It's another hot day in Yuma, folks. I don't know why we even bother with weather forecasts here. Every day is "hot, clear, highs in the ___ (number well above 100)." Tomorrow's forecast: 112. I can feel the melanoma forming every time I go outside.
Did you know:
-GM is building a "hot weather testing center" on the Yuma Proving Ground land. That's the facility used by the military for testing bombs, because it's the most God-forsaken stretch of barren hot desert you ever saw. I almost don't mind them dropping bombs on it, that's how bad it is. Anyway, GM is building a facility there for testing how its cars deal with heat, AND the military will use it for (dropping more bombs?). Interesting, huh. thank you NPR.
-Yuma High School's mascot? The Criminals. That's right. The story: once upon a time, long long ago, the high school was housed in the local jail. I forget why. Need to hear that story again I guess.
- Yuma county is the nation's largest producer of many agricultural products, including winter lettuce. Just throw some water on this desert, and things grow! That is downright miraculous to me. It just goes to show that there is always some life hidden away, beneath the surface.
-Arizona is a community property state. Which means that any income during the marriage (not including gifts or inheritance to either spouse), of either spouse, is not their separate property, but the property of the "community." If they get divorced or one spouse dies, all income is split evenly, even if only one spouse worked outside the home during the entire marriage. This seems to me to be an exceptionally progressive system for recognizing the equal contributions of spouses even if one "only" raises children in the home. And it comes from the old Spanish tradition.
Sorry, I don't have any profound thoughts for today. I just needed an escape from Corporations.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
making old things new
I've gotten into the habit of taking walks around the neighborhoods surrounding me, in the evenings when it's bearable outside. I live in an apartment in the old part of Yuma, and it's a sort of run-down dusty area. I like it though. There are some beautiful old houses, and the downtown with its abandoned side streets and adobe buildings with wide porches makes me feel like I've walked into a different world. This is the Yuma that was left behind when the shiny new mall, Yuma Palms, was built just a few miles south. The mall, with its flashy movie theater and big department stores and well-lit streets, is the place to be on a weekend. Meanwhile, old downtown Yuma houses lawyer's offices and some struggling antiques stores, two bars, a casino, a newly restored old theater and a newly built one, and a few restaurants.
You know why I like it? I get such a sense of excitement, like something beautiful is simmering right below the surface- the possibility of restoration and vitality that still lives deep within the empty broken windows and the boarded up side streets. I know it's there, because I pass La Casa Gutierrez, a beautiful old home that now houses a fantastic Mexican restaurant. The windows are trimmed with blue and red tile, a fountain bubbles in the front yard, and the walls covered with pictures of Yuma's past citizens, and the place is always full at lunch. And the downtown is not nearly as deserted as it first seems- go inside a seemingly deserted cafe, and there's people there, the students from the cosmetology school on their lunch break, a mother and son just done with karate lessons, the inevitable lawyers, old ladies from Canada.
It's the feeling I get every time I'm in a shabby old lived-in place. Philadelphia, the sketchy part of Normaltown in Athens, South Tucson. There is just something about these places.
And it got me thinking about restoration. I love the feeling of taking something that has history, that has felt the fingerprints and feet of generations and is decidely worse for wear, and restoring it to something beautiful. Not restoring it to how it was before, with crazy huge Victorian furniture, but making the old relevant and functional and attractive in today's world. There's something holy about that.
I don't think Holy is too strong a word for it. If you think about it, restoration is what we are called to, more than anything else. We start out in God's image, and life twists and distorts and dirties that image until it is barely recognizable. But God sees through the bad paint and cracked tile and unkempt yard of this house that is our lives- He sees the beauty underneath, what we are supposed to be, called to be. And he restores us. It brings to mind the passage in Ezekiel- 16:6- where the prophet describes Israel as an abandoned child, left to die in her blood and filth. And God sees her and speaks that earth-shattering word: LIVE!
Isn't that what He's done for all of us?
On a smaller scale, it's what he's called us to do. To restore what is broken and run-down and dirty and worn out. To bring hope and revival and new life.
I don't think that this restoration mission is a narrow one. It should touch and influence every facet of our lives. Obviously, it applies to restoring and building up the broken and run-down people around us, but there's more than that. I believe that we are called to bring restoration to what is old, to find what is good and beautiful and relevant in the things that have been cast off. To reinvigorate and restore old neighborhoods, re-discover cast off clothes and re-invent them, take in stray animals. All according to the gifts God has given us.
