Welcome!

This is a video of Canadian children welcoming Syrian refugees to Canada by singing a historical song that was sung to the Prophet Mohamed when he sought refuge from Makkah to Medina.

Now pardon me while I go hunt up a hanky.

Family Values

My cousin Garrett is in Liberia, helping people cope with the Ebola epidemic. Here he is being interviewed via Skype by a reporter at New York’s WPIX:

If that doesn't work, here is the URL:

http://pix11.com/2014/10/03/ebola-relief-worker-describes-liberia-situation/

By Miss Manners’ reckoning, Garett is my first cousin once removed; by my family’s traditions, he is my second cousin, and by the calling customs of my nieces and nephews, he’s my baby cousin, being the son of one of my first cousins and the grandson of my dad’s younger sister. I’m not entirely sure I ever met Garrett, unless it was at a barbecue his uncle held while I was in NY visiting my sister this past July. He and I are Facebook friends, but he doesn’t post much. I knew about this interview because his uncle and aunt posted the link to this interview on Facebook. We are all quite proud of him.

AmeriCares, so their website tells me “is a non-profit emergency response and global health organization. In times of epic disaster or daily struggle, we deliver medical and humanitarian aid to people in need worldwide.” Garett is Vice President of Emergency Response, hence his trip to Liberia. His organization has been providing supplies that medical workers need in order to provide the care that they can without risking their own lives or infecting other patients.

AmeriCares has scaled up its response by providing eight emergency shipments of essential medicines and personal protective wear to both Liberia and Sierra Leone to help treat Ebola patients and to provide protective gear for health workers facing great risks in trying to control the outbreak. 

The shipments contained over 90,000 pairs of gloves, 88,000 face masks, and over 28,000 units of protective clothing including scrubs and disposable coveralls and gowns. Shipments of intravenous fluids to rehydrate Ebola patients have also been sent to Liberia and Sierra Leone.

Now they are working on large shipments of bleach to be used in infection control. People find Ebola scary, and rightly so, but it isn’t an airborne virus. Catching it requires coming in contact with blood or other bodily fluids from an infected person, all too easy to do if the proper protective wear and disinfectants are not available, but preventable if they are. Ebola is also not necessarily a death sentence. If patients get symptomatic care (such as rehydration) to keep them alive until their immune systems kick in, it is possible to survive Ebola. It’s not the same as getting over the common cold, but there is no reason to shrug and say, “Oh, well, what can we do?” either. 

So what can you do? Donate, obviously, if you possibly can. You can donate to AmeriCare here, but if any readers know of other reputable organizations working on Ebola relief efforts, go ahead and post about them in the comments.

If you are the sort to pray, or send good thoughts, or use other blessing rituals to signify your solidarity with people going through bad times, yes, please do! Garrett is not involved in direct patient care and does not anticipate being in any danger, but there are the many medical workers, the patients themselves, their family members, and anyone with the potential to be infected  to whom you can direct your efforts as well.

And go ahead and remember Garrett while you are at it, just in case. Because even if neither of us could pick the other one out of a police lineup, he’s family. Apparently, he’s one of the people who sees the rest of the world as family, too.

Update: More from Garrett here:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/garrett-ingoglia/a-firsthand-account-of-li_b_5958884.html?utm_hp_ref=tw

I've Been Here Before

What with Monday, March 17th  being St. Patrick’s Day, Saturday the 15th was the day of our city’s St. Patrick’s Day parade. The weather looked a little iffy, with dark clouds covering the sky, but my weather app assured us we were safe from actual rain until 1 PM at least, so John and I took our parade chairs and our chances and went to the parade. We left early, to find parking, which meant we were on the street for over an hour before the floats and bands got to where we were.

And as I have written before, the large crowds of people with little to do draw the people who hand out tracts. The first such gentleman I had seen before at the Spanish Town Mardi Gras parade. He was wearing camouflage cargo pants and a matching shirt, and carrying a bullhorn. Last time I saw him, he was preaching through the bullhorn, too, but whatever he was saying was drowned out by the traffic helicopter buzzing overhead. I’m sure that in keeping with the spirit of the day, it was “eat, drink, and be merry”. 

