Poverty Reflects Our Hearts
October 15, 2008
Sad sacks
Faces looming up to car windows
When least expected
Nor wanted...
Barefoot, dirty children:
Why can't they clean up?
What are their parents doing
Letting them run around like that
In the cold?
Car heater full blast
Gasoline just another easy expense
Making things tense as the price soars...
Coats and hats and breakfast in bed
(It happens...on occassion...)
Sometimes we save a kitten on the side of the road
Always try to remember to vote
Dark shadows in alleys
A hand, suddenly, thrust out and shaking,
"Hey...You gotta a dollar?"
Sense of annoyance
Growing
Until everyone cast aside: invisible
To the working class eye
This DNA is all the same
Housed in different shells:
Pinks, browns, yellows, reds.
Paper houses, cement beds
Rats stir, bellies unfed
Teens with gasoline and fire
Wrap you in the pain
Bleeding skin's razor wire
Keep looking ahead:
He'll go away
She'll find someone else
To help her
Out today
Why should I bother?
Why is it always my responsibility?
Don't I pay my taxes?
Don't I have a job?
Why can't they get a job?
What's wrong with them?
Our hearts are mirrors
I see you, you see me
We create what we want to see
Stop, now...breathe...
Who is standing there
But a part of us all
Lost, forlorn, yes, maybe
Seething...
Wouldn't you be driven mad
From no attention whatsoever?
The connection we ALL are needing?
Being relegated to less than
That kitten from
Three paragraphs ago....
Less than the rubber
On the bottom of your shoes
That stepped in shit
And as it oozes
Made you say,
"F*** it!"
There is no less than
In the reflection of the heart.
Only a mirror
Shining
Waiting to be wiped clean
Of the weight of society's
Relentless giving up
On others.
Waiting to show
Show us all
That there is something bigger
Waiting to be healed
Revealed
And connected.
Sara Hickman
10/15/08
8:14 a.m.
posted by Sara Hickman at 05:02 am
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Good morning Austin (and YOU…yes, you, over there in…
I'm going to be blogging for the next hour about poverty in Austin. I thought I'd start with this Christmas story
I wrote a few years back. By the time you finish reading this, I will be posting more live stuff! Want to keep you engaged
as long as I can in a world of distractions....
MY HANDS UPON YOUR FEET
A Christmas Story
by Sara Hickman
One of my favorite stories in the bible is when Jesus washes the disciples' feet. What a great lesson in humility. I try so hard to remember to follow it daily.
Recently, I went to the annual House the Homeless Sunrise Service on Town Lake. It was an early morning, about six a.m., and we gathered next to the water in the freezing cold, sipping coffee and waiting for the sun to rise. I would guess there were forty or fifty people this year. That is a good turnout, albeit a sad number when you consider how many people could have attended.
Of that number, I would guess thirteen of the folks were homeless. They are the ones who stick to the sidelines, stand behind the trees and bushes, look at their feet, stand alone. As the ceremony began, we asked everyone to move in closer, away from the running path. Last year one of the runners cursed us for being in his way, during a prayer. We won't let that happen again, we say to ourselves. We are prepared for this one small thing, this outburst of disgust, and we won't let it ruin our love this morning.
Over to the side, there is a makeshift table: here is hot water for tea, and muffins from the HEB, and rough, heavy blankets to take for anyone who needs one. I always notice people's hands... the way they hold the coffee, sometimes shaking from cold, sometimes shaking with fear. The homeless have red, bruised, sometimes bleeding hands. Their cold is so deep, I can't fathom how they stand it. But they smile this morning. Today they will be remembered, if only for a moment. They gracefully accept this gift.
They will hear the introduction by Richard, who runs House the Homeless, and they will hear a county judge speak out on the rights and needs of each homeless man, woman and child; they will bow their heads to the prayer presented by a local minister, and they will attempt to sing along when I play the guitar and sing on their behalf. When we get to the part of the ceremony where the names are read, a hush befalls our mixed group. Through my lashes I sneak a peak at the men from city hall in their nice suits, shoes black and shiny, standing next to a man in old, torn jeans and a filthy blue running jacket. How did we get here, I think, as I listen to 96 names and wonder why each of them had to die on the streets.
Some killed by cops, some killed from the cold, some just ready to die from boredom or lack of medicine or old age or no food or a drug overdose.
After the ceremony, we place carnations on a marker by the beautiful oak tree. The marker was created many years back on behalf of the homeless.
I wonder who stops to notice it when they are running by....
