Reflections on Being Injured and on Poverty

Even though I’m not riding, I can still blog.  (P.S.  I added a "subscribe via email" link on the right if you're interested.)

Until Friday evening, I hadn’t left the house since my doctor’s appointment on Tuesday.  A friend reminded me that the best thing for healing is rest.  I keep up with what’s happening on Sea to Sea by reading the blogs of other riders.  Each day they make their way closer to Iowa but honestly, Sea to Sea seems like a world away.  The tears surface again as I think of what I am missing.  I wish I could have ridden across Kansas, hop-scotching from grain elevator to grain elevator.  I wish I could have ridden that second century ride.  I would have taken the bad with the good, just like everyone else did.  I wish I could have seen the beauty of the changing landscape.  I wish I was there to hear the stories and thoughts that my small-group members are telling each other every night.  (Thanks for taking over for me, Adam!)

Rudy moved the box spring and mattresses (somehow we have two mattresses on the spare bed—picture a short stack for The Princess and the Pea) from our spare, single bed upstairs into a small office room on the main floor.  Basically, “the office” is where my books accumulate; but it’s my bedroom for now, and it keeps me from having to climb a flight of stairs with crutches and a peg leg. 

Rudy and I have been trying to do some prep-work during these days at home—Rudy, for his substitute teacher who will start the first 3 ½ days of the school year in his place; and me, for classes which begin just three days after finishing the ride on Staten Island.  I’m wondering if I will be riding then, or serving the riders in some other way. 

Even though we’re at home for a few days because of my broken leg, I’ve been thinking a lot about my current status as a non-rider.  It was so hard to leave the group, but at the time it seemed like the wisest thing to do.  A sense of uselessness teases my disposition.  Yet I distinctly remember concluding before we left, that even if I’m not riding, I have some thing(s) to offer the Sea to Sea community.  1) Using my business gifts, I could gather, record and organize the receipts for daily expenditures on the tour; though someone else may have already taken on this role since its need was just arising as I was leaving the tour a week ago.  2) Using my pastoral gifts, I could offer spiritual direction to anyone who needs a listening ear that is bent on what/where/how God might be present and working in their life.  I sense that some people on the ride are at a sort of crossroads in life, whether large or small; or they are processing life’s events.  They didn’t necessarily go on Sea to Sea to find answers, but being on the tour gives a person time to step away and to consider things apart from their normal day-to-day activities.  The tour is nearly half over, and I wonder if those processing moments are happening.  I’d like to make space for, and encourage those conversations if they are needed.  3) Using my maximizer gifts, I could compile people’s thoughts on what has gone well on this tour, and collect ideas for the next tour.  (Yes, I confess, I find myself thinking of the next tour as I convalesce and acknowledge my unfulfilled dream of Sea to Sea 2013.)

Maybe I’m just fighting the thought of being useless; or being viewed as useless.  I don’t want to be useless.  No one does.  But sometimes things happen which redefine our usefulness—things which keep us from contributing in the way we had originally intended.  Sometimes limitations bring out contributions which would otherwise have remained hidden had things remained as they were. 

Poverty is limitation.  Limited money.  Limited abilities.  Limited spiritual awareness.  Limited resources.  Limited . . . you name it.  For some people, poverty is a catalyst for resourcefulness.  For others, it becomes an auger burrowing deeper and deeper into darkness.

Bear with me, I don’t know where this post is headed.

I’m reminded of a brief conversation Rudy and I had with a gentleman in the parking lot of a little 6-room motel on our ride from Poncha Springs to Canon City last Friday (I think).  We had stopped to use the restroom which had been left ajar, eliminating the need for us to ask permission when the sign said, “for paying guests only.”  We told the man in the parking lot about the ride—he was interested because he used to be a long-distance biker (maybe even a triathlete).  As soon as he heard about the cause of fighting poverty, he was quick to make a contribution.  “Poverty is what you make it.  There.  That’s my contribution.”  He basically said that if you can’t make a go of it in North America, it’s your own fault.  Woa.  We weren’t expecting that comment!  We talked about Partners Worldwide and he backed off a bit.  We decided not to report this man’s “contribution” at our nightly Peleton meeting! 

At a glance, people living in poverty have limited contributions to make.  I guess, in a way, you could say that I feel like I’m living in a miniscule state of physical poverty; out of the game.  I can choose to let this setback dig a hole for me, or I can redirect my efforts and make some other contribution.  But part of me wonders if even our definition of contribution is misguided or limited.

I think of the graceful way that Pope John Paul II allowed the world to watch his failing health, as if to teach us that suffering is part of life and we shouldn’t be ashamed of it.  I think of John and Shelly Nelson who adopted Josi, and the joy and fullness (in spite of the challenges) that this severely handicapped child from Haiti has brought to them and those who know them.  I think of Henri Nouwen who chose to live among the mentally disabled and made it his practice always to travel with one of the residents, even though his travels would have been much more “efficient” on his own. 

We easily turn our backs on those who can’t perform a “normal” contribution to society by some Western standard—those with mental illness, social awkwardness, physical disabilities, etc.—any type of poverty.  None of us wants to be the injured one.  None of us wants to be the one caught in any form of poverty when everyone around us carries on with a “normal” life.  We all want to be the few, the proud . . . okay, maybe not the Marines . . . but you get my point. 

Is it possible that we are uncomfortable with poverty among us, and that our discomfort fuels our desire to “help” so that we don’t have to deal with our anxiety about it?  Is it possible that we don’t know how to handle it when things/people do not fit into the ribbon-tied boxes we create for them?  In some puzzling way, could the poor and injured among us enhance our community, rather than detract from it?  In some up-side-down way, does my broken leg contribute to the community, rather than detract from it?  It has opened opportunities for others to serve (me).  It has opened opportunities for me to accept help from others (or at least think about accepting the help that has been offered).  And yes, I realize that my little broken leg is nothing compared to those living in real poverty.  I realize my comments could be taken in so many unintended ways.  I’m not suggesting that we turn our backs on poverty; or that we don’t work towards alleviating malnutrition, bad drinking water, malaria, human trafficking, etc. 

Words of Jesus keeps ringing in my ears as I write this, “The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me.”  These words appear in Matthew 26:11, in the context of the woman anointing Jesus with the alabaster jar of expensive perfume.  Earlier in verse 8, Matthew writes, “When the disciples saw this they were indignant.  ‘Why this waste?’ they asked.  ‘This perfume could have been sold at a high price and the money given to the poor.’”  Later, one of the disciples, Judas, sells Jesus for money.  Are we like the disciples, using one hand to raise money to help the poor while using the other hand to pad our pockets and our North American life-style?

Mark 14’s account of the woman’s anointing includes the phrase, “and you can help them any time you want.”  The footnote references Deuteronomy 15:11, “There will always be poor people in the land. Therefore I command you to be openhanded toward your fellow Israelites who are poor and needy in your land.”  Be open-handed.  But are we open-handed enough?  The poor you will always have with you.  But do we really have them with us?  Or do we shuttle them off to segmented lands and hospital wards, develop policies and systems that keep them away in other countries, or send the homeless traveler on their way after one complimentary night in the local motel? 

Whew. 
This is more than a blog entry. 
Too many questions. 
Too many thoughts. 
Too much time to think. 

Or not. 

Still processing.
Thanks for bearing with me.
Any thoughts?