As he passed by, I told my husband I’m surprised that he wasn’t carrying a gun to go with the camo outfit. John pointed out that the man had a backpack and who knows what he had in there. Best we didn’t argue with him. John and I politely turned down all offers of “something to read while you’re waiting” from him and the other proselytizers passing by. 

One man that came by alone was a little harder to deflect. He had been chatting with the people next to us, seeming honestly interested in what they had to say. Then he finished up his conversation and turned to us. Predictably enough, he asked if we wanted one of the tracts he held in his hand, to have something to read while we waited for the parade. I told him that I had already read that one, having been given one the year before. He seemed a little taken aback, but asked what I thought of it.

“Here’s the thing,” I said. He wanted a conversation, I would give him a conversation. “The St. Patrick’s Day parade is mostly a Catholic celebration. The theology in those pamphlets is, as near as I can tell, Baptist. So to me, this is just a matter of tribal infighting, and I find it off-putting, to tell you the truth.” His face fell, but I could tell he wasn’t surprised by my response, and actually seemed to be giving it some thought. 

“I’m not a Baptist, “ he replied. He belonged to a non-denominational church.

“Well, I’m a Methodist,” I said.

Somehow we got from there into a discussion of Lent. I told him that rather than give up something for Lent, I decided to act in the spirit of Isaiah 58:6,

 Is not this the fast that I choose:

to loose the bonds of injustice,

to undo the thongs of the yoke,

to let the oppressed go free,

and to break every yoke?

and donate money every Wednesday in Lent to organizations that do just that. My upcoming donation was to go to the Rolling Jubilee, and I explained to him what that was and how it related to the idea of the Jubilee year in the Bible.

It suddenly occurred to me I was doing a pretty passable job of sounding like a street preacher myself. This was not how I had intended to spend the day. I told him that I didn’t want to keep him any longer and said it had been nice talking to him. He went on down the street no doubt believing that I was bound for hell.

It turns out that donations for the Rolling Jubilee are now closed, so I gave the money to Amnesty International instead. I made seven donations in all:

1) Trafficking Hope, a local organization that helps victims of human trafficking

2) The rehab center where I used to work, which helps loose the bonds of children who are limited by physical and mental disabilities

3) Amnesty International

4) World Vision, when they announced they were broadening their spousal benefits to include same sex spouses. They then reverted to their original policy, but I figured the money I gave will still help someone.

5) A fund to help a woman who needs money to fight a defamation lawsuit from a man who sexually harrassed her

6) A fund to help a family who lost three children in a car wreck pay for funerals (that one strictly speaking didn’t fit the theme, but they were friends of a friend and needed the money).

7) Emily’s List (I’m sure that one would have gone over well with my tract bearing friend)

So that’s $700 in all. I wish I could say that I learned some valuable spiritual lesson from this, but I am actually feeling pretty grumpy by now. Giving up sodas or chocolate would have saved me money, I reflect. Still, I have to acknowledge how privileged I am. Giving up that money did not mean going without groceries, or heat, or medicine. I enjoy the power to be able to aid those who are doing work that I think needs doing. 

Still, like my chocolate and soda pop deprived friends, I think Easter can’t come soon enough. The end of Lent is taking just a little longer than the end of my career as a street preacher.

Doing Good Works Among the Poor

The first Monday of every month, St. Anonymous UMW provides volunteers at a food pantry run by Hope Ministries, an outreach program of the United Methodist Church. It began as a project of one circle, but it began to be too much for them, so they asked for volunteers from the other circles as well. It really only takes about 5 people to do the job, which is to escort the users of the food pantry around; tell them how much of each product they can have, based on family size; help them bag groceries; weigh the groceries they have; and escort them to their cars (to make sure we get the baskets back). Food donated is weighed in and food given out is weighed, as that seems to be the best way of keeping track of how much food the pantry provides to the local recipients.

