Tag Archives: community

What Size Houses Do We Need?

Somebody has suggested that the country has plenty of space for housing. The problem, they believe, is a perceived desire for large lots and houses versus smaller lots and houses. Large houses make more money for builders and perhaps for sellers later on, it is suggested. Yet few families need large houses (unless they are the increasingly rare multi-generational family.)

The ability of some to work online while living physically away from traditional job centers adds to current ideas about where a home is supposed to be.

My housing history has included a variety of housing. I grew up in a close in city suburb with varying size houses and lots. My father commuted to his job in the city by bus. Our house was on a small plat, but my parents kept a lot on one side as a possible investment. It’s still there with the current owners of my childhood home.

Since then, I have lived in about as many varieties of built housing as is possible in a life time. I have lived in a typical suburban small house as well as in apartments and in a condo.

After joining the U.S. foreign service, my housing varied even more. In less developed countries, I sometimes lived in a compact embassy housing compound. In a first world country, I rented my own housing, a small apartment. In a failing north African country, I lived in a mansion because the U.S. embassy was able to rent it cheaply when the country’s well-off fled political turmoil. (I only stayed a few months before the embassy was drawn down due to the turmoil.)

Currently, my husband and I live in our own home, on the top two floors while we rent the bottom apartment. It’s on a small lot, close to our small town’s restaurants, stores, churches, city hall, and post office. Near our house, a community group is building small housing intended for those working in the lesser paying jobs of the area.

I consider the current location the best of any we’ve lived in. The answer, I believe, is community, encouraged by smaller housing.

We often are fixated on housing when perhaps community is a more important need.

Slow Fiction

 

You devour fast fiction as you do fast food. You savor slow fiction like you linger over an old-fashioned Sunday dinner with family and friends.

In her book, God’s Hotel, Victoria Sweet writes of “slow medicine,” medicine that allows a health professional time to listen to a sick patient and to observe. Such practices lend themselves to chronic illnesses and to patients diagnosed with multiple conditions.

Cooks create slow food for leisurely eating, usually for enjoying in community with others.

Slow fiction, in the sense of Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead or Ann Patchett’s Run, is best read slowly, time taken to consider the characters, their victories and defeats, and perhaps impart meaning to our own lives.

We need fast medicine when an emergency or an easily diagnosed condition arises: A broken leg requires definite and rapid action. Antibiotics heal certain infections in days. A heart attack calls for immediate measures to stabilize the patient.

A half-hour lunch means a quick meal, not necessarily an unhealthy meal. Apple slices with tuna and cottage cheese can be prepared in minutes.

Fast fiction is fiction whose world we enter immediately when we want escape from a period of tedium and boredom or to relax after a busy day.

I gravitate now toward slow fiction, both as a reader and as a writer. I’m less interested in fiction that sews up all the problems into a neat garment. I prefer fiction that “amounts to something.” This fiction gives hope through personal friendship, restored community, and joy dependent on character rather than outward attainments or answering all the questions.

Send/Receive/Delete

 

A recent survey found that fewer people use email now. The survey didn’t say, but presumably we use cell phones to text or leave messages more than we send emails.

How long has the general population used email? A little over a decade? And already it’s passé.

We ceased writing letters long ago. For some of us, letters seem on a par with medieval manuscripts. Now email is equated with the old snail mail, as texting takes over.

From both email and texts, we delete much of what we receive, and much of what we send to others is deleted. We live in a send/receive/delete world

We form and delete relationships as well. Americans have always been on the move, changing houses and jobs. Now we pass from one relationship to another with little thought.

Perhaps this generation should be called the Delete Generation.

Yet a yearning seeps from our millions of electronic words—for permanence, for “a city not made with hands.” We seek lasting community

Community at Christmas

 

This year, the electricity stayed on. The forecast remains stuck in rain mode rather than snow. A few years ago, it snowed, and the power was off for days before our advent concert. We came anyway and huddled together in our winter coats and blankets, listening to a program powered by a generator. Regardless, the blessings are the same, the songs are heard and absorbed. The old story, is as precious as ever in a still-dark world, where innocents cannot be protected.

Our end of the island, about an hour north of Seattle by ferry, is home to around 15,000 citizens. Older islanders have been here for generations, farming, logging, and fishing. Newcomers join, desiring a slower pace. The island ambience attracts artists, who stay full-time or part-time between work in other places. Writers, sculptors, painters, dancers, musicians, dramatists, and others ply their craft.

The holiday season calls on much of this artistic talent, creating so many gatherings and performances that one has difficulty attending all of them. For our church’s advent concert this year, we knew to come early, for seats filled up quickly with islanders, not all from the church. We hardly breathed during the performance of musicians and readers. Where did all this talent come from? How blessed we are.

We know we are blessed. We have our computers, iPhones, iPads, Kindles, and Nooks, but they work only as long as we have electricity. We marvel at another blessing that our country struggles to keep—that of community.

Impromptu Community; A Moment of Unexpected Grace

 

Most of us have experienced impromptu community, an unexpected incident that binds us to the people around us. Passengers on a plane bound for the United States on September 11, 2001, had to land unexpectedly in Newfoundland, Canada, when U.S. airspace closed following terrorist attacks in the U.S.

The Newfoundlanders showered unexpected hospitality on the passengers, lodging them in schools and churches, and feeding them. This hospitality, coupled with the horrifying events of the day, bonded the passengers to each other as well as to their hosts.

Perhaps a serendipity, a surprising moment of grace lifts us up. Eventually, the moment passes and we return to our own lives. Yet, that transforming moment pushes us gently toward hope.

A friend sent me a link to such a serendipity. First: a pedestrian square filled with tourists, couples, babies in strollers, children, the bored, the young, and the old. Then it becomes, for an instant, a community through the power of music.

