Why Rejoice About Tearing Families Apart? by Crissy Brooks

I heard about the police sting on the day laborers almost instantaneously. One of my neighbor’s boyfriends was in the group that was picked up on 17th Street. I thought it was too bad but there wasn’t much I could do. He was, in fact, here undocumented.

Then more and more women began calling me saying their husbands had been taken, too. By Monday, I had six out of the 11 families whose husbands were arrested asking me for help. The rent is due this week and there was the immediate pressure of where to come up with the money now that their spouses weren’t here or in a position to provide for them.

Our organization, Mika Community Development Corp., doesn’t deal much with relief work. The whole premise of our ministry is to equip leaders to take responsibility for their community. I buy into the idea that if you point out opportunities and open up space for people to work and lead, then they will step into that role and be successful. I believe it is more beneficial for the whole community and affirms the dignity of the individual to offer work instead of hand outs.

As I sat in my office surrounded by these suddenly single moms listing what they needed to get through the week, I was perplexed by the fact that 72 hours earlier these women and their husbands were self reliant. They were formulating a plan to pay the rent.

Now, in order to show men that they have to be responsible for their actions, we have deported them, and the burden of care for their families is on the community. Churches, individuals and companies have pitched in to make up the short fall in rent for this week. As generous as this is, it’s just a short-term solution. Now the hard work starts of mapping out a long-term plan for these women and their children.

Of course I could do nothing. I could “let the market take care of itself.” And I’m starting to think this might be the best solution. I hear this admonishment often in the news and in our own city policy discussions –- this idea that if you open up economic opportunity it will either succeed or fail based on the demand for the product.

The more I reflect on the immigration situation the more I hear this phrase in my head. I keep trying to figure out how we got into this situation in the first place. At the risk of making a very complicated situation too simplistic, I think it goes back to us as a nation, trusting the market’s ability to take care of itself more than our laws.

The economic opportunity was so great in the last few decades that our systems couldn’t keep up. There weren’t enough visas for the amount of foreign workers we needed to keep up with the economy so we found ways outside the law to keep it going.

Then we changed our minds. We decided that enough is enough and now we want to enforce these laws. So we’re cracking down. The market has failed us. We are afraid there’s not enough for everyone and so we’re back to trusting in the law. In the mean time there are millions of people caught between our invitation into opportunity and our crackdown with the law.

So I cannot do nothing. These millions of people have become our neighbors and coworkers and friends and those who serve us in many capacities. I can’t do nothing because my faith as a Christian requires justice and mercy. Some say it was justice for the 11 day laborers to be deported. Now it is mercy that must follow through on the ramifications of those men being removed from our community and their families.

Several of my fellow Costa Mesans commented on the Daily Pilot story about the police bust using language of celebration and rejoicing. While I disagree with the reasoning, I can understand the support of the police actions.

What I cannot understand is those who rejoice in the fact that our neighbors’ families have been torn apart. Children are literally crying for their fathers, and mothers are scrambling to get by. You can say they brought it on themselves but why would you celebrate that kind of pain?

I have cried a lot this week. I cried with the women who don’t know how they will provide for their families. I cried with the men as I sat in a hotel room in Tijuana explaining that the church in Costa Mesa is standing with them and their families. But mostly I’ve cried alone in my car wondering how we became a city that tears families apart on purpose and then rejoices about it.

The Miracle Baby- by Effy Sanchez

Carlos Arturo is a miracle baby.  When his mother Maria was three months pregnant, her husband committed suicide leaving her a widow with four kids and one on the way.  During her fifth month of pregnancy, Maria had emergency surgery to remove her gallbladder and at six months the doctors put her on bed rest in the hospital for a month.  So it was no surprise that on July 19, 2009 when Carlos Arturo was born 5 weeks premature weighing 6lbs., the doctors called him a miracle baby.

Maria and her family live in Shalimar, one of Mika’s four neighborhoods.  Through all of this, Maria was never alone.  The week after the suicide, Crissy, Mika’s director, visited Maria and asked who had been supporting her.  She answered, “The ladies who meet in the park have been here everyday.”  These “ladies who meet in the park” are the Shalimar Neighborhood Action Committee, Comunidad Unida.  Immediately they circled around one of their neighbors in need.  This support continued throughout the pregnancy as I and other neighborhood leaders would visit Maria, take her kids out to activities and pray with their family.

Carlos Arturo, a child whose path to life was paved with sorrow, sickness and strife, entered the world in celebration and the love of an entire community.

