Today, I was watering the plants and the kids were playing in the backyard. Most days, I think the lane behind our house is a godsend of privacy and space to my backyard that shelters and nurtures me. This day, the alley gave me a glimpse into ugliness in my heart.
Our neighborhood is one I never thought I would live in. In the arrogance and ignorance of my early 20s, I swore to grow my family in a neighborhood marked with diversity – at least color. In retrospect, I think I believed living in such a place meant it would be authentic rather than what I thought were the plastic, sheltered worlds of many of my friends who lived in the suburbs. I have grown to see, a part of me also felt like I didn’t belong anywhere else.
I grew up in a neighborhood marked with struggle. Falling asleep to sirens or gunshots was common. I thought it didn’t bother me. But as with everything in life, it formed me. There were carefree days of building backyard forts with wood we salvaged from the junk pile behind our fence. Roller skating, bike-riding and walks to the local grocery store with my siblings and neighbor-friends, games of HORSE with my Dad. These are joys of my childhood. I was formed by these too. My street was a inner-city mix of black, white and Hispanic. Low-life, thug-life, mid-life and young-life all lived together there.
I thought growing up there made me compassionate. It did.
I thought it made me aware that life is not always easy or perfect or insulated. It formed this in me too.
I thought it made me tough. But now I know it mostly made me afraid.
I trained my body to run and not grow weary
I worked and I read how to raise a better family
I bought a house on the safe side of town because I could
As long as my life stays like this I’m good
These lyrics by Christa Wells catch me every time I hear them.
I have two kids now.
We couldn’t live in a more different neighborhood than I grew up in.
Jason and I are doing the best we know how to raise these kids to grow up well. And I feel relieved that I live on the ‘safe side of town’. Gone is my adamant determination to expose my kids to that struggle.
I’ve wondered about this quite a bit, my change of heart…
Maybe it’s because I know now that life and hard places go together. If we’re lucky, they go together. My kids will know their own struggles in time. And part of me hopes they do, because I know this is what will really open their hearts toward the Only Place they will know FULL LIFE.
And maybe I also just like the feeling of easy, peaceful and plenty, even if it is plastic.
I like the idea of sheltering them from pain, even if its an illusion.
The thought has crossed my mind that my kids might become the kind of kids I mocked inside myself when I was a kid because they were unaware of what I thought was the “real world.” Then I think, "a little snobby but whole?" I’ll take it. The truth is, I hope our kids can grow up with whole hearts that allow them to love and be loved and feel compelled to share Love.
I am beginning to see it’s all the real world. The real world is here in my ‘perfect-seeming’ neighborhood just as it was in my old rundown and raw childhood street. You just have to look a little harder. It’s easier to not see the brokenness. To look away. Or worse, to turn your nose up at it. To think you’re better than “those people.”
And this "being better" was in my heart when the black mark on my street marked up my lovely life. Just around the crescent (so mostly out of my sight), there is a house I’m pretty sure is involved with dealing drugs and maybe even some sexual exploitation (prostitution). When you’re 2 year old walks by and says, “What’s that smell?” It’s a helpful indicator. :) Today, while watering my perfectly planted garden, the drug house pit bulls were out in the alley and were trying to break down our back gate to get in. They were vicious. This was the second time in a week. I erupted. I stomped my stuck-up feet down the sidewalk and unluckily for her (and me), one of the girls was sitting on the porch. I gave her a piece of my mind about the dogs and the alley and safety and my kids. But behind my logical, protective-sounding words was pure ugliness. The viciousness of the dogs didn't hold a candle to my own.
My heart really held this: I am better than you. We’re all better than you. You don’t belong in this neighborhood. Get out! You are marring my safe and perfect little haven. Go somewhere else so I don’t have to see it. I don’t want to think about you and your pain and why you are probably bound to a pimp to sell yourself or what it must to do to you to live in this hell-hole of a house.
As I walked away from their porch, my adrenaline and superiority evaporated. I felt ashamed and brokenhearted that this ugly stuff still oozes out of my heart. I am grateful for the work of God in my life but sometimes it’s hard to see myself. I realized my responsible-sounding words were a cover for what was really in my heart.
I am coming to know I am Beloved. I am also dust. My heart is learning that the heart of God loves me completely. And He loves everyone else just as completely. I mar the love of God for me and for others when I carry/allow that un-love in me. This hurts my heart that is being healed and made whole by Love.
Humbling. It’s something I am getting to know. Being humbled stings. Every.Single.Time. But in the end, I am always grateful. And so I walked back down the sidewalk … A LOT slower this time … Cara asked to come. And I agreed because I realized I will raise snobby kids who don’t see real life in their neighborhood if I don’t lead the way. I knocked hesitantly. When the girl opened the door, I took a deep breath and told her I was wrong and I was sorry and I asked her to forgive me. The asking for forgiveness was hard because somewhere in my heart, I still think I’m better, that I matter more. There is no other explanation for how I could treat her that way. Then I asked if I could speak to the guy who owns the dogs (did I not mention, I also gave him a piece of my mind?). Again, like pulling out teeth, I lowered my voice and told him I was wrong and offered an apology. A sincere one. One that was working to change my heart to see that me and them, we are the same: Made in the image of God with brokenness in our own unique places. I have been lucky. My life did not lead me where theirs has led them. And that has little to do with me. It is grace that I was not born into their life. Simply a gift of God that His love has found me. How will it ever find them as long as I’m carrying my superior, sinful chip around on my shoulder? We are the way God has chosen to work His love into this world. What were you thinking, Lord? I am the way God has chosen to work His love into those in my small world, my street - me a sinner. O God, don’t let me be a stumbling block to people seeing Your high and wide, life-giving Love!
What about you? Where/What are the places it's easier to look away - either from yourself or from brokenness around you?