It's time to go. The lone camera crew from Channel 8 left halfway through the ceremony. But we are grateful they came to spread the word: people are trying to make a difference. We care. When others see the story on TV later... will they care? Will they be moved to reach out to strangers and just say, "Hello. How are you this morning?" Simple words that change a day.
So, I am putting my guitar away. I am chatting with folks coming up to say, "Thank you" and "Nice job." As I walk quietly to my car, a young man with strangled, dirty blonde hair approaches me. He is shy, I can tell from his body language. I can tell he wants to say something to me, but can't find the words. I put my guitar down, as if I need to shift the weight, and I give him an opening, "Hello," I say. His eyes look tired, and he thanks me, too, for coming to sing. He tells me he has seen me here the last three years, and how much my music means to him. I ask him his name. His name is James.
There is a bird singing as the sun creeps higher in the morning sky.
The pinks are turning to yellow, and I see steam blowing from our noses.
We stand, silent, for a moment. People walk past.
I ask James when the last time was that he had a shower. He smiles,
"I don't recall." I tell him, "Then come with me. We'll get you cleaned up."
He looks confused, as if he didn't hear me correctly. I ask him, too, if he knows Richard, the man who runs House the Homeless. I tell him that Richard can help. We start to mosey over to Richard, who is in the middle of a story from a man who has been accosted by the police—what can I do? What can I do, Richard?, I hear him say—and we wait patiently until Richard finishes making little notes on a piece of paper. He raises his eyes to mine. His eyes are always twinkling, and it makes my heart happy to see this man who cares so much for others. I say, "Richard! This is James."
There is an awkward moment, but then the two start to talk about why James can't get his paycheck from the Army, how long he's been on the streets, what does he need?
They are finally done speaking, and I remind James of the offer of a shower. "Come on with me to my house," I say. I can see Richard's shocked expression over this stranger's shoulder. I give Richard a reassuring smile, a smile that says, "I know what I'm doing. Don't worry...." But Richard tags along, now, I hear the anxiety in his walk, his shoes busting up the dust and grit.
I point to my husband's car, and James and I head toward it. I wave goodbye to Richard, who is thinking I have lost my mind, this caring man who knows the dangers of the streets, and I am self-assured in the knowing that James is all right. How do I know? I just do.
We settle in the car. I take a moment to rev up the heater. It is that cold sort of morning where you feel ice in your lungs, and you play with the air: breathing in and out to watch the frozen rush of your breath, your every word. Only we aren't talking, now. We're just two people sitting in a car, waiting for warmth, wondering what will happen next.
I make small talk, ask James what happened to his gnarled, right hand.
It is missing two fingers. "It was the Desert Storm," he says. The whole time we are talking, my mind races to my family and the sweetness of my daughters' laughter, the warmth of having a home. The blessing, that I sometimes consider a curse!, of so many warm, clean clothes stuffed in my closet. The look on my husband's face I am certain to see when I say, "Look! I brought a homeless man home with me!"
I open the back door and announce to Lance, "Honey, come meet my new friend, James," and Lance strolls over, wiping his hands on a dish cloth, doesn't even blink, and invites James into our home with a wide smile.
We show him to the bathroom, the soap, clean towels, and ask him to leave his clothes outside the door. I am amazed to discover he had on three shirts under that jacket, several pairs of pants, his socks old and worn through. I know he carries all he has on his back, but still... it never ceases to amaze me.
As his clothes are washing, Lance and I find some clothes to share. I fold them neatly, leaving them on a small table for him to find outside the shower.
I hum as I start up breakfast for our family: flapjacks, juice, eggs, bacon, coffee. I make the pancakes extra big today. The house starts to smell good, and iolana is wondering "when will we eat" and "who is this man?"
James comes out, we sit down at the table. I notice how long his hair is when it is wet, and how he has carefully parted it down the middle, held back by a girl's tieback. He says grace, and crosses his chest. A good Catholic. We eat. The room seems to be charged with a giant secret, giddy and ready to burst open. I want to hold that secret forever: it feels like love on overdrive.
After breakfast, and James has insisted on cleaning up the dishes, we all pile in the car and go to church. James and I walk iolana down to childcare, and she cries when I say goodbye. I feel torn inside. I can sense iolana thinks this new man is taking me away, or perhaps it is just anxiety over a change in our routine. I reassure her, and as we cross the playground to head upstairs I am antsy, now, a mother's need to stay.
More coffee, which is my third cup!, and lots of stimulating conversation in Sunday School about relationships. We head across the street. The morning service is fine, lots of music. I introduce James during our prayer time, and I worry I have insulted him by not saying anything about his homelessness. I worry about my worrying. I decide to let go and just be quiet, again.
