Nice Isn't Always Right

Two weeks ago, I accidentally stood up for the wrong person. And I got in trouble for it. Our neighborhood association meets once a month in a small room that holds about 20 people. The seats are scattered with young white urban professionals and aging black residents who have lived on these streets for most of their lives. Our guest speaker was a representative from a waste management company that is proposing to re-purpose a warehouse in our neighborhood for trash collection.

He used a power point presentation to show us their plans. Meanwhile, a couple of our members who had been in the neighborhood for years began heckling the man - insulting him for mispronouncing our street names, yelling at him to stop using the word "waste" and call it what it is: "GARBAGE!" The nice man couldn't get a word in, and I was so embarrassed by our rude neighbors.

So, here's where I messed up: I stood up for the man. I literally stood up and instead of calling my neighbors out for simply being rude, I called us all out for not recognizing that trash, ultimately, has to go somewhere. I stood on my soap box and referred to my experiences in Africa and how each person in a community is responsible for their own trash. I channeled Wendell Berry and spoke about how we need to be responsible for the waste we create. I shamed my neighbors and sat back down.

I couldn't have been more wrong. Just because someone is nice doesn't mean they're right. And just because someone is rude, doesn't mean they aren't justified in their anger. It turns out that this waste management company is not for our residential trash. It is for corporations that would bring outside garbage and dump it just a few blocks from our homes. My fellow neighbors made sure I understood what I was standing up for.

They had every right to be angry with the man, and with me. They lived here years before families like ours ever deemed it safe to inhabit. This neighborhood had been a dump for years, filled with crime, drugs, prostitution and insurmountable urban poverty. For the last ten years, the conditions have been improving and the streets have become safer. Much of this is because of the passionate and aggressive voices of neighbors like the ones who spoke up at the meeting. The last thing our neighborhood needs is another signpost that says we are still the ghetto or another young white urban professional to stand on the side of corporate power.

So, I am the one who is ashamed. If ever there are sides to be taken in my neighborhood, I want to be on the side of the residents who have fought long and hard battles amidst discrimination and limited resources. We have collected more than 800 signatures for a petition to keep the waste management company out, and Metro Council votes tonight. I hope my neighbors will someday trust me again.  I have learned my lesson and am humbled by it.

The Friday Five

Here are the five things that caught my attention this week: 1. My Hometown is on Fire

The fires continue to rage in Colorado while more than 30,000 residents have been evacuated and 350 homes have been destroyed. The photos reveal empty lots where homes and trees used to stand. The skies look as though armageddon has come, and we all wonder when it will end. A raging wildfire wakes us up to realize that we are not in control of our lives as much as we think we are. And reminds us that the things of this world can instantly become ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.

2. Who is John Galt?

Those of you who have read Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged probably know the answer to this. I am nearly halfway through this 1000+ page book and, therefore, still do not know. Atlas Shrugged is often referred to as one of the most influential books of the 20th century, and I'm wondering if it was from the earlier part of the 20th century because, who has the attention span these days to dive through a 1000 page philosophy book? Well, my book club and I are trying. I will hold my review of the book until I am finished (which will be about 650 pages from now).

3. Fish and Visitors Stink in Three days - except for at the Nardellas!

Ben Franklin's wise little words do not apply at our house this week. We have had a rare experience of being in Nashville for the entire month of June. And in that time, we have hosted our best friends (and their child, parents and sister) from San Diego, my best friend from South Africa and a surprise visit from my dear mom (Wednesday's text from her said, "Can you do breakfast or lunch tomorrow or Friday? Just wondering. Miss you.") I said yes and she hopped on a plane. Our house has been filled with the sweet aroma of conversation, laughter, home-cooked meals and the deep and enduring friendships that remind us that relationships are sacred gifts in this life.

4. Supreme Court

Regardless of where you stand in the healthcare debate, it was hard not to pay attention to Justice Roberts' bold stance in yesterday's decision. For spending so much time in broken African political systems, it is no small thing to see a congress creating laws and a supreme court reviewing the consitutionality of those laws. Despite the ugly brokenness of our own political system in the US, I am grateful to live in a country that affirms a separation of powers. It is a privilege that our nation gets to debate the method by which we bring healthcare (like is it a tax clause or a commerce clause?) because so many of our neighbors around the world do not even have a system to debate, a doctor in their town or services to care for the sick.

