Category: Beatitudes

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The Shutdown May be Over but the Pain Is Not

gregoryjoel

“When people were hungry, Jesus didn’t say, “Now is that political or social?” He said, “I feed you.” Because the good news to a hungry person is bread.” – Desmond Tutu

In October of 2018 I shut down my business to work full-time as the Farm Manager for Opal’s Farm. I knew from my first meeting with Ms. Opal that the farm is where I was called to be, but the first time I saw the whole five acres tilled I wondered how I’d ever “eat the elephant” in front of me. Thanks to my dear friend and mentor, Charlie Blaylock, I didn’t have to. He told me to take one bite at a time, plant one row at a time, and do what I could do each day. If I did that the “elephant” would turn into a glorious farm.

Charlie was right. Nobody wanted to donate to a dream that first year, so money was scarce. All we had were donated tools, donated seeds, and one volunteer to help start our first acre (We love you, Brendan!). The two of us built beds, planted those donated seeds, and with help from the weather that year we had our first harvest on the first acre of Opal’s Farm. What started as a vision of what could be has become a reality over the last seven years. Ms. Opal reminds me that “we’ve done so much with so little for so long that we can do anything with nothing.”

Once we had something to show the funds started coming in slowly and we added more tools, equipment, and crops each season. More volunteers came to the farm and became valued members of the Opal’s Farm community. We were even able to add some paid farmhands (my back was celebrating!). We’ve been proud members of the Cowtown Farmers Market since 2019, hosted events and pop-up neighborhood markets, and opened our own Opal’s Farm Stand in 2024. We became an authorized Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program – SNAP – retailer in 2023 and recently added the Double Up Bucks program this year thanks to Texas Health Community Hope and Double Up Texas.

The past ten months have seen many changes in the political and social climate we live and work in. It came to a head when the federal government came to a screeching halt for forty-three days while the Democrats and Republicans argued about policies and funding issues. On October 27th, SNAP Benefits halted to forty-two million Americans in addition to the many federal workers going without paychecks during the shutdown. Food insecurity and hunger became an even harsher reality for more low-income households, seniors, and children. People face tough choices – food or medicine and bills, – even if the shutdown has ended for now.

I have private opinions regarding the debacle but the bottom line for me is that food is neither political nor social in nature as so eloquently in the above Desmond Tutu quote. Food is a basic human right for everyone. It’s not whether one is Democrat or Republican, wealthy or poor, but for everyone. No one, especially our seniors and children, should have to go hungry.

Opal’s Farm is committed to helping those affected by the government shutdown through our farm stand at the Funkytown Mindful Market and the “Doc” Sessions Community Center. In partnership with @Sustainable Food Center (SFC), we are launching

Double Up Fresh Bucks / Dólares Frescos, a temporary program to support farmer sales

and food access for families at our market. 💚

Double Up Fresh Bucks / Dólares Frescos provides [$30 or market amount] worth of

market dollars for shoppers to buy any food or drink item.

Any market shopper affected by loss of services and/or income due to the government

shutdown can receive Double Up Fresh Bucks / Dólares Frescos. Double Up Fresh

Bucks / Dólares Frescos expire on December 31, 2025.

How to Participate:

1️⃣ Visit us at Funkytown Mindful Market (1201 Wesleyan St.) on the 1st Saturday of the month and at Opal’s Farm Stand (“Doc” Sessions Community Center 201 S. Sylvania) every other Saturday from 1pm to 3pm

2️⃣Ask to receive Double Up Fresh Bucks / Double Up Dólares Fresco

We’ll see you there!

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The clock is Ticking Again

gregoryjoel

It was sometime during the early years of the Reagan Administration. I can’t remember the date exactly, but I’ve never forgotten the events that night. It was clear and despite the city lights, the stars twinkled brightly on the late winter’s night. I had taken a moment to sit on our big front porch to take in the beauty of the evening before going to bed. I smoked my last cigarette of the day and shut off the lights as I walked through the living room, the kitchen, and down the back stairs to the warmth of our small bedroom in the basement.

Our house was an old farmhouse built in 1890 and sat on two large city lots. It was built long before the area known as Washington Park grew up around it and had much different architecture than the Craftsmen and Victorian homes that came in the early 1900s. It was small – only 950 square feet – and finished in stucco with a flat roof. It even had the old concrete path to where the outhouse would’ve been in its early years. The basement had been finished with two small bedrooms my first wife and I shared next to our boy’s bedroom. It always felt so cozy on a long winter’s night, and I rarely had insomnia issues after sliding into the inviting warmth of the covers and my wife’s arms. It wasn’t much but it was our piece of paradise in the middle of Denver’s urban sprawl.

