WHAT IF?

It was late Sunday night, September 26th when I got into bed after returning home from a South Bend trip to see my mother and grandmother. As I closed my eyes drifted into a deep sleep I did not imagine that in just three hours I would be jolted violently from peace into panic. “PAP !! PAP-PAP !! PAP –PAP!!!” My eyes opened wide and I glanced quickly at my window which illuminated with each sound. It was gunfire. I rolled over to my right (the side of my bed that was furthest away from my window) as quickly as I could, bruising my right knee on the floor as I fell to it for safety. “Romona???” I heard my roommate’s voice in the hallway outside of my bedroom. I was breathing deeply and shaking almost uncontrollably. I held my cell phone in my hand, preparing to dial 9-1-1. “Nikki??!?” I answered her, “GET DOWN NOW!” Nikki hit the floor and crawled into my room.
We’ve heard the gunshots before, but never have they been so close. This time, it had to have been right in front of our apartment. As I called the police I tried to slow my breathing. I had so many thoughts racing through my head, “Is anyone hit? Is anyone hurt? Is anyone dead? Is it anyone I know???” “This is 9-1-1, what is your emergency?” Answered a rather apathetic voice. “Yeah, there was a shooting right outside of my house. There was just a shooting…” “What is your address ma’am?” “1331 North Avers St. I’m in West Humboldt Park” “Okay, how many shots did you hear ma’am?” “5 gunshots…there were…1, 2, 3…yeah, 5 gunshots.” “Is there anyone hurt or injured?” “No, no…not that I know of, I’m on the ground in my room…I really don’t know.” “Did you hear a vehicle ma’am?” “No…there was no vehicle. Just the gunshots.” “Okay, we’ll send someone out.” “CLICK!”
That was the conversation I had with the dispatcher at approximately 4:30am on Monday September 27th as I laid on the floor with a bruised knee, a pounding heart, and fear pumping through almost every blood vessel within me. It is now October 2nd. We have yet to see the police. They never made it to my street that late night/early morning.
So, Nikki and I called on a more reliable source that night as we laid on the floor crawling towards each other. We held hands, I cried, and we prayed. I still look down at the bruise on my right knee. It’s bright purple and red now. It hurts less as the days go by. I wish I could say the same about my heart. It’s not a favorable position – on the floor, startled out of your sleep by gunshots. But what if. . .? What if Nikki and I did not know the Lord? What if we did not have a heart for this community and the people within it? What if we didn’t know the children on our block who heard the same gunshots that night and feared for their lives and their loved ones’ lives? What if…I was the shooter and not the prayer warrior and Christ-lover who merely heard the shots that night? SO many ‘What If’s’ to ponder. I thank God for his grace. I thank him for sparing my life that night. I am thankful for being amongst the living for just one more day. And I pray that I will continue to tell others about how great this God of grace is, even in the midst of gunfire on my block. Please pray that my labor not be in vain. Please pray that God will save us all from ourselves and from the enemy that daily seeks to take our lives; from the shooter in West Humboldt Park to those who lie on the ground pleading with God for revival in our land.
Please continue to pray. The lives of so many depend upon your prayers and your support. . .

Been a long time...