I learned on my first visit to the food pantry that the items I donate at church (when I remember)  are a drop in the bucket compared to need. Most of what is distributed comes from government programs or is bought in bulk from cash donations. What is usually availabe for a family is pasta, canned tomato sauce, rice, beans (dry or canned), whatever odds and ends people donate like cake mixes, seasonings, salad dressings, couscous, and the like, beverages, frozen meat of some kind, sometimes fresh vegetables or fruit, cereal (hot and cold), canned meats, soups, and vegetables, and bakery items. Sometimes there are cleaning supplies, toilet paper, paper towels, and baby items, but not always. 

Most people are cooperative about taking the items and amounts that we distribute, but sometimes people try to get more, or bargain, “I’m not going to take any canned carrots, so can’t I have another can of tuna?” No, because we don’t have enough tuna. I can’t blame people for asking; different families have different tastes or needs. Occasionally, however, someone gets belligerent, and as a small old lady, I am only willing to fight so hard to stick to the rules. I don’t know what it is like to be poor. I don’t know how belligerent I would get under similar circumstances. I try to remind myself of that.

Several months ago I read a blogpost online talking about the parable of the sheep and the goats:

31“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. 32All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. 33He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.
34“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. 35For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
37“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’
40“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ (Matthew 25: 31-40, NIV)

The author made the point that it was the “least of these” who represent Jesus in this parable. Often we say that we, the helpers, will represent Jesus to the people we are helping, but the parable makes it clear that it is the other way around. The author went on to talk about a time that either he or another person had preached a short sermon making that point for a group that was about to go out and minister to some needy people in similar circumstances. Predictably enough, when the speaker was finished, the leader of the group of volunteers said something about how the volunteers would represent Jesus to the people they were helping that day.

I try to see the people who come through the doors of Hope Ministries as representing Jesus to me, even the belligerent ones. I think about Benny (not his real name). Benny is the father of 5 or so children. He obviously has a number of issues. He has a hard time following rules and staying in line, not in a malicious way, but because he doesn’t seem to be aware of social boundaries. He learns routines and sticks to them: if he could get two bags of pasta last trip, he believes he should get 2 bags of pasta this trip even if there are only a few bags of pasta on the shelves. Benny can’t read much: he is constantly asking what the writing on the soup cans say, but he can match one can to another, so once he knows which ones are the Chicken Noodle Soup, he can find more. To me, it seems like what Benny needs is medication, a case manager, a life coach to help him learn some social rules, and some tutoring in reading. I wonder how the educational system failed him. I wonder how his children are going to make their way through the world with a parent with his disabilities. I try to see Benny as representing Jesus, and think of Jesus telling the rich young man to sell all he has and give to the poor. I have so many assets that Benny never had or will have, and would have them even if I gave away my last cent: a smarter than average brain and an early ability to read, a childhood spent in a home that was well organized and imposed limits, access to an excellent public education all the way through college. None of those benefits were earned or even chosen by me (except the college). 

The next person I help, let’s call him Chuck, is easier to deal with.  I tell him I have having a little trouble opening a bag because my eyes are watering due to an eye condition I have. “You’ll be okay,” he tells me. “God has you.” I wonder how often he tells himself and his family that.

After we are done with our stint at the food pantry, we go out to lunch together. Yes, I know. I laugh about it myself. The lunches, however, have given me a new appreciation of my sisters in UMW. I often gripe about how the younger people on my cyber-hangout, the OT, think about me only in terms of my age, but I have learned in the course of my months volunteering that I have been dismissive myself of women my own age, seeing the members of the day circles as an amorphous group of old ladies instead of a collection of intelligent and interesting women. Today one of them, B, has noticed a food pantry client with a shopping basket, not the store kind but like a tote on wheels, and says that it would be a good ministry to try to provide more people with baskets like that. 

It was like this, only black.

