Jeremiah 29:11

As a young teen, I had a poster hanging above my bed.  I think it was a pull-out from a Brio Magazine (do they even still publish that?), and it featured a dramatic rainbow with Jeremiah 29:11 in script at the bottom.  "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord.  "Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a futre."

It was the first verse I remember hanging onto, hoping that it might be true.  Through my angsty teen years, I hoped fervently that God did have good plans for me, and that they involved marriage and a house with a white picket fence.  And at various points, lots of Gap clothing, a leather bomber jacket, and a pair of strirrup pants.  (Thank goodness those weren't His plans for me.  The stirrup pants, I mean.  I would still take the Gap clothing.)

Fast forward to the present, and I did get married and have kids.  Beautiful, amazing kids.  Brutally messy marriage.  A split-rail fence instead of the white picket and lots of financial worries.  I've been pursuing God's voice a lot in the past few months, and I have been struggling.  Terribly.  On Tuesday, after I shared a glimpse of my hurt, one of the women in my group prayed over me.  The verse she used?  Jeremiah 29:11 It registered, but not much.  I had heard it and hoped it for so long, and then relegated it to the pile of nice things to think.

And then today, at the Brave experience, it was on the program I chose.  And then I stopped for prayer at the end.  I gave the woman praying a brief synopsis, and she began to pray.  Jeremiah 29:11.  Again.

I asked God for signs.  Maybe this is one?  Maybe he has plans to prosper me, not to harm me.  Plans to give me a future.  I cling to that.  And I've never been one to have a "life verse", but if I did, perhaps this should be mine.

Love in the Face of Riots

Facebook failed me today.  Instead of the usual mindless jumble of baby pictures, flashback Thursdays, and I’m-eating-at-a-better-restaurant-than-you check-ins, I got post after post of conflicting opinions about Baltimore.  People love the mother who took down her son.  People hate the mayor.  Some people feel the riots are justified.  Some people are just finding justification for their beliefs. 

                One of my students was working on her exam after everyone else finished and left, and she started talking through her ideas with me.  “Is there any way to prevent riots?”  she mulled.  “How can we stop them?”  “Are we doing the right thing or is there a better way?”  I tossed out some of the rhetoric lighting up my Facebook feed, but I started to think.  Is there a better way?  What are we missing?

                This I know: the National Guard can shut down a riot, but it can’t truly prevent it.  Laws are meaningless in the face of blind rage.  (Or in the case of several sports-crazy campuses, drunken celebration.)  Public policy might help, but history shows us that it can only do so much.  If we really want to end riots, we have to change hearts.  And that can only happen one relationship at a time.

                Yes, the people burning buildings and breaking windows are taking advantage of a situation, but most people with stable, safe upbringings would not even think of going on a looting spree.  The young people we see on TV have most likely grown up in poverty, they most likely come from broken families, and they most likely went to community schools where everyone lived just like them.  Should their fathers have taught them right from wrong?  Yes.  But your opinion is not going to get their dad off drugs, off the street, or out of prison to do it.  Should their mothers be supervising their homework every night?  Yes.  But public opinion doesn’t mean anything if mom is mentally ill, or working two jobs to keep food in the fridge.  Should the schools teach them lifeskills to help them be successful?  Yes.  But sometimes those lessons are drowned out by the messiness of their lives.  Other people should step up, but they aren’t.  So how do we change hearts?  Who is going to make a difference?

                You.

                Volunteer at a Boys and Girls Club.  Become a Big Brother or a Big Sister.  Tutor.  Coach.  Volunteer at a community center.  Teach job skills.  Teach GED classes.  Do paperwork for a nonprofit that does all these things so that other volunteers have more time to build relationships.  If you’re like me and in a season of life where volunteering means spending money you don’t have for a babysitter, ask how you can help from home.  Or financially support the people working on the front lines.  You don’t have to hop out of your car on the scariest street corner in town to make a difference.  There are organizations that will show you the ropes; they’ll ease in in; they’ll train you.  They want you.  They need you.

                It will be messy.  Redemption is messy work.  Crossing cultural boundaries is hard.  Most kids lash out when someone really loves them, because sometimes love has to be tough.  Sometimes it will seem like you aren’t making a difference at all. 

                As long as we pretend that the fatherless, the orphans, the angry teenagers, and the least of these are someone else’s responsibility, we’ll have more riots.  We’ll have more anger.  Nothing will change.  But if we get our shoes muddy, if we offer a hand up, if we open our hearts, we might just see our cities change for the better.