It must be quite frustrating for the few of those following our blog online to see so little posted about our lives here in Humboldt Park over the past few months. On behalf of the household, I apologize. But here’s some food for thought: When you see very little updating online it’s often a good sign that activity is taking place. Just trust and believe that we are actively seeking God’s face here in Humboldt Park daily, blog or no blog!
So, over the past few months a lot has transpired in our personal lives. Carrie is now engaged to be married, Nikki is now a proud aunt, and I am now employed with the government – just a short term position with The Census, but with the government nonetheless! (By the way, make sure you send in your Census information folks! We can’t move forward until you mail it in! *wink*) Just outside our door our neighbors are getting more and more comfortable with us as time passes. I have had several conversations with one particular neighbor next door and his children. I’ve volunteered to tutor his kids. Jacob’s in 8^th grade and needs help with his math. He and I have gotten together once already and he’s doing great so far. His daughter (haven’t learned her name yet) may be attending Nikki’s afterschool program soon, God willing! And though every step forward towards deeper relationships in the neighborhood is encouraging, it also becomes more heartbreaking and emotional to watch my neighbors subject themselves to sinful behavior that tears down their souls and their family. Just a couple nights ago, for example, I came home from work and found almost every young person from the 2-flat apartment next door on their porch yelling, smoking, cursing…basically “chillin’” as they would say. There was an argument going on and it was quickly escalating. As I got in my apartment and sat down my purse I heard screaming and crying and realized the young couple on the porch were going at it on the front porch with their young child, in a stroller on the porch, being subjected to every shriek and curse word. I ran outside onto the porch…no shoes on…just socks…trying to diffuse the situation. I manager to help calm the girl down and reminded her that there were a lot of kids in our neighborhood and she should be mindful of the volume and language she was using. I invited her in to talk if she needed to just get away from her man whom she was arguing with (my neighbor’s older son). The guy’s sister told her, “Yeah she’s a church person…talk to her…” The young man started yelling again saying, “Yeah go talk to her…you can try talking to God too…I tried, and man…I think I’m a ‘A-thing’…what you call them people? (I SAID ‘AN ATHEIST) …YEAH! Man…cause the more I try to pray the worst things get for me!”
I said to him, “Come on man, you know God is real…” He said, “I don’t know…why it keep getting worse then?” This is when I reminded my young neighbor that just as real as God is, Satan is real too. I said, “You think he (Satan) is just gon’ sit by and chill while you try to get closer to God? …of course it’s gonna be hard. Satan’s making it hard for you man.” He threw his car keys at his [still] crying girlfriend/baby’s mother and told her to leave. She left…loudly…never looking at me during the time I was out there. My neighbor apologized for the disturbance and continued to talk with his ‘people’ on the porch. I went back into my apartment, physically shaking from the adrenaline stirred up during the whole fiasco. INTENSE…

AND I PRAYED…AND I AM STILL PRAYING

I realize after 9 months here in this neighborhood this was only the beginning of interactions yet to unfold. To the average eye reconciliation, peace, and renewed minds and spirits may seem impossible where I live…but I’m reminded of Christ’s philosophy found in Matthew 19; NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE WITH GOD! I am also consistently encouraged by these two wonderful women of God that I am privileged to live with during this season of my life. Nikki's diligence and perseverence at the center that she works at here in the neighborhood is beyond commendable. She loves those children and takes WAAAAY too much from them! Carrie has pressed through the hardships of incarnational living; joining New Life Community Church and attending regularly, tutoring at Nikki's place of work and ministry, and building relationships with those she has met here in our neighborhood. It is not easy living where we live and keeping smiles on our faces and encouragement in our hearts...but we are here...and we are LOVING IT!

Please keep us in your prayers!

~Mona P.

First Blog

I have just finished watching Julie and Julia and have found out that Julia child was 6 feet 2 inches and married a short husband. (She also loved real butter and cream which increases my respect for her infinitely).

I have a pulsating headache from staring at my computer screen and eating too many cheddar/pretzel (a combination I hated at first) crackers—it was the salt that did me in.

I realized how tired I was when I pulled out a bowl to pour my tea in.

I also realize that I have an addiction to yarn and crocheting scarves and my wrists aches, but I just keep on going.

The main point is this: after watching the movie and seeing that Julie kept up with a blog, I realized perhaps I should post on the blog my roomie put up that I have never posted on.

After all, it is my turn. But, like most letters I write, I pour out my feelings, but never get to the point of addressing it and putting a stamp on it.

So, this wrist aching-crocheting fool who is now drinking tea out of a bowl (with lots of cream and sugar) trying to ignore the extremely bright screen and salt-induced headache, will now post her first post.

[Mind you, the posts were written at the beginning of our journey here.]

***

We had a problem with mice when we first moved in. There were four.

Mouse 1- death by sticky trap

Mouse 2- escaped out of the front door

Mouse 3- found dead in a cup

Mouse 4- "Maximus: the Mouse who wouldn't die" : Death by poison

They lie to you—all those stories about hero mice, movies about them cooking soup, songs about them. They are not cute; they are not nice.