I suggest we bring it up at the next general meeting. I can search online for similar baskets, get a price, and even contect the sellers to see if  we can get a bulk rate for a large order. As I have learned from our more belligerent clients, it doesn’t hurt to ask.

So maybe I met Jesus today. If not, maybe I’ll meet him next month.

World Malaria Day

World Malaria Day is easy for me to remember. It's also my husband's birthday. It was my dad's birthday, and today is the one year birthday of a friend's son. I don't know what it means that they were all born on World Malaria Day, but stay safe, guys. Oh, and click below if you want to donate to the cause.

 

That button says you can click on it, but it doesn't seem to work, so go here: 

http://www.worldmalariaday.org

A Day Late

Yesterday, which was my husband’s and my late dad’s birthday was also World Malaria Day. (Make of that what you will.) It was instituted by the World Health Assembly, the decision making body of the World Health Organization, in 2007, as a day for recognizing the global effort to provide effective control of malaria.

I was reminded of that while watching a live stream of the United Methodist Church General Conference plenary session last night. Part of the session was a report from Imagine No Malaria, the United Methodist Church’s anti-malaria program in Africa. If you didn’t know better, you might think that the UMC is single-handedly responsible for the decline in the malaria death rate world wide (the death rate has been cut in half in the last four years, from one person every thirty seconds to one person every sixty seconds), or that the global goal of near zero deaths from malaria in Africa by 2015 was their own invention. 

Not to disparage the UMC program, but there are a few other agencies involved, starting with the World Health Organization as noted above. This site has a number of links. The United States Centers for Disease Control has also been active in the fight against malaria. The President’s Malaria Initiative, launched in 2005, is another partner in the global fight against malaria.

I also need to mention my own alma mater, Tulane University. Their School of Public Health and Tropical Medicine is the oldest school of public health in the country and for a long time the only U.S. school of tropical medicine.  Not surprising, because the “endemic malaria and almost yearly epidemics of cholera and yellow fever” in Louisiana were the impetus for the formation of the Tulane Medical School and later the Division of Hygiene and Public Medicine, which in 1967 became the School of Public Health and Tropical Medicine.

This allows me to end with some good news:

Researchers from Tulane University School of Public Health and Tropical Medicine published an article in Malaria Journal that suggests “funding for malaria prevention in Africa over the past decade has had a substantial impact on decreasing child deaths due to malaria.” Between 2001 and 2011, malaria prevention intervention scale-up helped prevent an estimated 842,800 malaria-related child deaths, an 8.2 percent decrease over the period had malaria intervention remained unchanged since 2000. The researchers note that 99 percent of the decline can be attributed to the use of insecticide-treated bednets. "Rapidly achieving and then maintaining universal coverage of these interventions should be an urgent priority for malaria control programs in the future," the study concludes. Researchers include Dr. Thomas Eisele, Dr. David Larsen, and Dr. Joshua Yukich.

Even though I am a day late, I was not a dollar short. I donated to Imagine No Malaria yesterday. I am fairly certain that if you have some spare cash you would like to donate, they, or any one of the several organizations you can find through the links above, won’t make you wait until next year to put that money to work. 2015 is only three years away.

Once Again

Last week, feeling guilty about having missed church for a while, I stumbled in on Stewardship Sunday. We were supposed to have filled out pledge cards to put on the altar. I vaguely remember getting one at home, along with a letter asking us to pray about what God wants us to give.

Okay, maybe if I prayed about what God wanted me to give, I’d get different answers, but when I merely think about giving, what goes through my mind is:

“There are people in this community who are hungry. You should give money to the Food Bank.” 

“Winter is coming, and some people can’t pay for heat. You should give money to Power to Care (a charitable program run by the utility company to help people with their utility bills).”

“With winter coming, kids need coats. You should give money to Pat’s Coats for Kids.” Sometimes it’s fall and children need school supplies.

“Christmas is coming. Some parents can’t buy toys for their kids. You should buy some for Toys for Tots.”

