My family lives on Pepper Drive.
Pepper Drive is a unique place where God's Story is lived out in all sorts of beautifully bizarre, simple, common, and unconventional ways. Pepper Drive is one of the unique soils in which my family is formed.
I can remember our first visit to Pepper Drive. Two friends had recently purchased a home on the street and had invited Jaci and I to a house-warming party. A freeway to an exit to some side streets and up a hill we went turning at last from Garden onto Pepper.
"Just add Cucumber Circle, Tomato Blvd., and Crouton Court and these street names would make a great salad." I thought out loud as we veered toward the curb in front of our friends' home.
Over and over we made the journey to Pepper Drive. The frequency with which we returned meant that we started becoming friends with our friends' neighbors...Pepper Drive started to feel like home. One year later, Pepper Drive officially became our neighborhood.
Pepper Drive was hit especially hard during the real estate crisis. Like so many neighborhoods across the country, it seemed as though half of our street was vacant. Slowly, contractors bought the foreclosed homes, renovated them, and prepared to rent them.
Our dream has always been to live in close proximity with friends. We've often considered what it would be like to share resources and meals...what it would be like to intentionally share life with a few others. The dream became reality as, over time, we crossed the thresholds of the homes being renovated into friendships with the contractors. By the time a given house was ready to rent, Jaci would personally hand deliver the house to some of our friends and our friends to the contractors. In no time, there were seven homes filled with our friends...The Pepper Drive Community was born.
With 12-15 dynamic people (and a few great dogs) on Pepper, we began to explore some practices with each other. We figured that that many like-minded people in one neighborhood should cause the landscape to shift. Tangible differences should become palpable as, rather than focusing exclusively on being good neighbors to each other, we focus on being good neighbors to our entire neighborhood.
Three simple practices have emerged that have been helpful:
1. The stoop sit. Rather than sitting in our back or side yards, we are choosing to sit on our front stoop. As a result, we find ourselves far more available and present to our neighbors who are returning from work, going on runs/walks, doing lawn work, washing cars, and/or playing in the street. The stoop sit is creating frequent touch points with our neighbors that last anywhere from 5 minutes to an hour and, at times, end up around the table.
2. The shared table. Every Monday night, the Pepper Drive Community gathers around one of seven tables to eat, reconnect, tell stories and, from time to time, conspire tangible practices of love for the larger Pepper Drive. Periodically we find ourselves around the tables of other friends/neighbors and them around ours.
3. Shared Resources. Whether its vehicles, lawn equipment, food, or camping gear, our stuff is becoming "our" stuff. Eventually, we'd like to see this practice free our finances such that we can give it away in creative ways.
What I love most about Pepper Drive, though, is the frequency with which we find ourselves in the homes of others.
One night, as I was watching hockey in the living room of my next-door neighbors, I watched Jaci and Ava walk across the street and enter into the home of a different neighbor. 30 minutes passed and I hadn't seen them return. Knowing that our dinner was in the oven, I ran over to our house, switched the food out, and ran back to my friend's place for more hockey. As I walked in, I commented, "Sheesh...Jaci, Ava, and I are in everyone else's home but our own!"
Louisa, who has lived on Pepper far longer than the rest of us, said, "That's so cool." She continued, "Ever since you all moved onto Pepper, this neighborhood has gone vintage."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"This is becoming a neighborhood like it used to be...people becoming friends, friends becoming neighbors, neighbors becoming a family. As a matter of fact, I get excited when I turn onto Pepper because I love who I live among."
I was reminded of this conversation as Ava and I sat on our stoop this past Monday. Our artist friend and neighbor, Marcos, walked by with his two Chihuahuas and greeted us both by name. He's a brand new daddy of a beautiful baby girl and is getting some fresh exposure because of his unique style of art. I inquired about both worlds (daddy and artist) and he was thrilled to talk about each.
As we chatted, Ava, was eating the two-stick kind of red Popsicle. She had already broken the Popsicle in two and, therefore, had two leaking red Popsicles, one in each hand. As Marcos was preparing to move on, Ava reached out her right hand and offered one of her half-eaten, melting Popsicles to him.
"Thanks so much, Ava!" Marcos said with a wink at me. "Maybe next time."
"Okay!" Ava said nonchalantly.
"You're a good a neighbor, Ava." He responded as he walked away.
"Thanks!" Ava yelled.
My heart swelled a bit. I was proud of my little girl who had red stains streaking down her arms and well past her elbows.
After some time, as she continued to work on her Popsicle, she calmly asked, "What's a neighbor?"
"A neighbor is someone who offers her favorite flavored Popsicle to someone else." I said.
"I'm a neighbor?" she asked.
"Sure are!" I beamed.
In silence, she worked on her Popsicle a bit more.
"I'm a neighbor." she said to herself.
I looked over at her and she looked back. "I'm a neighbor!" she laughed.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
From the BART window
A short portion of my Saturday evening was spent on a BART train.
Having just gotten disconnected from a phone conversation with a friend, I stared out the window into the inky darkness created by the tunnel we had just entered. The life that was occurring in my BART car immediately flashed up as a reflection on the window. Lost in thought, I didn't see any of it until I heard:
"I ain't yo' DAMN girlfriend!"
I was already looking at her reflection...but now I saw her. She was a beautiful, young African American woman sitting next to an African American young man who was obviously embarrassed by both her words and volume. Pain was threaded in her eyes and was etched across her face. She sat rigidly next to someone who, I could only speculate, had hurt her.
As the volume of their conversation subsided, I looked deeper into the window whose reflection exposed the landscape of my place.