Listen to the music, but watch also the touch of a sudden community.

 

Politics and the Prayer of St. Augustine

 

Lately, so the polls tell us, fewer Americans identify themselves as Democrats or Republicans. More of us call ourselves independents. Apparently, the current political scene has caused many to disavow party loyalty. Will we now choose more wisely?

Can we study issues instead of casting our ballots according to political sound bytes? Can we understand and respect those with whom we disagree? Never disparage them even if we come to different conclusions? Search for intelligent compromises?

Evidence of maturity is a realization that holding a political belief is not equated with God’s anointing. We are all humans with human failings. A successful democracy in the United States, the Middle East, or elsewhere requires the understanding that the political process is not just about me or my group. It’s about the community, be it nation or neighborhood. It’s about the people with whom we disagree as well as ourselves.

St. Augustine prayed:  God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. In a political sense, we need the serenity to accept that not all issues spring from politics nor can they be solved through laws and elections. May we have courage for those issues that require difficult political decisions, and may we know wisdom to discern ways we can work together for the good of all.

Fair Play and Community

 

C.S. Lewis in his book Mere Christianity states his belief in a moral law of nature which most people in most cultures adhere to. We, by and large, believe in things like fair play and unselfishness. Nevertheless, though we profess to believe in these principles, we may fail to carry them out in actual practice. We excuse ourselves when we fall from our own standards by suggesting that, in our case, an exception can be made. We are overtired, stressed out, or deserve special consideration.

Since the recession, much talk has centered on the greed of some Wall Street executives who are paid astronomical salaries in a time of privation for many Americans. Recently I read an article in the Seattle Times by John W. Dienhart , director of Seattle University’s Center for Business Ethics. He suggests that these executives probably do not think of themselves as greedy. They believe their salaries are justified because they work hard or because others who bring in less money for their companies are paid more or for other reasons which seems valid to them.

Dr. Dienhart suggests that all of us, including those executives, look at our choices from the standpoint of the community instead of self-centered viewpoints. Will the community as a whole be better off if I insist on a high salary? Do the choices I make impact the community as a whole for better or worse?

What about the amounts spent on campaign financing? Why do we spend millions to influence elections when job creation and education needs go unmet? Is our democratic community better off if elections are won by those with the most money?

We need to view ourselves as part of a community of all the people rather than a subset of our special interest groups. Is that reasonable or possible? How could that transformation occur?

 

 

To Community

 

A journalist friend of mine coined the verb phrase “to community.” He said we needed a verb form for the act of coming together in kinship-minded groups.

The protagonists in my stories often “community.” Their stories are sewn within the larger fabric of history, but the characters meld into community as they resolve issues in their lives. I don’t plan it that way, but for some reason, my characters can’t operate without this fellowship. It may be one of expatriate Americans in a foreign locale, or an impromptu group formed on a train, or a new family by marriage. The stories involve all kinds of plots, but the community forms in the midst of the action.

In Singing in Babylon, Kate and Philip find community in a home church in Saudi Arabia, then with Philip’s family. In Quiet Deception, a mystery set on a college campus, four students form friendships while some of their professors share shortcomings with their colleagues. In Searching for Home, Christian families bond in embassy communities in the Middle East as terrorism threatens. In Distant Thunder, it’s a group of strugglers who meet on a train, between Washington and Seattle, each at a decision point in their lives.

Communities are formed sometimes by age or interest and sometimes by circumstances that turn acquaintances into friends, then into members of a community. As my characters live out their stories, they teach me that Christianity is very much a community religion.

Forming Communities, Not Always of Kin

 

After my father died, my mother rented out a room in our home to boarders. One of the local elementary school teachers rented our second bedroom until she met, fell in love with, and married our church’s minister of music.

Then Mom turned the upstairs into an apartment. During my adolescent years, she rented it to more teachers from the local schools.

It seemed natural to have an expanded “family” around as I was growing up.

Then my brother returned from college and two years in the army. He took over the upstairs until he married and moved out.

As I left for college and then marriage, Mom rented the apartment to young couples. In her declining years before she died, she rented the apartment to a single, working woman.

Looking back, I realize that our community arrangement benefitted us all. The working singles and couples had an affordable place to live. Mom was not by herself as her children moved out. I gained by having young teachers who were, to some extent, role models for me.

Finding Community on a Bus

Finding Community on a Bus

I read a news article a while back about a popular bus route in the city of Seattle. Passengers, the article said, enjoy the mix of nationalities and languages and the diversity of those riding with them on that particular bus.

We encourage the use of mass transit, of getting people out of their cars, by appeals to environmentalism and the greater good. How would the appeal of community play?

The car is the ultimate expression of our individuality. In the process, we’ve lost much of our togetherness. As home foreclosures, job layoffs, and a generally depressed economy cut into our resources to buy the latest automobile, perhaps the local bus may become a symbol of finding community again.

 

Community at Rest

Perhaps the current economic recession is an enforced rest, a kind of sabbatical that may strengthen community. Society now expects all Americans in their prime years to hold full-time, paying jobs. Indeed, our current standard of living requires it. Some single adults find it difficult to live on one income, much less a family. Leisure time for community, reflection, creativity, and caring has all but vanished.

The pain of the recession is real. Americans lose their homes, go without proper nourishment, and forgo medical care. Nevertheless, those of us in less dire straights might reflect on the change to a less consumer-oriented society, temporarily at least.

We might ponder the cost exacted by the frantic pace of the past few years. Or we might take a few hours to read about the rest of the world and what America’s place will be in it in the years to come. Or—who knows—we might muse about those shootings in Arizona and what we may learn from them.

Times of hardship and tragedy sometimes uncover our deep needs for family, friendships, and community.