So that’s where my money for charitable giving goes, along with a few other organizations (the non-profit agency I used to work for, the Baton Rouge Area Foundation, a monthly amount to FINCA, occasional small amounts to MSF). I also do listen to the little voice that tells me that as long as I keep going to church I probably should give them some money to keep the lights on. It’s only fair.

I just have a hard time believing that any money I give to St. Anonymous is money given to God. All the pastors we’ve had have as much as said so, but if you can get your hands on a copy of the budget (and it’s a lot harder to do that than it used to be), you don’t see any amounts listed for Hope Ministries (the food pantry) or the prison ministry, or any other charitable giving. There are many opportunities to give to missions: you can bring food items for Hope Ministries, you can bring toys or gifts for the elderly at Christmas, you can buy salsa or baked goods to support the  children’s home, you can bake cookies for prisoners and buy “manna bags” for the homeless. But that money you pledge each month? Once the pastor, staff and the light bill are paid, the majority goes to the “music ministry” and “children’s ministry.” No, the “children’s ministry” is not an outreach program to supply coats or school supplies or dental care to those children who need it and can’t afford it; it’s Sunday School and youth groups. The music ministry is of course the choir, some members of which are paid. 

I have nothing against the music ministry or the children’s ministry and I love our new pastor, but to me all this seems upside-down. If I’m going to donate 10% of my retirement income anywhere (and that’s a big if), the bulk of it is going to go to the organizations that feed the hungry and clothe the naked and otherwise help people who are in need. Secular community organizations seem to do a good job of that, at least when they have the money. So that’s where my money is going to go.

And if Pastor J doesn’t like that, she can take it up with God, because if I remember correctly, it’s actually his idea.

Stalking Miss Iowa

Abbey is the one in blue.

Every September for the past nine years, the small non-profit organization I work for has held a fundraiser breakfast. For the first seven years we had the usual run of motivational speakers, including one who was informally voted Worst Speaker Ever. Last year we had the good fortune of getting D.J. Gregory, author of  Walking with Friends, as our keynote speaker, and everyone was mesmerized. One of our board members noted, "I can listen to Dale Brown at practically any meeting I go to, but I don't get to hear speakers who have disabilities."


So this year my boss tried to get Temple Grandin, but that fell through. Instead we found Abbey Curran, Miss Iowa-USA 2008. Abbey is your ordinary, run-of-the-mill drop dead gorgeous beauty queen with cerebral palsy. When Abbey entered her first beauty pageant, one of her teachers tried to discourage her, saying, "Abbey, be realistic." As the parent of one of my little ones noted, "I'm surprised she would say something like that. Was she trying to get sued?"


In addition to being gorgeous, Abbey is a very funny speaker. She talked of growing up on a hog farm and how all her friends envied her. Abbey also talked about her first beauty pageant, and how worried she was that she would fall getting to the stage. She was proud to report that she didn't fall, but her dress did – right to her knees.


(I'm not sure whether to believe that story.)


I didn't exactly stalk Miss Iowa, but what with one of my co-workers taking official pictures, the news people taking pictures, and several of the organizers taking pictures, I had to squeeze in where I could to get a few blurry, badly lit shots. She didn't seem too upset.


Later that evening, my husband and I went out to dinner. At the next table I heard a woman saying, "I gave them a donation. They showed a video that really tugged at your heartstrings. And the speaker was from Iowa. She won a beauty pageant." Small world – she had been at our breakfast. On my way out I thanked her for her donation, hoping all the while I didn't still have hot wing sauce on my face.


I wonder about the Abbeys of the world. What is it that makes some people say, "I can do that" when everyone else is saying, "Be realistic"? Are people born with that kind of confidence and determination, or do they develop it as they grow? Just being gorgeous isn't enough to win you a beauty contest. You have to enter. You have to show up.


You have to be willing to risk falling on your face.

We're Building God A Parking Lot. I Hope he Likes It.

