The Struggle

Sunday, I said to Steve McKinney, “it’s going to be a good summer.” I was all hyped up about the warm weather, the pretty skies, the green everywhere that comes with summer. As soon as I said it, though, I regretted saying it. This dark cloud popped up, and I began thinking, “how can you be so naïve? You have no idea what could happen. You thought moving to Louisville was a good idea. You thought you and Melissa would have grandkids running around…” on and on it went, to things like, “Who knows what could happen to John or Joe? Sure Jessica is young, but…”

It really got to me the rest of the day.

But then I had an insight. I do think it will be a good summer. I can’t explain to you, except by faith, why I am basically happy. You can have all kinds of good things in your life, along with bad, and come out some kind of balance of all that. But sometimes you find your way to joy through the Holy Spirit. And strength comes from that place.

I determined not to let the evil one have any kind of laugh. He can kiss my butt. It is going to be a good summer, come what may. That kind of faith drives the evil one nuts, and it keeps me going.

Goat Dinner

I am totally freaked out by what happened tonight, by how the Lord blessed us. We had our Thursday night dinner, but we did it in the garden. Mapigano was cooking—goat kabobs. People weren’t real sure what to think, but everyone that tried it really liked it.

Ok, so all week, I was asking people, thinking that having it in the garden is a little less intimidating for a guest than having it at my house. So I asked Stephanie and her kids (Jessie is becoming friends with Stephanie, and her daughter is in John’s class.) I asked Cliff and his family.

Leo worked like a dog with me setting up tables and chairs, getting it all ready.

Mapigano, Gabin, and Don Ellis put the kebabs together.

Over 60 people came. 19 of them were first-time visitors. People came off the street. One family came because Cliff told them about it! I was totally freaked out. Mapigano and I were cooking, and of course not getting to eat, and so we set aside some kabobs for us. We ate off the same kabob, and there was something intense in that, pulling goat off the stick it was like communion.

So there we were, young and old (there must have been 25 kids there. It looked like school was in session!) Eating goat. African, Hispanic, Anglo, African-American. Over the fire, I joked with Madame Itoula that one day there will be so many Africans in America that we’ll all eat goat and think we invented it, because finally, that’s what makes us so strong—everyone comes and adds to the potluck.

So I had lots of opportunity to witness, to invite. Lots of time to laugh, and just be as relaxed as I ever get. You know, you could start a church with all the people we had. Man, how I would love it if every Sunday , 1/3 of the people were brand new, didn’t know Jesus. It works if you work it.

I wish I could be really eloquent in this description. But I think I am too blown away that this many people came, that we ate that much goat, that kids played so hard without fighting, that groups were forming that we’ve never seen before.

And get this: Foti let us hook up the hose at his house, and the garden got watered. Can you believe it? We’re cooking goat, loving Jesus, talking, watering. My goodness, all we did was plant some seeds and plants. What’s going on here!?

I need to give a shout out to my kids who carried tables from the garden to the church: Samstress, Elijon, Seamus, Matthew. They work hard for me and it’s really something to see.

Fish in a barrel

So Cliff and I are hatching plans. When he came to work in the garden, we got to talking about crazy schemes to deal with high food prices.

EXCURSUS: Back in the day (about 20 years ago), I was convinced things would get bad in this country, and it would be necessary to learn to survive. So I went on a crash course of gardening, hunting, and fishing. The latter two are not the best ways to survive—useful here and there, but not long-term. I also was interested in alternative forms of energy and food production. One that really pumped me up was growing fish, either in a pond or tanks. I think you could make a killing raising trout and selling them.