After church, I take Lance and io home, and James and I head off to Target. We pick out gloves, and socks; jeans, thermal underwear and a hat. We have to get pants in the boys department: James is about as thin as you can get. He starts to feel uncomfortable about the money. I tell him to get what he needs, that I would rather spend this money on him, to know he is at least warm. We start to go nuts. We get two-dollar rain ponchos to hand out to other homeless folks, we buy him a little radio, a flashlight, a thermos, a sleeping bag....
At the checkout, I say, "Did we get everything?" He shakes his head "yes!" happily, a little kid, as if it is his first day of school. I ask, "Now, what about snacks for your backpack?" He runs over to the snack aisle while I hold our place in line. He comes back with a sack of lollipops! I have to laugh. I shake my head. He smiles, "I love lollipops!" I throw them in the basket, really laughing now.
Soon we 're back in the car, me, James and about six sacks full of stuff.
"Where do I take you?" I ask. "Well..." he starts. He stops. He explains to me how he lives in a building that is being demolished, right over at Palmer Auditorium. He watches the construction workers' stuff at night, and they watch over his hidden goods (i.e., his backpack and some tools) during the day. It's a good arrangement, he says. But soon he'll have to move, so he decides we should go to a park where a friend of his has a tent.
The park is next to a playground that James tells me he and his friends built. They found scraps of tile and pieces of this and that, and it is a beautiful, funky little artsy park with a swing and a table. I slow the car down, turn off the engine. We hop out, head to the back of the station wagon, open the gate. As I hand him his things, he asks for two dollars for cigarettes. I only have a ten. I think, "Someone would think I am a fool! Lollipops and cigarettes." I hand him the bags and the money. We hug good bye.
I watch James walk off into the woods, a strange sort of Winnie-the-Pooh, carrying bright white bags screaming TARGET. The woods seem huge and James gets smaller and smaller. He never turns back. I start the car and head home.
And the day goes on. And I realize: this is my gift to you. To be there for a man who has no one. To take the time to tell you I love you by showing a stranger the kindness you would expect of me. Maybe this is the best we can do, as humans, standing in life's line, making choices of who we should talk to, what vacation we will take, how we save money for the future, or how we blow it on a night out, drinking with friends. But it's all the unseen actions in between that bring us closer to who we are and who we can be.
So, thank you for being my friend, for taking the time to pick me up when I was down, for sending me love when I felt unlovable, for inspiring me by washing my feet with your tears and reminding me that it's all going to be ok.
Merry Christmas,
Love,
Sara
posted by Sara Hickman at 05:00 am
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Another letter to the editor from MY MOM!!!
October 14, 2008
refreshing in this day and age of political panderers who say only
what they believe people want to hear.
The silent majority is called by that name for good reason. Most are
either too wrapped up in their own affairs to speak out, or they are
afraid to take a risk and speak in such a way that might "offend" the
verbal minority.
As a consequence, the values upon which this nation was built are
being eroded one by one to the point where our founding fathers might
not even recognize the country they established and intended to remain
the "land of the free and the home of the brave." Thank God that your
mayor, John Cook, is still one of the brave.
I commend Mayor Cook, and hope that others who appreciate his honesty
and willingness to speak out will do likewise--commend him AND speak
out for what they truly and honestly believe.
I am blessed to have been given the opportunity to know more about
your courageous mayor. I hope his words, musical performances and
position against the death penalty have touched the hearts of others
who feel likewise.
Thank you for giving me a place to share my thoughts about Mayor Cook.
posted by Sara Hickman at 09:38 am
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MY LETTER TO THE EDITOR of the El Paso Paper
The death penalty isn't an easy issue to talk about. In fact, very few of us ever, truly, discuss or debate the issue. Why? Simply because, as you stated in your editorial, it is a "no-no" for dialogue, even on talk shows. Simply put, the death penalty is confusing, maddening and painful.
And this is the very reason the death penalty SHOULD be discussed.
The fact of the matter is that Texas executes more people than anywhere else in the United States; Texas alone is right up there with Iran, Iraq and China in terms of overall worldwide executions. Yes, there are people on death row who have done monstrous things, and, yes, they should spend life in prison with no chance for parole, but what about those executed with no voice or choice who were innocent? Shouldn't we be finding ways to deal with the guilty in modern ways that don't leave us with blood (or questions) on our own hands, as well? Aren't we capable, as a society, of using our heads to find new answers to old problems and broken systems instead of letting others make our decisions for us?