This applies to the church as well. Instead of creating a new Christianity which reinforces American lifestyle values and emulates corporations and celebrities, let's look for relevant ideas from our roots. Let's pull out those ideas of community, of simplicity, of hard work, that motivated Christians ages ago. Our job is to make the church relevant, not by creating something new, but by restoring what has been lost and making it functional and meaningful for today.
These are the ideas that came to me as I walked- maybe it's the result of my brain trying to escape from the agonies of studying commercial paper and contracts. Let me know what you think.
You know why I like it? I get such a sense of excitement, like something beautiful is simmering right below the surface- the possibility of restoration and vitality that still lives deep within the empty broken windows and the boarded up side streets. I know it's there, because I pass La Casa Gutierrez, a beautiful old home that now houses a fantastic Mexican restaurant. The windows are trimmed with blue and red tile, a fountain bubbles in the front yard, and the walls covered with pictures of Yuma's past citizens, and the place is always full at lunch. And the downtown is not nearly as deserted as it first seems- go inside a seemingly deserted cafe, and there's people there, the students from the cosmetology school on their lunch break, a mother and son just done with karate lessons, the inevitable lawyers, old ladies from Canada.
It's the feeling I get every time I'm in a shabby old lived-in place. Philadelphia, the sketchy part of Normaltown in Athens, South Tucson. There is just something about these places.
And it got me thinking about restoration. I love the feeling of taking something that has history, that has felt the fingerprints and feet of generations and is decidely worse for wear, and restoring it to something beautiful. Not restoring it to how it was before, with crazy huge Victorian furniture, but making the old relevant and functional and attractive in today's world. There's something holy about that.
I don't think Holy is too strong a word for it. If you think about it, restoration is what we are called to, more than anything else. We start out in God's image, and life twists and distorts and dirties that image until it is barely recognizable. But God sees through the bad paint and cracked tile and unkempt yard of this house that is our lives- He sees the beauty underneath, what we are supposed to be, called to be. And he restores us. It brings to mind the passage in Ezekiel- 16:6- where the prophet describes Israel as an abandoned child, left to die in her blood and filth. And God sees her and speaks that earth-shattering word: LIVE!
Isn't that what He's done for all of us?
On a smaller scale, it's what he's called us to do. To restore what is broken and run-down and dirty and worn out. To bring hope and revival and new life.
I don't think that this restoration mission is a narrow one. It should touch and influence every facet of our lives. Obviously, it applies to restoring and building up the broken and run-down people around us, but there's more than that. I believe that we are called to bring restoration to what is old, to find what is good and beautiful and relevant in the things that have been cast off. To reinvigorate and restore old neighborhoods, re-discover cast off clothes and re-invent them, take in stray animals. All according to the gifts God has given us.
This applies to the church as well. Instead of creating a new Christianity which reinforces American lifestyle values and emulates corporations and celebrities, let's look for relevant ideas from our roots. Let's pull out those ideas of community, of simplicity, of hard work, that motivated Christians ages ago. Our job is to make the church relevant, not by creating something new, but by restoring what has been lost and making it functional and meaningful for today.
These are the ideas that came to me as I walked- maybe it's the result of my brain trying to escape from the agonies of studying commercial paper and contracts. Let me know what you think.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
doves in the cemetary
Yuma, Arizona. My new home, for now. A very hot place in the summer.
I've been getting up early and going running, because the mornings here are beautiful, and really the only bearable time of day. It's breezy and bright and somewhat cool. I'd passed the Yuma cemetary several times, and it looked so interesting, so this morning I ran over there and walked around. It was around 6:30am, the sun was bright, there was a cool breeze, and I was all alone in this cemetary on the top of a hill. Gravestones stretched out in front of me in a vast expanse. This is the "poor" side of the cemetary- through a gate to the south is a vast green field with endless rows of neat plaques and fake flower bouquets, where people with more money are buried in serene respectability. But on this side, people can put up whatever grave marker they want or can afford, from a bare wooden post to a stone marker with a glass fronted case full of photos set in an enclosed area with sprinklers to keep the grass perpetually green. There's bare cement slabs with names written in marker, shabby wooden crosses like those ones you see by the highway, decorated with ribbons and fake flowers; there's simple metal plaques with the names of WWII veterans; and then family plots with statues of Mary and flowery poems in Spanish and more extensive structures. I love cemetaries. I wandered along the dusty paths surrounded by Redondo and Mendoza and Rodriguez for an hour. There was a flock of doves- must have been a hundred of them- and they settled and rose in a white cloud among the crosses. I've never seen real doves up close like that. That walk through the cemetary was so peaceful and beautiful.