Back to me and Cliff. So this idea that we should really be learning about raising fish is going somewhere. Cliff comes back to the garden with a 55-gallon metal drum. He can get them from work and he cleans them with steam from the steam plant at UK, where he works. And get this, this is how easy it is:

Get a metal drum. Cover it with a glass top. Put in a pump that aerates the water. Grow catfish. Like 40 in a barrel. Drain out 5 gallons a day from the bottom to get rid of waste. Add water back. The waste is largely nitrogen, so use it to water your garden plants!!! Oh, and catfish love worms. So grow worms—feed them your table scraps (Joe Dongell, the guy who married me and Jessie, is the worm guru in these parts!). So you raise worms that make compost for the garden and feed your catfish, and the waste water feeds your garden. And a 25-ounce catfish yields 1 lb. of meat. My guess is the worm bins and fish barrel take up 15 sq. feet tops. Everyone has room for this in their backyard.

Can you imagine the savings to the families that need it? I mean, what if we taught people to garden and raise catfish? They could put high quality protein on the table for next to nothing.

If you have followed the news about high prices and the apocalyptic mindset it puts some folks in, you’ll notice that the “survival” mentality usually moves out to the hills and sets up an isolated base. They are out of the way to avoid people, the hordes that they see rampaging thru cities when the defecation hits the rotary oscillator. The sensibility is very much surviving for self. There will come a time for that, I suspect. But there is a chance that we can teach people here in town to grow a little bit here and there, to offset the high costs, to go to almost no cost, because God just makes things grow!!!! I wonder if we could begin that process whereby we get back to one of the most powerful evangelistic witnesses the church has ever had: the pagan Pliny wrote of the 2nd century Christians, “there are no poor people among them… if someone is hungry, the rest will fast until there is enough to eat…” And perhaps we could teach people how to garden rather than just giving them some tomatoes.

I think about Cliff a lot, how he is kind of the point of the direction of the Rock. We’re trying to make a push into the community, to be the church in and for the community. Generally, churches have not known what to do with neighborhoods like ours, ones that are on the downhill slide. We abandon them, or our worshippers come from outside the neighborhood. There’s nothing wrong with people coming from outside, but if it means that we don’t worship with people from the neighborhood (i.e., we can’t just provide social services for them; they should be the bulk of our worship—can we welcome them back in their own neighborhood?), we have a problem. I have said repeatedly that the people who know best what the community needs are the ones who live here. And in Cliff’s case, as we talk about the impact of high gas and food prices, he knows the impact in personal, daily ways. And when we talk about possible solutions, he is right there with the equipment and the willingness. We just may figure this thing out.

All that was a few days ago. We just had our awesome dinner in the garden, and Cliff and I spent some more time talking, and I think we are just going to go for it in his yard. He’ll be the pilot program. He wants to raise some serious fish. Man, this is getting out of hand. Me, Jessie, and our neighbor Tom are going to get some beehives. It hit me. I have a card I pass out with the vegetables that says, “taste and see that the Lord is good,” from Psalm 34. I started thinking how cool it would be to pass out some natural honey, in little jars with a little bit of honeycomb in it. “The law of the Lord is perfect, the ordinances of the Lord are sure… they are sweeter than honey, than honey from the comb” from Psalm 19. Cliff said that if we could start multiplying fishes it would be like “passing out love.” I about fell over. He gets it better than I do!

persistence

Here’s how Memorial Day played out. It was a lazy morning. I am getting over some messed up infection that they gave me steroids for, and so I am really tired in the mornings until I can get my next dose. So we puttered around and afternoon, we went out to the garden. Our sweet potatoes arrived, so we planted them and watered. The Highfill boys were, of course, faithfully there. I am not sure the garden would work this year without them. They saw a friend on the playground and he came over a bit, but he was bored. He kept asking Matthew and Robert if they found “this exciting.” He was shocked that they just walked around watering and pulling weeds. I guess I am, too. Maybe it is boring, but I have never felt that way. I think, finally, Matthew and Robert just like hanging out. Plus, they have specific responsibilities, and those responsibilities are going to taste really good!

When we wrapped up, we went and talked to Foti and Rebecca. We stayed a while and Rebecca brought out some Indian donuts in rose syrup as well as some masala tea. We knew Sarita would be coming over for dinner, and we invited Foti and Rebecca. I took a chance—he has never accepted, and does not like being around too many people. But he said yes!

