.  I am thankful to have had the opportunity, regardless of whether or not it worked out the way I wanted it to.  I am more aware of the waste in my own life.  I see how truly blessed I am.  I saw ministry happen in so many ways that day.  In the chainsaw cutting neighbor saying hi, in the cashier’s concern for this family, in the neighbor who provided the meal, in the mission leader, who said YES without even being in town, to the secretary who carved out time in a busy day, to the person driving by who wanted to provide supper, even though it was like a widow’s mite to his own family, he still sought to provide for someone else, I saw it in my cousin, who jumped in to care for my kids so I could care for others.  I saw it in my husband, who carried corn across the street, across his own comfort zone, in the neighbor who came just to talk and ended up answering a ton of questions from curious kids.  I saw ministry happening by people who others would not call ministers, but God would.  God calls us to this ministry of life every day.  Do we see it?  Do we hear it?  Oftentimes not.  Most likely, our calls to ministry are not as obvious as people camping in a park, standing out like a sore thumb.  But they are opportunities for ministry nonetheless, and we are called to it. 

It’s beautiful.  It’s painful.  It’s life.  It’s love.  It’s ministry.