Would you survive in poverty?

When I think of impoverished areas of Texas, the first places that come to mind are the inner cities of Houston, Dallas, San Antonio and El Paso, followed by rural communities and the Rio Grande Valley. Ironically, with 22.8% of residents living below the poverty line (according to the 2009 census), my county that is tucked away in the heart of Central Texas is worse off than the state average of 17.1%. We rank 209 out of 255 counties.

All that is to say, there are big needs right here in our own backyard. Last night, our church missions team held a training meeting for folks who signed up to help with summer camp at our government housing ministry. We’ve had a presence in that community for about three years, and this is the second summer that we are hosting a day camp, of sorts. It happens twice a week in the early evening with indoor & outdoor games, arts & crafts and dinner.

The kids & I have been involved in the ministry through tutoring during the school year and other activities in previous summers, but I still learned a lot at the training. For example, we talked about how it is more useful to redirect a child than to give them negative instructions. (How many times a day do I catch myself telling my own boys to “stop,” “don’t,” “quit,” etc.? I am going to work on some redirecting phrases, such as, “Instead of climbing on the basketball goal, why don’t you climb that tree?” in place of, “Get off that basketball goal right this minute! You know better than that!”

Another thing that really hit home to me was a quiz on how well you could survive in poverty, middle class and wealth. The poverty section tested your street smarts. The middle class section had questions about etiquette and family priorities. The wealth quiz asked about your domestic help, private school and vacation homes.

Not unexpectedly, I was able to check all of the middle class questions. I also answered a handful of questions in the poverty and wealth sections (an equal number apiece). I have picked up a few nuggets of knowledge about the wealthy, simply from my job. Fundraising lends itself to hobnobbing with the upper crust, though I usually feel more like the chauffeur from Sabrina than an actual participant.

It was humbling to take the quiz and be reminded of how truly blessed I am. If you think about it, I’d appreciate your prayers for our ministry at the “blue house” (that’s what the kids call it) as we try to make a few drops in the bucket of generational poverty in our community.

“All clear!” (Prayer devotional for the week of June 26)

The last time we were in Houston, I pointed out the now-bare acres of prime real estate that used to be Astroworld and told the kids about the awesome amusement park that it had been during my growing-up years. I spent every summer there as often as possible and many a Fright Night and Holiday in the Park, too.

Astroworld had all of the rides, games and food that you would expect, but it also had the Mother of All Roller Coasters: the Texas Cyclone. The Cyclone stood 93’ tall with an 80’ drop and a maximum angle of 53 degrees. Oh, and did I mention that it was made of wood? I would contend that there are few sounds more terrifying than the creaking of wood beams and metal supports as you go click, click, clicking up into the clouds. You could see the skyline of downtown Houston right before you went plummeting to your death the delightful squeals (and occasionally hurls) of your fellow passengers.

The ascent was petrifying because you knew that the descent was inevitable. Once you were locked into your seat and the trio of ride attendants gave the “all clear,” there was no turning back. Why, then, if it was so scary, did we ride over and over and over again? Why did we wait in line for hours just to have our stomachs lurched into our throats for a couple of minutes?

The thrill! The anticipation! The adrenaline! Conquering the Texas Cyclone meant conquering your fears. Ascending that rickety-sounding roller coaster meant relying on the wisdom and skill of the engineers and mechanics who designed, assembled and maintained it. In essence, it meant putting faith in forces outside of yourself to trust that you would not fall to your death, but come to a safe stop after the final descent.

Isn’t life that way, sometimes? We’re afraid of trusting God because we don’t want to be let down. We hear other people share tales of the click, click, clicking terrible things in life and are afraid that the ascent will be too much for us to bear. I encourage you to place your fears in the hands of the Great Engineer today; he won’t let you plummet.