So I fired up the grill for some serious chicken. I have been working on getting the skin crisp and keeping the inside moist. I am getting there. Anyway, Foti brings some brats and Greek salad. So we ate like kings.

The boys were soooo dirty. I had to drain the tub and run new water halfway through! It was full of dirt, grit, sweat, and a day of fun. It’s gotten to this: they both get out of the tub, dry off and get dressed. I don’t have any babies anymore

The best part is this: Foti and Rebecca stayed to almost 1 a.m.! We were up discussing. Well, debating. All kinds of things—politics, economics, ethics, religion. You’d think we’d never be friends after all that. Jessica especially was in on it. They were bulldogs about their positions. A telling moment, when Jessica said that if they could not agree on a basic premise then there was no point in arguing any further. Foti had a disappointed look on his face as he said, “True. But let’s argue some more!”

By the end we were talking about ethics and economics in the Kingdom. Praise God. There will be more topics to discuss, more time to argue, more chances to get to the Kingdom’s answers to all our problems.

As Jess and I took a deep breath after all that, I said, “I have been waiting for this night for two years.” This is another piece of what evangelism looks like. You knock on a door. You engage spiritual discussion. You see that there is a spark. You come back now and again. You get invited to a birthday party. You go out to lunch. There’s interest developed about why a church grows a garden and feeds the hungry. Then you have a bar-b-q and hang out and talk. This is all, simply, what Jesus said to do, what He said would happen if you did it. It’s not that complicated, but somewhere churches got hung up in committees and vision statements and… next thing we knew, we no longer fired up the grill to eat with publicans and sinners.

The Accidental Garden

The boys, Jessie, and I went out to the garden this morning. We expected to be out there for maybe an hour, just puttering around with some stuff. I had already been up early, working out with the guys. I thought we’d do a bit in the garden with Matthew and Robert and move on. Wrong.

Next thing I know, people from the neighborhood show up. We had 19 people out there today, most working, a few passing through and talking. 13 of us were there for 5 hours. I wanted to get to the church yard sale, but could not leave the work—not the garden, but the work of ministry! What other chance am I going to have to talk for 5 hours with one family about Christ?

Here’s the garden work: weed-eating the edge of the garden—thanks Chris Zoch.

Weeding the tomatoes—Cliff, Robert, me. Cliff and I had some good talks, some imaginative talks. Cliff is right on board with the idea of the garden—getting food to people. He really knows the impact of the high price of veggies and fuel. He suggests (and seriously, no input from Jessie here) that we should be able to keep goats in the city for milk! We started dreaming about how to get aquaculture going so people could have some good protein! And we talked a lot about Jesus.

When Tanya came by, she and I got to talk about her kids and extended family. She and Jessie hit it off. And of course, there was time to talk about the church, about how maybe we could meet their needs.

Jessie was putting stray rocks and bricks (the garden is on a few old house lots) along the walk ways. Cliff and Tanya’s girls and their two friends got into it and were hauling loads of rocks in buckets. Then they went and got their wagon. They made repeated two-block trips back to their house brings brick and broken cinder block pieces. So now, the garden is edged and run through with bordered pathways. John and Joe scavenged some gravel for a nice spot in the middle. They think we can put a grill there. The idea now is to have one of our Thursday night dinners in the garden.

I have had this quirky idea to put up a door at the garden, just a door standing there. No reason, other than I think it seems at once inviting and jarring. Anyway, Robert and Chris helped me set it up, Katie cleaned it, and the kids want to paint a little on it. “Community Garden” is what Katie wants to put on it. Flowers and vegetables are what John wants. I wonder what other spontaneous artwork can erupt? I think on the back, the part you’d see in the garden or on the way out it should say, “garden of the people, for the people, by the people.”

Chelsea weeded the cucumbers, squash, watermelon, and okra. The garden is now about 90% weeded. It was in pretty grim shape last year. Something about having a year under our belt has made it known, made it a happening.

