poverty and neglect

I made it. I emerged from my weekly, monotonous tunnel of work, school, sleep, work, school, sleep...

Apparently, whoever thought of cramming so many classes into the summer has never experienced bare feet on green grass and cheeks kissed by the sun.

I do enjoy school, nonetheless. It challenges my mind. And my time-management skills.

During class this week, we discussed the issue of poverty at length. We made graphs of systematic barriers and oppression. We mulled over glaring statistics and debated over effective solutions. We're the bleeding hearts working for social change, equality, and justice.

Yet, I sit in the middle row, to the left, cynical and indifferent.

I know about poverty; I see it every day. It's kids with dirty clothes and black-stained feet who have lice and empty bellies, whose parents trade their food stamps for spice at the gas station on the corner. The parents who tell me to put their kids in foster care because they are too proud to accept help or go to the homeless shelter. Or the mom who refuses to work and moves her kids and their scant belongings from one man's home to another.

And so I sit and smugly provide my two cents..."it's a mindset...an issue of motivation...a mismanagement of personal resources..."

The thing about social issues is that they are complex and won't leave my mind. Thus, while browning hamburger at midnight (crazy things happen in the tunnel), it finally occurred to me.

I see a lot of injustice at work, and I may see many parents and kids who are poor. But I don't see poverty. I see neglect.  

My job has changed me. It's made me skeptical and pessimistic, with little hope for humanity. I look for the flaw, the wrongdoing that was committed so I can place the blame and alleviate the pain.

But it is unfair to apply my investigator perspective and experience universally.  The absence of money and resources does not imply fault or maltreatment. There are over six thousand people in poverty in my jurisdiction, and I only see a small portion of those people. The reality is that my exposure to and knowledge of social issues is small and rather insignificant. I have so much more to learn in the classroom and in the field.

If nothing else, school has forced me to examine my biases and have a greater sense of self-awareness.

an unlikely mission field

The semester is winding down. After one presentation and a few minor papers, I will be rewarded with three weeks off. Then, summer session begins, and we're back at it.

For the last several months, I've been working with a substance abuse therapist at a local community mental health center as a part of an internship. She is very experienced and has a uniquely effective way of relating to the clients. I have learned a lot from her professionally and personally.

One day when I was sitting in her office, I noticed several great Christian books on her bookshelves, such as Love and Respect, The Five Love Languages, Changes That Heal, and The Secret Things of God. I was initially stunned. I mean this is a room where clients come for therapy and there are items indicating Christianity!

I subtly (or not so subtly because I do not do subtle very well) asked her if she uses spirituality with her clients. As she responded, I continued to be stunned. She told me about how she went to a Christian university, and they talked frequently about how to appropriately and ethically use their faith to help clients.

God bless my secular, liberal education.

In fact, she said that she would be remiss if she ignored spirituality. In her ten years at this agency, she has found that faith has allowed more clients to thrive than any other technique or psycho-therapeutic theory. She's not pushy or confrontational. She does not proselytize or have an ulterior agenda. Just like any good missionary, she uses doors that the client opens.

Community mental health is the nitty-gritty, the bottom of the barrel. This therapist has struggled here and has had to combat burnout. She has considered moving to a comparatively cushy job in the private sector or a Christian agency. But her calling is to serve the neediest, the least of these.

Community mental health is her mission field.

sunday splurge

When I was a kid, Sunday afternoons were ruled by ritual: go to church, eat dinner, lolly-gag as much as possible to avoid eating broccoli, take a nap, and then, enjoy 3 o'clock ice cream. There was something magical about the 3 o'clock hour. I was given license to grab a spoon and fill my bowl with the sweet and creamy flavor of the week, chocolate chips, and fudge sauce.

We splurged on Sundays.

Today, my splurge took the shape of berries and creamy vanilla. It was lick-the-spatula good.

My frozen blueberry stash from last summer is quickly dwindling. I kick myself for not buying a whole trunk load in August, back when ten pounds of fresh, plump berries were a dreamy seventeen dollars.


A few Sundays ago, our splurge was ringside tickets for the Spartan Stampede. My grandpa instilled in me a love of rodeo, and this annual MSU event was one of his favorites.

 I had such a great time hanging out with some of my relatives and watching the rodeo. We ran into a few of grandpa's rodeo buddies and reminisced. One of grandpa's old friends, Jim, passed away recently as well. We stood and clapped as Jim's wife, Les, accepted the Legacy Award on Jim's behalf.

I can just imagine grandpa and Jim sitting side-by-side on a fence and smiling down on us, enjoying the show. Or, who knows, maybe they're busy organizing their own rodeo with chutes of gold and lariats that always swing true.


