A Dream

     I had a dream. It was about Philly, or around Philly. I was leaving Philly. I was taking a subway train to my car. I met some folks coming off the line. It was the wrong stop, but I walked with them. It was familiar and unfamiliar. We were in and out of houses. Some had money. Some didn't. We met a guy who dealt in tires. We scattered in the streets while he dropped tires from heights, off his roof (rims and all). We dodged. We laughed. We drank beer. Then I walked with people less familiar. A few laid down and got high. I didn't see how they did it or what they were doing. Then I was afraid. People were needy and they started looking like zombies who had forgotten themselves and their goodness. I kept feeling for my wallet and phone. I couldn't figure out how to get back to my car. Oh shit! No. I had to get back to the subway stop. What stop did I get off on? Where did I leave my car? Then I knew I was dreaming. All I had to do was wake up and my car was outside. I became confident and I stayed in the dream, soon forgetting I was dreaming. We had gone down hill into all the places we went. Now we were walking up hill. Now I had a car (much nicer than my car). But, just before that, we were philosophizing. My buddy John was there. We talked about shit going through a system in an apartment building. He was the manager, I think. But we weren't really talking about shit, shit. It was symbolic. That was never stated but we both knew it. Then John was with other folks, walking and I was driving my car out of a city-block, exposed parking lot. John had disciples. I recognized some from wandering before. I wanted to know if anyone needed a ride anywhere. John looked at me and I knew then I wasn't needed. (Hey, John was on the subway train in the beginning, but we didn't know each other then or didn't recognize or weren't ready for each other- something like that!) He didn't nod. He just looked at me. He looked at me like I should know. Then he looked away and kept walking with all of them. I felt I should stay, but it was okay. It was time to go. Then I was walking near a subway stop, but I couldn't find stairs anywhere to get up. There was a fence and an open field. Someone told me their dad drove through the fence one time. Right through it. It was the only way, they said. Then I found the stairs under the bridge. That was the last thing I remember, but I'm not sure it was the end. Funny. Usually the end is all I can remember. I woke up feeling strong and clear. I grabbed my notebook and rushed to the kitchen table. No one was up. My mind was alive. Sometimes it's best to be alone when your mind is alive.

Running on Empty

 

 

It’s a new day. We have moved back to Delaware. I’ve switched shifts at work from 2^nd to 1^st. I am on the same schedule as most people I know, most significantly my family. I get to see my wife and daughter every day and we even have dinner together. But before I can eat, I walk in and out of the front door a few times, assessing the weather. I dress appropriately and I lace up my Pumas.

            Silently, I glance at the wooden stairs going down to the sidewalk. I feel my muscles tighten and relax as I go through the three warm up stretches. The tightness nears pain as I bend completely over to touch my toes, something I could not have done a year ago. There’s no place for celebration though and pride leads to complacency and too many times, for me anyway, to laziness. There’s only one thing that works. I have to run.

            I drank enough water today. I had some fruit for breakfast and a decent, but not too heavy lunch. Still, I’m only a few weeks into this routine. I’m not completely sure I can run as far as I want to. I don’t know what I’ve got in the tank. I know it’s always a little more than I think though and that I have it in me, even when I’m running on empty.

            There are two runs and I try to alternate. The 1 mile is from our end to the opposite end of the street we live on and back. The 2 mile starts with a walk across the street and then 6 laps around the outskirts of the park. On the first route, as I run up the street, I feel the turns in the sidewalk that are cut to separate the parking lot for each building. These are all right turns. I have to slow and make the cuts. As I build stamina, I am able to do this with more finesse. It feels natural and familiar. It’s a short run, so I try to run with some pace. I love the soft evening breeze in my face and on my neck. I watch people watering their flowers and working on their cars. Neighbors meet each other at the edge of their yards.

            The second run is more monotonous. It is around and around the same slab of blacktop. But the park is alive; teenagers with cars pull up by the basketball courts; music blaring their sound, their normal. There are other runners who nod and smile, folks walking their dogs, a father and his young daughter playing tennis. Much like writing, running is a thing that leads me to see other things. I see life and I feel the richness of an otherly world; people and things that exist outside of me but truly are a part of me.

            I dig deep in my lungs and the world whispers “Go”.