Later in the morning, after breakfast and some bar studying, I came outside and met Charlie, the son of the landlord, a skinny guy with skin stretched tight over his face and a nervous energy. He came in to lower my water heater temp- I'm really considering turning it off, since I see no need for hot water when it's in the triple digits outside. Anyway, he and his buddy were hilarious. Charlie kept up a constant stream of chatter while he was adjusting the water heater. "hey, I like that scooter, how much did you pay for it? I have a buddy who got one for 50 cents from this woman who was getting divorced, she sold it for spite. Wow, look how dirty this water heater is. If I had known I would have cleaned it. I've learned all about rentals from my mom. I'm so worried about her, she just had heart surgery, gave us all a scare. Hey, look at that doorframe, I need to work on that. Your air conditioning working ok? Good. Now I'm not going to touch this wire with my wet hands. You know, I was going to get this great job working with trucks, but I got stuck on some 220 and it scared me good. I wouldn't even plug in a lamp after that. I just couldn't let go of it. But I wouldn't take disability. No, I like to work. Matter of fact, I'm not a gambling addict, but I sure do like the Paradise (casino). And they like me too- I win all the time. I just won $75. Last year I won $4000 but I got hit hard with taxes. " And on and on... I sure have met a lot of characters here already. And I've only been here a week.
I've been getting up early and going running, because the mornings here are beautiful, and really the only bearable time of day. It's breezy and bright and somewhat cool. I'd passed the Yuma cemetary several times, and it looked so interesting, so this morning I ran over there and walked around. It was around 6:30am, the sun was bright, there was a cool breeze, and I was all alone in this cemetary on the top of a hill. Gravestones stretched out in front of me in a vast expanse. This is the "poor" side of the cemetary- through a gate to the south is a vast green field with endless rows of neat plaques and fake flower bouquets, where people with more money are buried in serene respectability. But on this side, people can put up whatever grave marker they want or can afford, from a bare wooden post to a stone marker with a glass fronted case full of photos set in an enclosed area with sprinklers to keep the grass perpetually green. There's bare cement slabs with names written in marker, shabby wooden crosses like those ones you see by the highway, decorated with ribbons and fake flowers; there's simple metal plaques with the names of WWII veterans; and then family plots with statues of Mary and flowery poems in Spanish and more extensive structures. I love cemetaries. I wandered along the dusty paths surrounded by Redondo and Mendoza and Rodriguez for an hour. There was a flock of doves- must have been a hundred of them- and they settled and rose in a white cloud among the crosses. I've never seen real doves up close like that. That walk through the cemetary was so peaceful and beautiful.
Later in the morning, after breakfast and some bar studying, I came outside and met Charlie, the son of the landlord, a skinny guy with skin stretched tight over his face and a nervous energy. He came in to lower my water heater temp- I'm really considering turning it off, since I see no need for hot water when it's in the triple digits outside. Anyway, he and his buddy were hilarious. Charlie kept up a constant stream of chatter while he was adjusting the water heater. "hey, I like that scooter, how much did you pay for it? I have a buddy who got one for 50 cents from this woman who was getting divorced, she sold it for spite. Wow, look how dirty this water heater is. If I had known I would have cleaned it. I've learned all about rentals from my mom. I'm so worried about her, she just had heart surgery, gave us all a scare. Hey, look at that doorframe, I need to work on that. Your air conditioning working ok? Good. Now I'm not going to touch this wire with my wet hands. You know, I was going to get this great job working with trucks, but I got stuck on some 220 and it scared me good. I wouldn't even plug in a lamp after that. I just couldn't let go of it. But I wouldn't take disability. No, I like to work. Matter of fact, I'm not a gambling addict, but I sure do like the Paradise (casino). And they like me too- I win all the time. I just won $75. Last year I won $4000 but I got hit hard with taxes. " And on and on... I sure have met a lot of characters here already. And I've only been here a week.
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