Not in the apartment of a 2 flat in West Humboldt Park. Not in the house that borders the gate of the territory of the pitbull named Killer who wants to eat my face every time I take out the trash. Not in the house that neighbors a once-upon-a-time roach-house that six months ago had a flood of roaches coming out of the windows when it was bombed. (At first, I thought this was an exaggeration but three different neighbors say so).

When we first spotted the mice, I heard this scratching noise in the back of the stove. Then, the mouse (this one I believe was Maximus T. Mousekins) came running boldly out across the wooden floor of the kitchen. That rebel decided it would be in his interest to run up on Mona and I when we were sitting on the floor unpacking dishes.

But, now it's not mice—it's roaches. We've spotted three different varieties. In our silverware, on the counters, on the walls—they love the kitchen. It's no surprise since there were three layers of grease on the walls when we first moved in.

We scrubbed for a week in between our work and class schedules we scrubbed and scrubbed—and I don't even know if it made that much of a difference, but we did go from very sticky to mildly sticky.

ANOTHER ENTRY ON ROACHES

When Maximus Mousekins met his demise by poison, I thought that surely the vermin were gone… but alas, the vermin are but the pests have taken the places.

Yes, they were having a party in the dark. Racing up the wall—three—of them in brown, shiny track suits. Then, another variety—a pair—this time were taking a leisurely stroll up my wall by my BED.

I have waged war—I have flooded the kitchen with motels and have now lined walls with this light brown paste stuff…

I ask you how can three grown women be so scared of roaches? Why do we feel so violated? In Hawaii, we had flying roaches, in South Carolina the Palmetto bugs, in South Africa, the flying termite. So, why my friends do roaches scare us so?

 