Words Trumped

 

There is no way to communicate without some form of language. Not everyone uses audible words, but everyone who wishes to be part of the larger community (neighborhood, religious group, country) must develop and sustain a pattern of interaction.

Donald Trump, like every person who has ever run for President of the United States, uses words. I like words. I’m a big fan. Over the years, in my meager corner of the world, I have developed fluency and some degree of artistic capacity with words. I appreciate language, written and spoken. I express myself with words. Most do.  

Trump has been quite effective with words (be those words divisive and destructive). What puzzles me is that every pundit or surrogate that stumps for Trump, or tries to defend their personal decision to support him, completely discounts Trump’s words. While most of us hear what Trump says and take him at his word, delivered with seeming authenticity, these talking heads dismiss the insults, lies and insensitivity. They venture to explain what it was that Trump meant, as if the rest of us do not understand the significance of meaning. They move on to attack his opponent(s), leaving a gaping hole in the dialogue required to develop reasonable approaches to solving our nation’s problems and addressing the challenges that jeopardize the peaceful existence of all US citizens and residents.

Supporters (first among them Trump himself) are willing to settle for platitudes and grand-scale passing of the buck. Few seem bothered by what may have been said yesterday, if somehow today’s message might strike a chord with his base. Gaffs that surely would have dismantled the campaign of any previous presidential (or even congressional or senatorial) candidate are swept under the stadium sized rug or thrown out with the morning coffee grounds, as if the rancid odor could only be attributed to the fact that it was said earlier.

I want to know HOW…how an immigration policy that is focused on deportation and punishment rather than extending a hand and bringing new travelers (often child refugees) into the fold will keep our good standing in the community of nations…how giving more tax breaks to the wealthy will assist those without a safety net in being successful and emerging from “entitlement” roles…how national security can be better when the threat of using nuclear weapons has been put back on the table by someone running for the highest office in the land…how Trump plans to replace affordable health care (on day one, he promises) without gutting the plans that millions of Americans on Obamacare are currently counting on to bridge the gap between employment, provide coverage to workers pushed out of already low-paying jobs and replace health care that employers have decided not provide in fear of losing their bottom line (even though workers are really the bottom line!)…and finally how the racial divide can possibly dissolve when Trump can’t figure out what to call people and openly exploits and insults members of other races, people with disabilities and those of other religious beliefs.

When all else fails, the “lesser of two evils” excuse prevails. “No matter how bad Trump is, he’s not as bad as the alternative”. Hillary Clinton may be a flawed candidate and an imperfect human being, but she has an understanding of foreign policy and working with people across the aisle and across the ocean; not because she has made self-interested business deals, but because she has studied players on the world stage and has the wisdom to negotiate deals that benefit both sides. That’s diplomacy and it’s the only way the United States can survive and keep our integrity.

 

Yesterday, during a speech in Virginia, Trump proclaimed that Hillary is going to take everyone’s guns away (a constant accusation from the gun-rights right- a scare tactic that anyone with any knowledge of gun rights would know could not possibly happen in the term of one president). He said she would do this, ultimately, by appointing an anti-gun violence judge to the Supreme Court. He said, “If she gets to pick her judges, nothing you can do folks.” He then added: “Although the Second Amendment       people—maybe there is, I don’t know.”

This is one of those statements that you have to look away from not to see the implication. I don’t believe he was suggesting someone shoot Secretary Clinton, but I also don’t believe he was referring to the power of the gun rights movement to block the Justice appointment. I am in the camp of some of the Trump supporters who believe he was having “good fun”. They believe his appeal is that he is not politically correct and thus calls things has he sees them, not worrying what others will think.

Well, not funny. And let’s just take the word political out of the tension for now. Let’s just talk about the word incorrect. It is incorrect to be culturally insensitive. Period.  Even if your dad thought the jokes were funny. Even if you think someone else might be overthinking it. Even if it’s not illegal. It’s just not funny.  With words, ugly is much like beauty- it’s in the eye of the beholder. If majorities of Muslims, Hispanics, African Americans are outraged at themes of systematic injustice in our country, there must be something to it. It is helpful not to be defensive; not to feel like you are being personally accused and held responsible for the actions of a few misguided Americans. Rather, listen. Hear these concerns of your co-workers, neighbors and the parents of your child’s friends and schoolmates.

