The Materialistic Homeless

I have always admired the homeless for endurance and their minimalist quality. They have figured out a system to cope with not having what other people consider as the bare necessity - a roof over their head.

On my way to work I see that homeless guy; let’s call him Jack. He is usually on the move very early in the morning. I am not sure where he comes from or where he is going. But he moves with speed and resolve like a soldier on a mission. Personally if I was homeless, I would sleep in and start moving a little later in the day to avoid the motorists speeding to their workplace.

Jack packs all his belongings in a rusty supermarket shopping cart. Day after day I noticed that the load in the cart was getting bigger and bigger. I thought Jack is stocking for the cold winter. The stuff started to hang over the sides of the cart. One could tell it was getting heavier and heavier by how far Jack bent forward to pull it. Yet he continued to make his daily pilgrimage. I thought of stopping by to talk about the benefits of traveling light. At this point a storage space seemed as equally important for his survival as food.

But before I gathered enough courage, Jack surprised me with a bigger move. He acquired a second shopping cart and hooked it up to the first one. It had as much stuff as the first one. I noticed a ceramic toilet bowel in the hauled cart.

This reveals an interesting side to human nature. It is materialism that drives a homeless man or someone who lives in an eighteen-bedroom mansion on the north shore to fill every square inch available with junk.

One Great Evangelist
Mark 5:1-20;The Healing of the Gerasenes Demon-possessed Man
I can only imagine the reaction of people who saw the healed Gerasenes demon-possessed man. Just sitting among people, clean and sane, telling his story. “Isn’t this the mad tomb dude whom we used to hear screaming in the middle of the night? Aren’t these scars under his sleeves from cutting himself with stones and from the chains,” they would say.

What’s a more powerful way to witness to the greatness of God than by one’s own transformation? All is needed is to show up and tell our story. Simply put: Bring the Body. We are carriers of God’s grace and love, and we cannot help but to show it to the world. It doesn’t have to be anymore complicated than stating the “then and now.”

The first response to his healing, the healed demon-possessed man begged Jesus to go with him. But Jesus had a higher purpose for him. He said, "Go home to your family and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you."

For us we can have our cake and eat it too. We can go to the world spreading the good news and take the Holy Spirit with us as well. Good deal!

The Minivan Culture
In the past twenty years or so Minivans have become a cultural phenomenon. I remember when Minivan used to be considered commercial vehicles. They carried merchandise, tools and such. They were the furthest things from looking Cool, even beyond station wagons. Driving one of those boxes-on-four-wheels was a statement of resignation to any hope for being hip. Finally auto designers understood the growing need for a spacious car that welcomes the whole family with enough space to pack for their vacation. It has enough room for carpooling back and forth from school or work. Now there is at least one minivan on every block, sometimes more than one per household.

Driving a minivan is quite a unique experience. Once you cross the line to the minivan world, you become a member of a secret society, which has its own standards and expectations. As a friend of mine once said, "Once you drive a van, you never drive a regular car the same way again." Minivans are for people who won't settle for less than driving their living room around. With cushioned armchairs in the middle row and as many cup holders as could possibly fit, it's a great place to drive, hang out, watch a DVD, or even take a nap. One of the great features of minivans is the folding-into-the-floor third row, which provides ample space for luggage or golf equipment.

With my family growing, in number and in size, I surrendered to getting our own. After thorough research and search, I settled for a lightly used Odyssey. Proud of my accomplishment, I brought it home and showed the kids. It looked wider when I pulled into my driveway than in the dealer's lot. "Wow," the kids marveled. "It's huge!"

Now all our travel plans revolve around the van. We always plan to have friends with us when we go out. It is like we have to fill the extra space now available to us. Couple of friends have reserved the van to help them move next summer. We are seriously considering driving the Van to Florida for our winter vacation instead of flying. Now I have no excuse to delay buying new doors for upstairs. My in-laws share a ride with us every time we visit my wife's sister in New Jersey. And life has not been the same again. It's the minivan's world.

Labor Day
Labor and delivery turned out to be a much longer event than the impression I got from the childbirth class. Or may be because it was our first baby. All that I remember from that class was the breathing technique and playing soft music for mom to relax. I also remember a five-minute video of twenty women giving birth one after the other, which made it seem quick and painless.

Let’s see, where was I on the late morning of February 12, 1997? I was standing in my kitchen waiting for the water to boil to make me a cup of hot tea. A speeding car driven by a woman I never met before pulled into my driveway. My lovely wife with her distinctive belly opened the door and came running into the house. ” My water broke at work,” She announced with excitement “

I knew what to do next. I rehearsed this scene in my head several times. I grabbed the hospital bag and ran to the car and started driving. But wait, my wife was not in the car; she was calling her doctor, who instructed us to go to his office.

After the doctor examined her, he sent us back home; it was too early and the contractions had not started yet. We waited for the contractions for the whole evening and part of the night. Finally at around three in the morning we headed to the hospital. After another examination we were told, “ it’s still too early. Go walk around the hospital for a little while until the contractions become more consistent.” Another couple hours went by. The hospital reluctantly admitted her although they said she was not quite ready. To expedite the process they decided to induce her. “Good,” I thought to my self. “This should be over in couple of hours.” But when I asked one of the nurses, she calmly informed me, “It could take up to twelve hours.”