REAL TALK

So, Carrie and I have been discussing our interactions with the men at the tire shop on the corner. It's been interesting to say the least. Carrie has a theory, "They don't like 'Vanilla'" is the general theory. :-) Completely hilarious to just laugh and talk about race relations in our home. It's always fun, open, and honest. But as we laugh and joke about the men on the corner that seem to flirt with Romona (the darkest one of us three) and not Nikki or Carrie (the 'lighter' ladies) we begin to pray and seek God about how to really engage our neighbors in a Christ-centered way, whether they are lustful or not. The flirtatious hispanic men on the corner up the street is just one of many things we exchange thoughts about in our weekly conversations. Here's one for you all to ponder on. It actually just happened today. I'll call this one "The adventure of CTA". Trust me. The adventures on Chicago's public transportation NEVER end! There's always a story. Here's mine for today (October 30, 2009)
On the green line headed downtown to switch my license from IN to IL when I realize I left my ID at home. Grrrrr!!! I am quite ticked off with myself as I get on the train headed BACK home. So...my attitude wasn't the greatest as I sat on the train texting my roomies about my absent-mindedness and the time it's going to cost me today. Then there's this annoying music blasting on the El train car coming from this black man's Ipod/Phone (I'm not tech savy so I don't know what the thing was! all I know is it was playing loud music!) Before I could politely ask him to turn it down, an older white man begins cussing at him saying "Turn your music down! I don't wanna hear your GD music....turn your F*&(*Dn music down you a**!(@le" excuse the language...tried to censor that as much as I could here. The black guy (had to be about 30 years old) proceeds to cuss back at the older white man and turns the music up. To make matters worse, two younger black guys start rappin' along to the song that's blasting from his little device. They begin cussing back at the older white man as well. Saying "F you old man! Turn that up dawg!" They continue to nod their heads to the music, loudly rapping along to it, all while making 'I-dare-you-to-say-something-else' faces at the older white man. I am sitting right across from the black guy who has the music device. Ironically, I was just about to ask him to turn his music down when all this went down (as I stated earlier). I decided to try to ease the tension and just ask him to do so politely. I asked him to turn down his music, told him I knew that old white guy was bogus to come at him the way he did but in fact what he was doing was disrespectful and against the rules of CTA. I told him if I had headphones I'd let him use them and asked again, "Could you please just turn it down man...you are being real disrespectful and distracting and we are all just trying to get where we gotta go in peace, you know?" So, he basically tells me "F you too" in not so many words and explained that he wished I'd asked him before the other guy started cussing at him. Now he was in such a defiant mood he could care less who asked him to turn it down at this point. :-( Unfortunate...because if you combine Romona's "I want people to be quiet and respectful while on CTA" mood with his "F THE WORLD" mood it equals quite a charged up ride on the green line today. so...here's what I did. I got off the car on the next stop and walked up to the driver at the first car of the train and asked him to come to my car and tell this guy to turn down his music so there won't be any more trouble on our train. The driver appeases me, comes to the car, and as he walked in people are starting to cuss at the guy with the music just telling him to turn it down so we all could keep moving. (By this time the train had completely stopped just outside of the Loop) The man looked at me with such disdain. He was obviously pissed off...but so was I. I told him, "Look, I asked you nicely but you just wanna be ignorant so now He (The Driver) is asking you and telling you TURN IT OFF, PLEASE!" The CTA driver threatened to call the police, but I humbly asked that we not turn it into all of that. I just wanted these men to know that they are making this difficult for all of us on the car and they don't represent themselves, they represent me (as a black woman) too. I wanted them to understand the level of disrespect and stereotypes they were feeding into. I was being myself...REBEL-ROUSING, FIST IN THE AIR, FIGHT THE POWER, SISTAH SOULJAH!!!
And you know what?
I was being selfish too.
I wanted quiet on the train, but who cares what I want? What about what God wanted in this interaction today? As the tensions died down and the train got moving again the man turned his music right back on, just as loud as before. He gave me a look. I looked back at him. I said, "For real??" He said, "Yea...FOR REAL". I left my seat and sat right next to him and asked his name. He cussed at me and wouldn't tell me. I told him my name and quietly introduced myself after apologizing for going to get the CTA driver. I explained to him that before I am anything, I am a Christian and I love God and I love his people. I also told him that I had been through a rough morning and I needed to have a little peace on my ride back to the crib today. He told me he had a rough day to. He said he had a little baby girl that he was trying to take care of and he had been in court today. He said "Don't nobody give a F about me...don't nobody care. So F all-a-ya'll. F it!!" I looked him square in the eyes and said, "Well 'everybody' is looking at your right now and saying I DO CARE. I'm not about just helping myself. I'm talking to YOU right now and trying to explain that you WERE being disrespectful. Could you help a sistah out and just turn it down? At least until my stop... please?" After a few more exchange of words, he agreed to turn it down until we got to my stop. I shook his hand, thanked him, and told him I sincerely appreciated it.
One thing I have to note about this interaction is the fact that when I told this man that I was a Christian and I loved God he interjected and said, "I love the Lord too!!" Understand me when I say I wasn't judging him, but as a Christian I'm quite sure that we don't play music with lyrics such as "Get Money! F that B&%*h! You a H0!" loudly on a public train, defiantly cuss out others on the train, and still claim to be a lover of a most Holy and matchless God.
Or do we??
I was challenged today.
It was an intense El-train ride that ended rather ambiguously.
No, I didn't lead the man to Christ.
No, I didn't correct him on his behavior and obvious disrespect.
No, I didn't even get to invite this brotha who said he "loved the Lord" to my church for this Sunday.
I left that train feeling like, "Lord, where are your people? Are we the ones blasting secular music and cussing out our neighbors while saying we love you? Where is THE CHURCH?"
I pray that my peaceful discussion with the beligerent man had some small impact.
And I just pray when I'm on the CTA daily.
I'm just praying and living for God ya'll. Just hoping it will make a difference, one interaction at a time.

PEACE

happennings at the laundry

i met a man yesterday at the laundry. my folk religions book was on my chair. he sat down beside my chair. and so it began.

he said a woman was trying to steal his size 60 jeans for her size 34 husband.

he said he's lived here his whole life.

he asked where i live. [i said 'oh, a few blocks in that direction' waving in some vague direction]

he said he has a theology degree from loyola.

he said he has left organized religion.

he said he worships in the native style now [he's half cherokee].

i asked him, 'how do you participate in native american worship?'

the first thing he listed was using peyote [which my handy dandy macbook defines as: a hallucinogenic drug prepared from a blue cactus, containing mescaline.]

only slightly lower on the list was his mastery over herbal medicines.

he also meets with the tribal council.

religion...what a funny thing.

- carrie