You don’t have to take blame to create change. But you have to make your words count and follow those words with actions. So, vote for words. Vote for integrity. Vote for the possibility of progress. Even if it’s a vote against, it can make progress possible. A vote for Trump can only mean more misspeaks that will leave it up to Trump surrogates to try to repackage message after message and words will have no meaning.

 

Leaving Clairvaux

Another hot summer is upon us. Despite the oppressive heat, summer is my favorite time of year. I don’t mind toiling and sweating. People just look better to me outdoors, dressing and moving with a different kind of freedom. We come to the water, aware of the life it offers and we stay outside later at night, taking notice of the vast embroidered sky.

Change often takes place during the summer. I usually put into place some new exercise plan (that fades by winter) and I spend more time with family and friends. The needs at the Farm and of Deep Roots, in general, change. There is more work to be done outdoors and it is a good time to be truly active as a community.  Children are bursting with energy after being cooped up day after day through the school year. There are nature excursions, opportunities for swimming, bike riding, hiking and other things young people tend to enjoy. They are revved up and ready to go.

In June, I became revved up. I knew not to what end as the feeling came over me, but after sharing the feeling with my wife, it became clear that this particular energy was something we shared. We both felt our family was ready for something and somewhere new. In July, we packed up and moved on.

We moved to Clairvaux Farm in the spring of 2009. Our daughter, Valeria, was just a year old. She grew up in the best environment a child could ask for in her most formative years. She met so many people from such diverse places and backgrounds. She always had someone to play with. She felt loved on a large scale and she witnessed and extended compassion. I have to say, I am most grateful for this. I know she will never forget Deep Roots or the Farm.

We are all changed people, though. We made a commitment that was essentially another marriage. Our commitment was to love and serve. As with marriage, we didn’t (at least I didn’t) always do it perfectly. Sometimes I hesitated to touch a life that I could have. Sometimes I made wrong decisions and sometimes I opened my mouth and let garbage come out. But I experienced much forgiveness and I learned that truly loving means to accept the imperfection of others as well.

We have made so many friends; several who came from across the seas. I pray that our friendships have been as meaningful to those we have met and loved as their friendships have been to us. Fortunately, we have not gone far and we have only moved away physically. We intend to remain a part of the Deep Roots community and to continue advocating for people we care about, many living on the margins of our society. I don’t know that a lot of families find this work central to their lives together. It is innate in the family structure we inhabit, where people offer relatives space in their houses and share the responsibilities of childcare and food preparation. We are fortunate that way and our transition has been as seamless as we could ask for it to be.

In the year 1115, Saint Bernard of Clairvaux founded a monastery where he welcomed many to share in prayer, reflection, community and action. While he was a man of faith, he was also a diplomat. He saw divisions in the world that were tearing people apart and he could not be silent.  Friends and family joined Bernard and found a home at Clairvaux. You needn’t click or turn the dial very far to see how deeply divided the world is today. Clairvaux Farm is a place where the possibility of people mattering looms large. Deep Roots community is a union of people gathered to unify with love. There are divisions of course, but there are miracles galore.

My family is grateful for the miracle of Deep Roots at Clairvaux. We are believers. We know there is something unique and special that happens when people are intentional about living together and sharing gifts. As we transition to living in town, we do so with a trail of memories that will always lead us back to Clairvaux. Many thanks to all of you who have shared your lives and your journeys with us over the years. What a blessing!

Coach T.

We have a good football team. We are great. We are the best. And our lineman are HUGE. Before each game, we have a pep rally. We have the best pep rallies! Nobody has better pep rallies than we do. Our pep rallies are so great that we got people who never watched football before coming to our rallies. Our game strategy is to just hit as hard as we can. I’m the coach. I don’t have a problem if my guys get so amped up that they take head shots at guys from the other team. If fans from other teams sit in our bleachers, they deserve what they get. Hell, I’ll pay the legal fees if my fans get in any trouble.

The other teams, they don’t like us. They say that we play too rough. They say we play dirty.They say we don’t have any strategy, just muscle.  Some of them come to our rallies and yell things about us while we’re trying to get our fans excited. Well, they get what they deserve. And if they don’t stop it, I’m going to sue them. I should sue them, right? They are denying me my free speech. Not sure what amendment that is, but pretty sure it’s an amendment.

