Community of the Risen

Last night Nick and I talked about serious things.

We talked about struggles and life.  We talked about hope in the midst of despair.  We talked about goal setting.  We talked about life, and how different it often is from the goals we set.

What I am noticing is that things in Camden are easier.  I don’t have to worry about a computer or how much money I have.

“Everything that we need here is so close,” Chelsea said as we walked toward our ministry site today.

“I feel like I am sticking it to the man,” I told Chelsea.  “I’m not driving at all this summer.”

Or maybe it was John Mayer who said it right.

Sometimes twice as much, ain’t twice as good.  And can’t sustain like one-half can.

Sometimes I feel like I am living in a dorm again.  Fifteen people in one house where both boys and girls share a bathroom in a old three-story New Jersey home.  I still haven’t got over the fact that all the houses out here have basements, or that there are random thunderstorms.  I think every place has its own erratic behaviors, and I am just getting used to the ones that didn’t happen in California.

When I used to work at In-n-Out they would never stockpile, they would actually try to run out of things just in time for the next delivery truck coming in the next day.

“Too many of us stockpile,” I told someone once.

I was walking the streets of Camden. 

We left the comforts of the air conditioned Urban Promise unit to see the dusk skies of New Jersey.  It is an interesting world.

 ”I hear the price for drinks is half price at the local grocery store over 7-eleven,” says Mary. 

 Mary is British. 

 Hugh is also British.

 ”One of the directors took me on a tour of Camden.  In areas of North Camden there is a curfew, they have to be inside by nine,” Hugh looked around and smelled the air.

 ”Really?” Mary exclaimed.  “That’s like a prision.” 

“Yeah,” I chimed in.

 Like a prision.  It hurts me to think about it.

“What do you think people do here on a Friday night?” Mary asked.  “Do they just sit on their porches all evening?”

Growing up in the suburbs of California people do not sit on stoops.  First, because they do not have them.  Second, because they have better things to do like play video games.  Third, because it is just not fashionable. 

 People in Camden have time to sit on stoops.

The light bulb in the common room is burnt out, so I write in the grey morning with closed drapes designed to keep in the cold mornings and keep out the warm afternoon.  This old house will be a boiling stuffed up sauna by the afternoon. 

 I think I feel in love too quickly,  Some say it is a bad thing and others do not.  Her name is Camden, New Jersey.  Just a small town people pass through, and is considered one of the poorest in the country.  I think I like her happiness in the midst of brokenness, and her freedom in the midst of oppression.  I find it quite sexy. 

But I also feel a great sense of loss.  I cannot give her what she needs.  All I can do is throw myself at her-giving myself.  Every morning I awake broken by a new day.  Last night I saw a resturaunt called The Garden of Eden.  It gave me hope in the midst of despair.