I was brought up as a Methodist.  For the past 25 years, I've been attending the same Methodist Church a few miles from my house.  My husband and I were married there, and although he was brought up as a Catholic, he began attending with me when we were engaged.  As members go, we haven't been the most active and we haven't been the least active.  We used to belong to a Sunday School class until most of the members moved on to other places.  I belong to UMW.  We don't tithe, but we do pledge every year and give what we pledge plus extra at Christmas.  I give about 3.5% of my gross income to the church and 10% of my take home pay to various charities, church included.  From what I have read, that's pretty much in line with what the average Methodist gives.

My church, let's call it St. Anonymous, has recently embarked on a fund drive for some new building projects, specifically a new parking lot, new covered drop-off, expansion of the education building, and some remodeling of the sanctuary.  My husband and I voted against undertaking the project at this time in light of the current economic situation.  We were in a decided minority, but we weren't the only ones.

Part of the project involved hiring a consultant to help with the fundraising.  Hubby and I expected a hard sell, and we weren't disappointed.  As a result, I found myself up late one night writing the following musings.  Since I'm not likely to send it to my pastor (whom I actually like and respect, even when we disagree), I decided to post it here where no one will ever read it anyway:

Why I Am Not Giving to the Building Program

1)  I want my charitable donations to serve God.  

God wants us to feed the hungry, clothe the ill-clad, tend the sick, and let those whose actions have placed them outside of human society know there is always hope for redemption.  There are many organizations in this community that do that, and every dollar that I could give to St. Anonymous to pave the parking lot I can give to them instead.  On the other hand,  God made his opinion of building projects known in that little episode of the Tower of Babel.  

2) There’s a recession on.

That means that all our community organizations that  feed the hungry, clothe the ill-clad, tend the sick, visit the prisoner, help victims of domestic violence, supplement utility payments for the elderly, and fund the organizations that do are fighting harder to keep what funding they have. My husband and I have increased what we give to some of these organzations by 50% to help meet that need, despite our concerns about our shrinking retirement fund just as retirement grows near.  

3)  Giving to the building program is not really giving.  It’s paying for creature comforts for ourselves. 

The only one of these improvements that is by any stretch of the imagination necessary is expanding the Education Building.  The rest of them are luxuries.  None of these improvements is anything different from what a country club or health club might try to provide for its members, but the country club or health club isn’t going to suggest that giving to their building project is the same thing as giving to God, or that there is some magic proportion of my income that God wants me to give for a new lobby.  Yes it would be nice to have a covered drop off, but it’s nice in the same way it would be nice to have a new purse. Either way, it’s money spent on myself.  

4)  We’re having a day of prayer and what for?

I don’t recall us ever having a day of prayer to end world hunger or to cure AIDS in Africa or for world peace, but we’re having one so we can have new chairs in the sanctuary.  I’d be embarrassed to pray about that.  Seriously.

5)  Whenever “sacrificial giving” is mentioned, it’s always with respect to giving to St. Anonymous, not on behalf of the  special collections that actually go to missions of the United Methodist Church or to community organizations.

We have “Change to Make a Change” Sundays, which suggests that whatever dimes, quarters, or small bills we have in our pockets is plenty enough to give to community organizations.  We’re told that we don’t even have to give to the 6 or so special UMC collections we have during the year, and no one is ever invited to speak on behalf of those missions to tell us what they are and what they do.  Those are the programs that provide services directly to people in some kind of need.  Those are the programs that serve God.  

6) Stewardship?  Oh, yes, let’s talk about stewardship.

 Stewardship is the wise use of resources to serve God.  Stewardship is not trying to divert money that is needed to feed the hungry and otherwise care for the unfortunate into a building program. Stewardship is not mistaking a church building for God himself.  Stewardship is not pampering ourselves and pretending it’s what God wants.  Stewardship is not just giving money to a church; it’s making sure that money is prayerfully and wisely spent on behalf of the greater good.  And stewardship is the reason I’m not giving one dime to this building program.  

More and more it occurs to me that if I just stop attending church, I’d have more money to give to the people and organizations, secular as well as religious, that really do God’s work in the world.