We are going to make football great again. Football is weak right now. So weak. A bunch of weaklings. So we’re gonna’ win. We will make fun of other coaches; insult their size and brag about the size of my (you know what). I am going to keep baseball players out! No baseball players. Soccer players; well that’s not even an American sport! I’m going to build a wall so no soccer players can get in and I’ll get the soccer players to pay for it! Well, a lot of the kickers come from the ranks of soccer players, but it’s hard to get American kickers. It’s a tough market. I’m forced to use them. No choice. No player’s union either. Why would they need a union. I’m a great coach. They love me!

If someone on another team does something illegal and terrible to anyone on my team, I will kill their family. Because the family knows. They are guilty too. Children? Well, the parents brought it upon the children. It was their fault. I am going to keep my team safe. Other teams and other sports will fear my team! Those other coaches are pu**ies. I’m the best coach. Football is a business and I know about business. I’ll make the best trades for the best players. Other coaches will pay me to take their best players. That’s how good I am.

If the league decides my team shouldn’t get to play in the championship game, I think there might be a riot. Bad things might happen. People will be out of control. I wouldn’t tell anyone to make trouble, but hey, that’s what football fans want. Trouble.

Would you let him coach your kid’s team????

 

The Cruise

Years ago, while on vacation with family in Daytona Beach, I was taking an early-morning run through the sand. I might have been fourteen years old. I stopped and stared out at the ocean; the waves coming in and washing up on the sand; a clear view into the infinite horizon. I was mystified by the immensity and I felt a sense of wholeness where I had long felt so empty. I didn’t have a clear picture of who I wanted to be to that point or what I wanted to do with my life, not even with that school year.  But I dreamt of having a beach house where I could walk out into the warmth of the Florida sunshine and where I might sit out on a deck and make my life as a writer.

That was years ago and it really was a dream, never to be realized in the daylight. I have worked many jobs and never regretted having the opportunities I’ve had or the life that I have happened into.  Living nearer to the ocean has afforded me many occasions to visit local beaches.  But, as happens with so many things, I have taken for granted the great beauty and mystery.                

Terri and Valeria, beach in Honduras

A few weeks ago, over Christmas vacation, we joined my mother, my siblings and my nieces and nephew on a cruise ship, visiting Mexico, Belize and Honduras.  I had few preconceptions about the trip. I thought very little of the places we’d visit or what the ship might be like. I was focused on making the trip a wonderful, fun and liberating experience for Valeria.  It was that and more! Valeria dreams of being on stage. It was wondrous to watch her singing Karaoke with her cousin Talia (who I have fond memories of when she was at that tender age.)  Valeria bathed in the attention and worship of all of those in our party.  She returned the admiration in kind and it was touching for me to observe her realizing the gift of family. 

Our days were full with shore excursions, food, dancing, food, music, magic, horseback riding, swimming, food and more food.  During a brief repose, I sat on the balcony outside our cabin. Like when I was a boy, I watched the sun glisten off the wide and worthy ocean. I could see no end; no end to the water that surrounded us, no end to the love that we were sharing and no end to the generations that would follow us in our faith. I saw my dad out there, no longer a human image, but part of the infinite glory provided by our scenic escape. He was there with us, as he is always. Sensing his presence renewed me in my journey as a father. Valeria will know him only through me and I will continue to give the best of him to her.



Abbey and Valeria, on our way back from the beach in Roatan, Honduras

Thank you Mom for a wonderful week.  Thank you for making it possible and bringing us together. I know it is as hard for you as it is for any of us to be so far apart.  Like always, it was hard to leave.  Now we are back to our own day to day lives in different states, but family stays front of mind. You built this family, Mom, from a love that you shared with Dad and from your genuine faith and generosity. 

Top-Cousins:Talia, Valeria, Abby and Robert  Bottom-Amada, Valeria and me.

Valeria, watching you, so completely out and free was the highlight of the trip (for all of us, I think.) You have had a tough year. Your sense of safety has been disturbed and I yearn for it to be returned to you. We will get there. Our sustained hope will be what saves us all. It was hope on that ship. It was family. It was safety, even amid the turbulent waves. It was love. You will endure the turbulence of a sinful world. You continue to display the spirit that I saw in you the first time I held you. You are strong and bright and creative. You make your way every day, insisting on blooming as the raindrops drip from your petals. I want to be like you!