This is why I agreed, as a musician, to spend one evening a month for twelve months traveling across Texas to get people for, against or confused by the death penalty to hear, talk, sing, cry and argue about it. Trust me, it wasn't easy or fun. But, as a Christian, I couldn't understand why there couldn't be thoughtful, diverse dialogue so we could educate one another and, perhaps, find new ideas. After all, Christ is the greatest example of an innocent man being put to death....
So, when I asked some of Texas' mayors to come out and speak, no matter what their stance, I was stunned that one of them actually responded AND began to attend. On his own dime and on his own time. That person was Mayor John Cook, and let me tell you why El Paso citizens should be proud of his involvement.
Here is a man who took an oath to lead a city and to make the best decisions for his constituents. And that is what he is doing: leading.
If, as you say, the death penalty is a "no-no" subject, then who better
to create conversation around this issue, and other "no-no" issues, except someone in a position to lead and get people to think? Isn't that why
we call them "leaders"? Shouldn't politicians be able to voice their
concern and, yes, even their personal beliefs so that we, as citizens, can be educated to make our own decisions? To what end do bland, non-decisive canditates with no positions on anything bring us, as citizens, closer to attaining the ability to think politically, morally and ethically for ourselves if they just agree with the popular agenda of the day?
It takes courage and conviction, patience and, yes, even wisdom to be able to see what could be a greater world for all of us and to share those
dreams and conversations. It's easy to be a politician that just glides through their term and then waits for re-election. But it is the policy makers who challenge us to THINK that create change, growth and hope. We don't have to agree with everything a politician believes, but
isn't it refreshing to know what one of them is thinking?
As a paper, you are guaranteed the freedom to speak your mind because of our unique and amazing constitution. Because of our founding fathers---men who debated when diversity of thought was the order of their day--this same right should be extended to our current politicians, as well.
Whether you agree with Mayor Cook's position or not, perhaps we can learn to be grateful that he has one. That alone takes courage in today's society of sameness and followers.
Thank you for allowing me to share my feedback,
Sara Hickman
Mom/Musician
Austin, TX
posted by Sara Hickman at 07:15 am
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WHY YOU NEED TO SPEAK OUT Help Support Mayor John Cook/El Paso
October 13, 2008
Recently the El Paso Mayor joined our Music for Life Tour, spending his own time and his own monies to get to five of the events where he sang and spoke out concerning
his opposition to the death penalty.
He is now dealing with the political implications from the El Paso Times. Scroll down the home page to see the poll. Again, please note that his travel and time was on his own dime. The paper has run an editorial against his actions which you may be able to find on the site.
http://www.elpasotimes.com/opinion/ci_10681194
Thank you.
Sara Hickman
Cook's tour: Stick to being El Paso mayor
El Paso Times Staff
Article Launched: 10/10/2008 12:00:00 AM MDT
Mayor John Cook says he's not a phony, so that's a reason he was recently singing on his guitar in several Texas big cities promoting abolition of the death penalty.
He admits political advisors warned him not to do it.
We side with the advisors. Cook is mayor of El Paso, which needs a lot of tending to as one of the nation's largest cities. As the mayor of El Paso, he should carry the insignia pins of El Paso issues on his lapel, not those of his own personal missions in life.
Cook strummed and sang with the Music For Life Tour, which is affiliated with the Texas Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty. Cook appeared in Dallas, Arlington, Fort Worth, Waco and Austin.
Among the entertainers was noted singer, songwriter and speaker Sara Hickman. Kinky Friedman sang along in Austin.
Hickman said Cook was the only one of several mayors she contacted who agreed to get involved. She said only one other mayor even responded.
Cook has long been a guitar-playing folk singer, way back to growing up in Brooklyn. He carries the instrument to local radio talk shows and to luncheons. He's cut a CD or two for charity causes.
Is Cook's stance on the death penalty right or wrong?
That's why he shouldn't have done the tour. The death penalty, like abortion, is a no-no on the political stump. It's such a no-no -- with such strong opinions on both sides -- that many national TV and radio talk-show hosts won't even allow on-air debate.
Cook chose to go there, saying, "For me, it's a moral and religious conviction."
On one side, give the mayor credit for brevity. In Texas, the death penalty has strong support, and he's officially come out against it. He said he's lost friends over it.
We know where he stands. And he's always been a good man, feeding hundreds of needy persons every year at Thanksgiving, singing for victims of hurricanes ... and now he's toured with an advocacy group.
For John Cook, the man, that's his personal right. His convictions are his convictions, and this is free America.
As mayor, no. He represents all the people of El Paso as mayor, and he should stick to El Paso issues.
posted by Sara Hickman at 07:29 am
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