The moments moved slowly in our small room confinement. I decided to settle in for the ride since we were going to be there for a while. I plugged in the cassette player and played some soft music as instructed at the childbirth class. Exhausted from all the excitement and being up all night, I finally fell asleep. I woke up couple of hours later, but there seemed to be no changes - waiting and more waiting. It was one o’clock in the afternoon, and I hadn’t had anything to eat, so I took a walk to the hospital cafeteria. I decided to treat myself to a nice lunch. A big cheeseburger with onions and French fries seemed to hit the spot.

“That was a good meal, now I’m ready to go back to support my wife.” When I returned to her room, nothing much had changed. As I walked toward her, she seemed very irritated and disgusted like a tourist in a porta potty that has not been cleaned for a month. She demanded, “What’s that smell? . . . It smells like onions. . What is that?” “Honey, that’s me, I just had lunch.” My wife appeared to be in much more pain; I was not sure if it was because of the contractions or the onions.

Time continued to move slowly until suddenly and without any warnings, at about five o’clock, the pace picked up. A team of nurses rushed into the room, turned on all the lights and started wheeling my wife into the delivery room. People in white coats and blue scrubs came in from everywhere. Lights. Camera. Action! Things started to move quickly. My wife’s doctor appeared from nowhere and started to take over. I was getting overwhelmed and excited like in a dream. The next thing I heard was the baby crying. He was taken to a side table to be wiped, measured and weighed.

“Here sir, hold your son,” said a voice bringing me back to reality. A nurse handed me the baby wrapped in a blanket. I looked into his big brown eyes. He stared back and stopped crying. “What a beautiful boy,” I sighed. He is worth the wait.”

Too Young to Grow Old

I missed blogging, but now I'm back. This humble poem paints a picture of the way I have been feeling lately. Thank you for coming back to check my blog.

It seems like yesterday
When life was long and wide

When time used to hold still
While I had so much fun

It was easy to enjoy the moment
Knowing there was much more to come

But now time moves too fast
Like a diesel speeding to catch on

I can’t keep up with growing old
With fewer moments to hang on

Many places yet to be seen
And more things to be done

Will I get to do them all?
Or my only chance had gone?

What Is Your Doritos?

Last summer I went to the beach with my family and a group of friends. We sat down couple of rows away from the water. After a while the kids including my son, David, who was five at the time, moved closer to the water to dig a hole and build a sand castle.

I approached the kids with a bag of Doritos in my hand admiring the work, and they asked me for some Doritos. Since their hands were covered with sand, I had fun feeding them. Few minutes later I walked back to join the grownups. When I sat down I looked back toward the kids and noticed that David was not there. When I shared my concern with the group, we all got up and frantically started to look for the kid.

The minutes moved by slowly as I felt my heart falling down into my stomach. His whole life passed quickly through my mind like a commemoration for a legend. Desperately we report the missing child to the lifeguards who signaled to the lifeguards at the adjacent beaches.

Few minutes later, which felt like eternity, a lifeguard from next beach showed up carrying David in his arms. After a sigh of relief I asked David, trying hard to conceal my anxiety,” What happened?“ He calmly answered,“I was looking for more Doritos.”

When I reflect on the story I realize that I often do the same thing. I feel a need for something (Doritos) – sometimes legitimate, sometimes not. Without contemplating how to get it or the risk involved, I just start moving without directions or a plan. Soon after, I found myself lost - away from my Father and my family.
Sin is like that. We feel a desperate need for something; we pursue it outside God’s plan and directions. Soon we find ourselves lost. So before that urge hits, it's good to ask yourself, what is my Doritos?

Homeboy Complex

In the parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-31), the older son is usually looked down on. Instead of feeling happy for the return of his brother, he’s angry and refused to join in the celebration. It seems like he is overwhelmed by a sense of rejection and sibling rivalry.

However when I read the story I cannot help but to feel compassion towards the older son. In his words he has been slaving for his father through good and bad and never disobeyed his orders. Yet he never felt appreciated or celebrated. And one day his brother, who disobeyed, rebelled and, in essence, disowned his father and his family, shows up and, immediately, steals the show.

I think the older son complex is surprisingly common in families, communities and churches. When heads of families and leaders neglect to affirm, express appreciation and love to their people, people feel taken for granted, minimized and, even, rejected. The new people become the stars. The returned prodigals are always the apples of our eyes. And the homeboys become neglected, boring and unimportant.

Arguably the older son was doing what he was supposed to do. After all, why should he be rewarded for fulfilling his duties? Like a worker receiving his wages for his job – that is his reward. Why should there be anymore?

God in His wisdom created us with a need for ongoing love and affirmation. We need to know that we are valued and appreciated; even by people we see and deal with everyday. Women seem to be more in touch with this need than men. My wife has no problem asking me after 14 years of marriage, “Do you still love me?” “Yes, Honey, I do”. Then she casually turns to finish washing the dishes! One day I came home from work feeling unappreciated and undervalued. So I asked my wife the same question. “Do you still love me?” She looked at me like I have two heads!

A gesture of appreciation, a word of encouragement and an action of love can go a long way. The Bible says: Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen (Ephesians 4:29)