Horseback Safari in Belize

Back row: Robert, me, Kyle, Joe, Kevin (Uncle Goofball), Abbey, Amada   
 Front Row: Terri, Talia, Mom, Valeria and Jennifer

Our Saviors

This article (or some form of it) will likely appear in the Deep Roots spring issue of our newsletter. To access previous newsletters or learn more about Deep Roots, go to deeprootsinc.com.

 

 

The leopard shall lie down with the young goat, The calf and the young lion and the fatling together; And a little child shall lead them.
-Isaiah 11:6

 

“Our kids”. I hear that. I say it. While we spend a lot of time forming individual relationships with these children, we must simultaneously think of them collectively. My wife and I have one child. Some of the adults who participate in and contribute to our community have more. Still, there are those with grown children who are living their own lives. But they are all our children; the children of Deep Roots. Some live at Clairvaux Farm. Others have lived here. And the rest, the majority of “our children”, live out there in the community, on the periphery, with stability as a luxury and not a guarantee. They don’t belong to us anymore than any person can be the property of another. But we care for them. We know them. We love them. We believe in who they are and who they can be.

This way of thinking, this inclusive construct, is a selfless surrender to God’s plan of love and fellowship. It is a global way of thinking. We plan beyond the members of our households and see something bigger for these young people. We see their future and we hope that Deep Roots can be at the core of their lives; a people and a place to belong, especially when they feel broken. This is right. This is beautiful. Together we are facilitating and building a community. It is a lot. And it is not near enough.

The media and their subjects are presenting a very bleak outlook these days. And, while we can make our own news with the inspiring accomplishments of our children, it would be unwise to have our heads in the sand. In our world and our country there are many children who have little or nothing to eat. Some children serve as slaves. Some might as well be as they try to help their families make ends meet in areas where labor laws are non-existent or not enforced.  Poverty is a burden to so many. Finally, there is the violence. In places like Honduras and El Salvador, murder is so endemic that tens of thousands of children risk their lives and embark on dangerous journeys to make it to the US, often to find a parent or a relative who made it here first. Many don’t make it. Too many don’t survive. In Syria, families are flooding out of the country to escape indiscriminate mass slaughters by misinformed and misdirected extremists. Of course, there are extremist groups within our borders whose most heinous acts deny families their right to prosper together. And large urban areas of the US are plagued with gun violence that seems to be surging. The young people who die in our cities fail to make headlines or are forgotten so as to make way for the next wave of victims. We shouldn’t forget Newtown, Columbine or Aurora where young people have been targeted in mass shootings, mostly by other young people

Of course, we at Deep Roots do not (even collectively) possess the power to heal the vast, dark horrors and injustices that exist outside and around us. This healing will happen gradually but it will happen. It will happen because we know that our saviors are among us. Our young people will save the world; the earth and its occupants. This time “our” is literally global. The young people of the world will save the world. And it is the logical next step with the young people of Deep Roots to go global. When we spend time with them, we become aware of their hopefulness and generosity. We must develop opportunities for our young people to interact with others who are focusing their young energy on urgent issues. We do this when we accompany them to state parks and nature preserves. We pave the way for them when we involve them in our efforts to recycle, garden and prepare healthy home-grown meals. While young soldiers learn the life of death, it is crucial that we foster a passion for living and living with other young people from all walks of life. Their willingness to recognize their differences with respect and enthusiasm will go a long way in the discovery of their birthright- peace.

It is an exciting time. Like the floral arena that surrounds the Farm on warmer days, we witness the mass blooming of our young people from this stage to that: taking their first steps, speaking their first words, swinging without a push, swishing the basketball through the net, taking off the training wheels, learning to swim and graduating. None of these things happen in a vacuum. It’s all about togetherness. These children will be our teachers, our builders, our lobbyists, our scientists, our farmers and our officers of the law. They will grasp the humanity of all of God’s children and they will thrive.

Let’s go along for the ride. All of us. Whatever your contribution, it matters to this community. Come into the fold and offer your talents and your time. Last year a wonderful group did mission work making curtains and people of all ages joined in and enjoyed the community of creation. Another group carved pumpkins and this week we’ll have girl scouts baking Christmas cookies with our kids. It’s a big world and we (that means you) bring the best of it. Bring your children to be with ours, anytime. Bring your hope and appreciation for the life of seeds and sunshine and share the gospel of faith and fellowship. We are all thirsty for each other! Join us.