He wore tight gray pants, a black tank-top, flesh-colored dancing flats, and a black bra. He held his bike, as did his two female friends. A yellow button pinned to his pants read, "Women's Action."
It was obvious that he was undergoing hormone treatment as his breasts were abnormally large for such a tall, thin young man. It was equally as obvious that he was not yet comfortable with the new story that he was trying to live out.
The BART doors opened. It was his stop. His friends gave him quick hugs, promised to call the next time they went for a bike ride and, as the doors closed, said, "Bye Susie!"
She was a Latin mother of three small children, one of which was asleep in a stroller. The two older children, a boy and a girl, were thin...frail thin. They sat quietly next to her, heads bobbing to the sporadic jostling of the train. Her eyes exposed uncertainty, fear, and anxiety. Every time the the doors opened, she held her two children as close as she could while suspiciously eying every new person entering the train. At one stop, a business man on his phone hurried off but not before slapping the sleeping baby with his computer bag. The child screamed in pain...the business man left without a glance.
She was dressed in jeans, a white tank-top, maroon flannel button-down shirt, and men's brown, leather dress shoes. She wore her hair short and styled in messy faux-hawk. Three piercings adorned her facial features which gave way to a tatoo'd neck line. When she spoke, she strained to deepen its sound.
He was dressed in tight women's blue jeans, a silver belt, and a white, body-fitting blouse. His fingernails were long and painted, his hair hung half-way down his back, and the color of his lipstick matched the maroon flannel of his friend.
She was becoming he and he was becoming she. They held hands, occasionally kissed, and spoke passionately about the evening that she (he) had planned for him (her).
A seemingly insignificant 30 minute BART ride turned into a moment of formation. In those 30 minutes, I saw the humanity of my place reflected in a BART window. I was reminded of the pain, confusion, and complexity of those who call the Bay Area home. I was reminded of a Jesus who went out of his way to move toward the people in the reflection in front of me. I was reminded of a God who didn't just gaze into a reflection on a window, but Who entered into the pain, confusion, and complexity of others. I was reminded that, as a follower if Jesus, my vocation is to move toward the people in my train.
As the train approached my stop, I looked into the reflection one last time. My eyes were drawn to the momma with her kids. Her eyes were closed as she held her sleeping baby. A sudden jolt of the train shifted her daughter's eyes from the floor to the window I was looking into.
In the reflection, we made eye contact.
I smiled at her and waved.
She smiled and waved back.
In that moment, I moved out of the reflection and into real life.
Having just gotten disconnected from a phone conversation with a friend, I stared out the window into the inky darkness created by the tunnel we had just entered. The life that was occurring in my BART car immediately flashed up as a reflection on the window. Lost in thought, I didn't see any of it until I heard:
"I ain't yo' DAMN girlfriend!"
I was already looking at her reflection...but now I saw her. She was a beautiful, young African American woman sitting next to an African American young man who was obviously embarrassed by both her words and volume. Pain was threaded in her eyes and was etched across her face. She sat rigidly next to someone who, I could only speculate, had hurt her.
As the volume of their conversation subsided, I looked deeper into the window whose reflection exposed the landscape of my place.
He wore tight gray pants, a black tank-top, flesh-colored dancing flats, and a black bra. He held his bike, as did his two female friends. A yellow button pinned to his pants read, "Women's Action."
It was obvious that he was undergoing hormone treatment as his breasts were abnormally large for such a tall, thin young man. It was equally as obvious that he was not yet comfortable with the new story that he was trying to live out.
The BART doors opened. It was his stop. His friends gave him quick hugs, promised to call the next time they went for a bike ride and, as the doors closed, said, "Bye Susie!"
She was a Latin mother of three small children, one of which was asleep in a stroller. The two older children, a boy and a girl, were thin...frail thin. They sat quietly next to her, heads bobbing to the sporadic jostling of the train. Her eyes exposed uncertainty, fear, and anxiety. Every time the the doors opened, she held her two children as close as she could while suspiciously eying every new person entering the train. At one stop, a business man on his phone hurried off but not before slapping the sleeping baby with his computer bag. The child screamed in pain...the business man left without a glance.
She was dressed in jeans, a white tank-top, maroon flannel button-down shirt, and men's brown, leather dress shoes. She wore her hair short and styled in messy faux-hawk. Three piercings adorned her facial features which gave way to a tatoo'd neck line. When she spoke, she strained to deepen its sound.
He was dressed in tight women's blue jeans, a silver belt, and a white, body-fitting blouse. His fingernails were long and painted, his hair hung half-way down his back, and the color of his lipstick matched the maroon flannel of his friend.
She was becoming he and he was becoming she. They held hands, occasionally kissed, and spoke passionately about the evening that she (he) had planned for him (her).
A seemingly insignificant 30 minute BART ride turned into a moment of formation. In those 30 minutes, I saw the humanity of my place reflected in a BART window. I was reminded of the pain, confusion, and complexity of those who call the Bay Area home. I was reminded of a Jesus who went out of his way to move toward the people in the reflection in front of me. I was reminded of a God who didn't just gaze into a reflection on a window, but Who entered into the pain, confusion, and complexity of others. I was reminded that, as a follower if Jesus, my vocation is to move toward the people in my train.
As the train approached my stop, I looked into the reflection one last time. My eyes were drawn to the momma with her kids. Her eyes were closed as she held her sleeping baby. A sudden jolt of the train shifted her daughter's eyes from the floor to the window I was looking into.
In the reflection, we made eye contact.
I smiled at her and waved.
She smiled and waved back.
In that moment, I moved out of the reflection and into real life.
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