What's your Sunday splurge?

venison lovin

We do Valentine's Day on the chill side. A few gifts, some favorite treats, and our classic at-home date night, frozen pizza and a Redbox. Kb thoughtfully picked out a movie about a group of people who struggle with addiction. He knows that I am interested in addictions, and he thought that I would enjoy it.

However, the movie synopsis that Kb skimmed through apparently did not include that the addiction that plagues the characters is a sex addiction.

Such a scenario creates a strange mood for Valentine's Day.

 Overshare? Maybe.

How about some recipes?!

My dad, the hunter, gifted us a big chunk of his deer in the form of steaks and ground venison. It's no secret that I skimp on meat so we (especially Kb) really love this gift. I've enjoyed experimenting with the venison and creating some scrumptious dishes.

I found this venison pie recipe from this forum.

1 lb ground venison
1 large onion chopped
1/2 cup salsa
1 package Taco seasoning 1.5oz(McCormick)
1/4 tsp pepper
8.5 oz of canned corn
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
2 eggs
1 cup milk
1/2 cup of bisquick or biscuit mix

In a large skillet, cook ground meat and onion over medium heat and drain. Stir in the salsa, taco seasoning,corn, and pepper. Transfer to a greased 9 inch pie plate; sprinkle with cheese.

In a large bowl mix the eggs, milk and biscuit mix; pour over cheese. Bake at 400 degrees for 25-30 minutes or until a knife inserted near the center comes out clean.

 
It turned out pretty good! I omitted the onion (to Kb's dismay) and used homemade taco seasoning. Also, my 9 inch pie plate could not handle the amount of goodness in the recipe. Next time, I'll use a casserole dish.

I repeat, do not use a pie plate. There may be a thin layer of charred biscuit mix in the bottom of your oven. The smoke alarm may go off. And you will probably be reminded that you desperately need to clean your oven. 

 Even better than the venison pie were these burgers. I am not a big fan of burgers, but the meat was thawed, it was 10:00 PM, and Kb needed something manly to eat. I was a little nervous about the cooking time so I cut into the first cooked burger and sampled it. (btw I cooked them for 3-4 minutes per side)

It was ridiculously, wonderfully tasty. 

I was not prepared for this, but I recovered quickly. I toasted a bun, slapped on a slice of cheese, and gobbled it right up. Yum.

Go find yourself some fresh venison!

blue betty vs winter

This winter marches on. More snow and More cold.

Yesterday, my mom suggested a trip to Target, and I turned her down. This is serious, people. The relentless winter has gotten to me.

You'll find me covered in layers of clothes and huddled under a quilt, reading this book or this one. Besides a few times when I did venture out this week, the results were disheartening. Wednesday, I did not get more than a mile away from home and my attempt to cruise down an unplowed road proved futile. Blue Betty, my good old ford focus, couldn't hack it.

Then, on Friday, I was rolling down a semi-clear highway when the serpentine belt flew right off. What's a serpentine belt, you ask? Well, I learned pretty quickly that it is an extremely vital piece of rubber.  Blue Betty died right there on the highway.

Believe it or not, there was an upside. When I was stuck in the snow, six guys pulled up in their trucks offering help. Even if they could not help me, apparently I was in too deep, they made sure that I was warm and that my car had fuel. After an hour and a half, three guys worked together and succeeded in breaking me free.

And after my serpentine belt bit the dust, my coworkers helped me get to work and made sure that I had a vehicle if I needed to go to appointments. Later in the day, my dad and his friend, Dan the Man, arrived to save the day. They worked out in the subzero temps until that pesky serpentine belt was replaced and Blue Betty was good as new.

I've learned that there is no shame in staying home, hiding from the world beneath my quilt.

But I've also been the recipient of great kindness and generosity from strangers, coworkers, and family. And of that, I am so thankful.

dog daze of winter

Here we are. Hibernating again.

I hear the wind whipping furiously around the house. The snow blows sideways, and I can't tell if it is falling from the sky or whipped up from the ground.  


All I know is that I am thankful for a warm home.

And that this season will someday end.

they call it the snowpocalypse

We are knee deep in snow and on day two of hibernation around here.

Because of the subzero temps, I set up a cozy spot in the garage for my exclusively outdoor dogs. But when Bo started shivering, and I have never seen him shiver, I relented and brought the boys inside. Just don't tell the landlord.

I tell ya, these dogs are just like children. They play and fight, and if I don't give them something to do, they get themselves into trouble.

They follow me everywhere. If I have to go to the bathroom, I have an audience.

When they finally lay down for a nap, I take the opportunity to snooze as well.

They each got a bath and then ran around the house like naked toddlers.

Bo refuses to share his toys, and Spur is enamored with his reflection.

It feels like I haven't seen Kb in awhile. He has had to pick up extra shifts and has not been home since the blizzard started. The dogs are at least good company.

Tomorrow is up in the air or under a pile of snow. I'm not sure yet.