The funny thing is, this all came about by simply taking Jesus seriously when He said, “feed the hungry.” I like to garden, there is always an abundance… give it away. And then you find that people like to see things grow, they like to work and play together. It just happens. God has so much in store when you are faithful. It’s almost never only about the obvious; it has been about way more than feeding the hungry.

Pumping Iron

Almost a year ago, Roz and I began putting together a gym downstairs. It got used a little bit. But now is about to get doused in sweat. I have wanted to get some of the youth together to lift weights and go deeper spiritually. You can do some serious praying under the discipline of the iron.

So we have met twice. It looks like we have a core of 7. I hope more will come. But right now, we have this group, and it’s time to teach them about their bodies—muscles, nutrition, form, how the Bible links physical training to spiritual training.

Some of our kids need the chance to have a place to work out to get ready for sports.

Some need it for the focus.

It’s awesome to see the joy on their faces when they realize they can do something like this. It’s awesome to give them a goal. I see a determination in their faces that is not often there. I see them coming together to encourage each other. I like to see the pain when I make them do overhand curls. I like it when I hear them repeat what I said, that they would not be able to hold a pencil the next day, that when we do squats (tomorrow) they will wish they never met me. They are freaked out at how hard Jessica hits the punching bag, how she teaches them to square up, hit head on, and lean into it.

We do a devotion at the beginning. We pray at the end. A boy who has had a tough row to hoe with us is coming around. He is focused. Strong, and will get stronger. He steps up and leads by shouting encouragement. He prayed for the group at the end. To my knowledge it is the first time he prayed like that. In a few weeks, they will start leading the devotions.

You know my garden mania is ultimately about getting good food into the bellies of folks whose nutrition is what’s cheapest. These kids—they don’t have the same chance to play sports that I did. It’s not just that I played soccer—we had the money to feed me. When I’d lose 7 pounds a game, my old man didn’t care that I’d drink a gallon of orange juice, eat 4 or 5 bananas and ask for a triple bacon cheeseburger. That’s not an option here. Roz and I are rabid about getting these kids some good protein into their diets. “You bring the peanut butter, I’ll bring the milk,” he said.

Grillin' and Chillin'

I think in our Thursday night dinners we may have reached the point we’re trying for—whatever is signified by the abused and almost meaningless word, “community.”

Community is not hanging out.

Community is not talking to people you know and share interests with.

Community is not talk.

Community is not getting to know people.

Community is not …

It is a word that gets thrown around like a bomb. Some people read a book and become experts on it.

I don’t know what we have. Wait, yes I do. We had minor Pentecost. Dinner was: grilled tilapia (about which more later), rice with curry seasoning, some kind of Indian deviled eggs, and green beans.

Dinner was: Americans, young, old, poor, not so poor (ok, let’s face it, I am rich), African, Hispanic. It looked like our church in its better moments.

So Mapigano and I have always talked about how much we are alike. Melissa was, like Noella is to David, much taller than me. We have two boys that frustrate the devil out of our attempts to get them to behave. We like soccer. And then we find we love to grill. And eat goat. He haltingly learned to say “grillmeister.” I found an awesome deal on tilapia (feeding I guess 15 people on about $9 worth of fish. Rubbed in chili powder, lime, and salt. While Mapigano and I grilled, he started saying how happy they were that I had lenga lenga in the garden. Then we talked about how good goat is on the grill. He asked if he could cook next week. “We’ll go see The Arab,” he said, “and get a whole goat, and share it half and half.” And later, “When I eat goat and fou-fou, I feel good.”

On the one hand, it can be hard to handle—the blur of languages, the kids running through, the different foods. It could be hard to enter. But the riches of it all! To see us brought together around common knowledge—the Cubans know all about the problem of Cabinda, because Cuban troops fought in Angola. And it looks like goat will cross some lines—maybe some of us Anglos won’t know what to do, but oh well. It can’t all be hamburgers!!