I’m not sure of the exact time it happened but it was in the early morning hours when sleep is so deep that even one’s dreams are on hold. It was the kind of sleep that we all long for: peaceful and restful. It was also the deep sleep that made it virtually impossible to awaken with a clear mind – the mind remained in that state long after the body was jolted awake. That’s when it happened.

The long, loud scream of the warning sirens blew in the basement window; waning and ebbing as the siren made its circular motion. My wife and I sat up in bed. “What in the hell?”, I demanded as we looked at one another trying to figure out what was up.

 I had grown up with warning sirens in Texas, but there we called them tornado sirens. They were tested monthly so if they ever went off other than 1:00 PM on the first Wednesday of the month it meant you needed to head for a place in your home away from windows and doors and hold on. A tornado was nearby and may hit you soon. North Texas marked the southern end of tornado alley. Growing up in Fort Worth meant having a solemn respect for tornado warnings.

The warning sirens were also called Civil Defense sirens. You see, I grew up during the Cold War between the Soviet Union Eastern Bloc and the West. Both sides had a first-strike capability with the ever-growing stockpile of nuclear weapons. The sirens warned us of an imminent attach by the godless communists. We were supposed to file into the basements of buildings marked as Civil Defense shelters if we were downtown working or shopping (this was BM – Before Malls). If we were elsewhere, such as school, we were supposed to “duck and cover” as if our trusty school desks were to help us survive a nuclear blast. I still remember Tommy Turtle and the black-and-white instructional films (this was BV – before video) that told us how to duck low to the ground, cover our heads, and look away from the blast in case of nuclear attack. It mattered little that we were to be vaporized or brutally burned when the bomb went off. The ostrich approach was probably the best way to go…

Unfortunately, this wasn’t North Texas but Denver, Colorado. In the all the years of junior and senior high school and college I had never heard a warning siren. Nor had I ever seen a tornado in Denver, especially in the winter. They just didn’t happen then (climate change changed that scenario years later). Even if they did, the city wouldn’t be testing the sirens at three o’clock in the morning, so something was going on. I reached over to our bedside alarm clock radio and tuned in to see if there was any news about what was happening. There wasn’t. Was this it? Was this the bomb?

The Cold War had a renewed tension after Reagan was elected President. Saber rattling had become the norm and tensions between East and West were at the highest point since the Cuban Missile Crisis in October of 1963. The nuclear arms race was in full swing. I had proudly been arrested for civil disobedience at the Rocky Flats Nuclear Weapons facility numerous times (once with Father Berrigan!). Nuclear disarmament and peace were the subjects of many a demonstration, however small those might be. Most folks were content to live in fear if it didn’t interfere with making a living and going about normal daily life. The warning sirens made everything suddenly real.

Maybe this was it. Denver would be a prime target in any attack scenario. It boasted the largest Federal center of anywhere outside of Washington, D.C. and was surrounded by Rocky Mountain Nuclear Arsenal, an Air Force Base, and several other military facilities. The likelihood that this would be our last few moments was real. My mind raced with memories of a recent movie sensation, “The Day After”.

Finally, the sirens stopped. My wife, though jolted awake by the sudden emergency, drifted back off to sleep. My boys never woke up through the whole affair. All things slowly returned to normal though I never quite made it back to sleep that night. It had all been too unsettling. The morning news carried a story about the event. It seems somehow water had gotten in a control room and shorted out the wiring, causing the alarms to go off. We were never in danger, only inconvenienced. The event was soon forgotten, and life went about as usual.

Several years later, the Berlin Wall came down, the Soviet Union fell apart and became the Russian Federation, and the Cold War was declared over. Anti-nuke demonstrations faded and the news media found plenty of other things to instill more fear and create more demonstrations over. There were new countries joining the nuclear weapon family. Although they had agendas contrary to the West there has not been the intensity of coverage, nor the fearfulness found in the Cold War years.

2024 is an election year. Many on both sides of the political spectrum say it’s the most important election in America history. I’ve lived long enough to have voted in several “most important” elections. This year really is different though, and for a myriad of reasons. I’ve heard all the arguments but the one that’s been missing is the threat of nuclear catastrophe that is now at its highest point since the 1980s. There may no longer be a Soviet Union but the Cold War between East and West has restarted and could become a “hot” war through miscalculation, misunderstanding, and miscommunication.

Authoritarian rulers like Putin have referred to the nuclear option several times over the last two years in his quest to restore Russian Empire. North Korea improves and expands its nuclear program while other international actors seek to be come nuclear powers. More and more uncertainties enter the equation.

I don’t like fear tactics and that’s not what I hope comes from this story. I hope that this is a subject to be taken seriously when considering election choices in the coming year. Whoever is elected will have the final say over whether we live together or die together. It’s important to consider deeply and prayerfully who we give that power to.