5. Chloe is my new friend

For the last couple of weeks, I have been greeted in my yard by a 5 year old girl named Chloe. She and her mom fled an abusive relationship in Maine and have been homeless since. Her mom moved into a house across the street from us, a house that often has several different people coming in and out of it. I am never quite sure who truly lives there and life for everyone there seems rough. Chloe and I have enjoyed chasing fireflies and playing with her purple build-a-bear and pretending that the world she inhabits isn't as bad as it actually is. I am glad for my new friend.

When a Homeless Man Changed My Life

I believe that God speaks to us in the everyday moments of our lives - the people we pass by on the street, the whispers of heaven through a quiet walk in the woods, the glimpses of new perspective that come from the simple art of paying attention. When I was nine, I met a homeless man who changed my life. He stood alone on a San Francisco corner with a droop in his face and an ache in his voice. He was hungry.

I couldn't stop thinking about him while I was out to dinner with my mom, and I stared at my food like it didn't belong to me. I wrapped my hamburger up and walked back to give the hungry man my dinner. We walked street after street in search for him, but we never found him. Since then, I have been walking through life looking to know more people like him.

When I was 13, I regularly snuck out of church to hang out at the city park with my homeless friends. I'd buy them a sandwich from Subway or Arby's and listen to their stories. I learned that there were countless hungry bellies and beaten souls out there, and that life is a battle for so many.

When I was 15, I showed up to volunteer at the Red Cross shelter and they were so short on help, they immediately appointed me kitchen facilitator - ensuring that the residents would be served dinner each night. I spent three years rushing between school and extra-curricular activities and building a community of friends among the staff and residents of the shelter.

I went to college to become a nurse. But then I passed out every time I visited a hospital. So I got into politics and international studies. I quickly learned that the stories of the poor in America are a mere sample of what the rest of the world experiences. While in nursing school, I had learned about HIV/AIDS and how the virus attacks the weakest parts of our immune system. While studying international relations, I discovered that the HIV/AIDS crisis was also attacking the weakest members of our society: women and children in Africa.

When I was 21, I seized an opportunity to bring attention to those who have been most affected by the HIV/AIDS and water crises in Africa. I thought of that homeless man and how he was ignored amidst personal suffering, and I wished for a different story for him and for all who have felt written off and forgotten.

Today at 30, I think often about what my life would have looked like had there not been a sacred grace at nine years old when one person's humanity lured my own, and it continues to affect the way I live today. May we all risk the art of paying attention.

On Why Women Still Can't Have it All

The Atlantic published an article last week titled "Why Women Still Can't Have it All." It has become a raving topic of conversations among many of my friends, both male and female. The article is written Anne-Marie Slaughter, a remarkable woman who has spent her life working in highly demanding leadership careers (as Dean of the Woodrow Wilson School and Director of Policy Planning for the US State Department) while raising two boys and maintaining a marriage. She speaks candidly about the real challenges for women who want to be successful both at home and at work. I really encourage you to read the article. It is a long read, but it is packed with relevant issues that we would all be better by engaging in and discussing.

Here are a few take-aways for me from the article:

Having it all, in general, is a first-world ambition.

There are women on my street here in East Nashville who are simply trying to make it to the next paycheck or trying to avoid being beaten by the men in their lives. Most of my female African friends are primarily concerned about survival - of their bodies, babies, and livelihood.  As a woman in today's world, it is a rare opportunity to have the freedom to make choices about work, life and self-actualization. It is specific to an elite population of privileged women, myself included. Before we go any further, I just want to acknowledge that asking the question of having it all is, in itself, a privilege.

We must be realistic about limitation.

While there are enormous societal challenges that make it very difficult for a woman to successfully serve in work and life (for instance, school schedules do not align with typical work schedules), there are also unrealistic expectations about what women (and men) are capable of managing. My priest, Becca Stevens, told me that life is a box, and in that box are various balloons representing the commitments of our life. If we want to fit more in the box, we may have to deflate some of the larger balloons to make room for the other ones. Or we may have to only have two really big balloons or a lot of really small balloons. The point is, pay attention to the balloons because the box isn't going to get bigger.  And we live in a culture of broken boxes and popped balloons.

We need a new paradigm shift. 

James and I are replacing work/life balance for something we are calling vocational rhythm. We mean vocation quite literally as “calling”, which includes work and life, business hours, vacation hours, children, family, friends, and job as pieces of an integrated pie, not diametrically opposing forces. In the vocational rhythm paradigm, all parts of our lives are working toward one mission, telling one story. I am interested in what it looks like to integrate the whole self into a vocational rhythm. I am curious if there will be a cultural shift to continue to encourage that for everyone.

What do you think? Can women have it all?