Evaluate real character and integrity. Choose those who demonstrate empathy and compassion for the common good rather than those whose decisions are made for themselves. Who holds up and lives out the values we strive for? Making America great again should be making America what it professes to believe in, and not some idea of selfish, power seekers only seek to make others do their will. Choose wisely. You lives may depend on it…

***I also recommend:

Turning Point: The Bomb and the Cold War available on Netflix

Acceptance, Beatitudes, Bible, Christianity, Common Courtesy, Community, Culture, Emotional Health, Grace, Neighbors, Patience, Peace, Responsibility, Simplicity, Spirituality, Texas, Thoughts From the Porch, What Can I Do

Whatever Happened to the Golden Rule?

gregoryjoel

Webster’s Dictionary defines nostalgia as “a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.” I usually associate nostalgia with the old guys who long for the good old days when there was little question of white supremacy, where anyone who wasn’t a white male knew their place, and women had no rights over their own bodies. This is not nostalgia. That’s called right-wing conservatism. Thus, I tried to avoid waxing nostalgic.  Besides, I was born at the end of the fifties and I’ve drawn a blank on much of the sixties and seventies…

Fortunately, I found the real definition was much closer to the way I’ve been feeling lately and that folks, is nostalgic. It hasn’t been a longing for my college days or the party life I enjoyed as a young person (which I try NOT to think of, by the way). It’s been something far more trivial in the grand scheme of things. I long for the days when people drove with some degree of civility.

I know that sounds silly, but when I learned how to drive, I was taught to “drive friendly”. That meant acknowledging someone coming the opposite way with a small hand wave, particularly in the neighborhood. It included things like letting people in on the freeway or pulling over to let them pass on a two-lane road (that happened a lot in the country) and thanking them when they did the same for me by waving appreciation. It also meant staying out of the fast lane if I wasn’t passing other vehicles. Fast lanes were “fast” lanes. Don’t slow them down. I don’t know if this was just a Texas thing or not, but civility seems to decline in direct proportion to the influx of new Texas residents moving here each year.

I was coming home from the farm the other day. Traffic was abnormally heavy, and people were more impatient than most days. They’re always impatient – got to get one car link in front of anyone else as if one car link is the difference between life and death. I’m the one who’s often impatient if truth be known. However, this day the Golden Rule popped into my head, and I found myself becoming more patient and at ease.

Most everyone is familiar with “The Golden Rule” – “So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the prophets” (Matthew 7.12 – NIV). If you’re my age, we even learned it in school. That simple phrase was a guide for living that somehow came to mean do unto others only like they do unto you. I thought about how that had manifested in my own life and realized how such a misinterpretation made me angry and resentful. I’m at the point in life I really don’t have the time nor the desire to be like that.

I got home and pulled out my Message version of the Bible I like the simple “umph” that comes from a translation closer to the “umph”) of old Aramaic. “Here is a simple rule of thumb guide for behavior. Ask yourself what you want people to do for you, then grab the initiative and do it for them. Add up God’s Law and Prophets and this is what you get.” (Matthew 7.12 – The Message Bible).

I thought about that over and over. I was looking for some kind of caveat or exception, but I didn’t see one there. It was up to me to treat people the way I wished to be treated no matter what they did. I simply had to act how I wished others would. It’s rocket science. It’s my responsibility and no one else’s.

Ms. Opal always reminds everyone to be a “committee of one” because one person can be the catalyst for change and an example to others. I understand and do that in many areas of life, but I can’t manage it in even the simplest things like driving (Yes, I’ve been guilty of laying on the horn and flying a one finger salute…). It’s the simple things that make the more difficult things go easier. I decided then and there I’d start exercising this simple rule of thumb when I got behind the wheel. If I’m nostalgic for the “good old days” then maybe I can act like it.

An amazing thing has happened over the last few days. I’ve noticed that there are others who drive friendly – the Texas Way – and even appreciate me when I do the same. That makes me feel happy and much more at ease. Maybe it does the same for them.

If you’re new here – welcome. Hopefully, we can show you how to drive friendly too…

Beatitudes, Belief, Christianity, Citizenship, Community, Faith, Quotes, Simplicity, Spirituality

A Christian or a Christian Nationalist?

gregoryjoel

I found this article on my newsfeed and I felt obliged to pass it on. I’m embarrassed to wear the name Christian in this day and age because this very vocal minority has hijacked my faith. They do not speak for those who follow Jesus and seek to live a “Kingdom life” that includes all of God’s kids…

What Is Christian Nationalism? | Christianity Today

Additionally, Christian nationalism is an ideology held overwhelmingly by white Americans, and it thus tends to exacerbate racial and ethnic cleavages. In recent years, the movement has grown increasingly characterized by fear and by a belief that Christians are victims of persecution. Some are beginning to argue that American Christians need to prepare to fight, physically, to preserve America’s identity, an argument that played into the January 6 riot.

Paul D. Miller