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Important Summer Work

Today was the last day of Vacation Bible School- beach day! The kids had gone to VBS in their bathing suits and Hawaiian shirts so when they got home we were ready with water balloons and sprinklers. We chased each other around the courtyard like crazies- throwing balloons and jumping through the water while the dog barked and moms looked on.
Every year around the second week of August I realize that the summer is almost over and I have missed it. I didn’t go to the beach. I didn’t eat enough bbq. So this year I have determined not to let summer pass me by.
Today I had very important things to do. I met with board members and planned trainings. I followed up with volunteers and needed to study for a talk. I needed to plow through my important work and then I got wind of the water fight.
I remembered my resolution to engage the sunshine and summer activities. More importantly, I remembered my Lord- who took time to play with the kids and I went.
Next thing I knew I was sitting on hot concrete soaking wet eating Little Caesars pizza while kids quoted Bible verses and listed off their new VBS friends. Marcos said, ” I love everything about VBS. I don’t know why any kid wouldn’t like it.” Then my dog ate his chips. Ah, summertime.

Karen

Recently I decided to take on a mentee. Her name is Karen. She’s a gem! She’s 9 years old, smart as a whip and will melt you with her chocolate brown doe eyes and broad smile. Don’t get me wrong- she is no shrinking violet. The girl can dish it out (as well as take it) and can “hang” with a houseful of teenage boys as if she’s done it all her life. This girl has all the right stuff to make it and I want to make sure she does. On our first meeting we wrote down a list of things we wanted to do together. “How much time do we have?” she asked. “I don’t know, ten minutes or so”, I answered. “No, I mean how many years will we be together?” She responded. Wow! This seemed out of left field. “I don’t know, how long do you want to be together?” She was quiet and then said, “30 years.” “30 years? You will be 39. You’ll be done with college, probably be married and have a couple of kids. I’ll be 78,” I explained. She laughed. “That’s like a Grandma! Don’t worry, if you die, I will go to your funeral.” This time I laughed. “Yes you will! And you will stand up there and tell everyone what we’ve done over the past 30 years!” She smiled and said, “And I’ll tell them you were the most amazing woman ever.”
I think at 39, she will be the most amazing woman ever.
Her thoughts were not out of left field. Karen knows exactly what she wants from our relationship. Now, I do too. How great would it be if I DID see her through the next thirty years? I think we’ll just start with 2009!
Of all the great youth activities Mika has going on, I think that our Mentoring program is the most important. You may have read the statistics of how valuable it is to have good adult role models for our children. Studies show that support and encouragement keep them in school longer and help kids navigate the tricky parts of growing up. We know mentoring exposes kids to things they might not have access to in their families and that nearly 18 million kids’ ages 10-18 are at risk of not living up to their potential if they don’t have a strong adult role model in their lives. We currently have 15 pairs of mentors and mentees. Connecting students with their adult friends is one of the many joys of my job, but nothing compares to watching what happens when they start to build their relationships. If you are interested in mentoring a student (with or without a 30 year commitment) contact me at caryn@mikacdc.org

Marriage Turn Around- By Walter Garcia

Yesterday a couple who went through the, Healthy Marriage class shared their story with me. The week we started the classes at Baker, they were planning on splitting up and going their own ways (leaving of course behind a small child). They got a flyer from Mika about the marriage classes that very same day they were fighting and planning to divorce.
They thought for a moment and decided that they would make attending this couples seminar their last effort. Four weeks went by, they sucessfully finished the classes and after they saw a big improvement in their relationship. They later decided to attend the El Camino Church adjacent to Harbor Trinity Church, where the class was held.
Finally two weeks ago, they came to the conclusion that they both needed Jesus in their lives and now they’re so happy and are planning to be baptized soon.

Pizza and Oranges – By Jenna Tourje

I have a huge orange tree in my backyard, diligently neglected with over-ripe oranges dripping from its leaves. I’ve never given it much thought until last weekend, when its fruit turned a pizza party into and orange-juice extravaganza.

 

Every now and then, I like to take some kids from Center Street somewhere new. It’s good to be away from homework and the stress of life, where I can connect with the kids on a more personal level.

 

This weekend was special. It was the first event with the 3rd-5th grade girls, who were given special invitations for the homemade pizza party at my house. Along with Keturah and her sister Anna, the girls and I headed to my house to make individual pepperoni pizzas.

 

As I stood in my kitchen with 10 little girls, I realized I had nothing for them to do while some were making pizzas and while the pies were rising. On a whim I sent them out to the backyard to play with the puppy and to see the orange tree.

 

Rolling out the dough, I heard giggles and yells from the backyard, as Anna helped them gather the oranges high in the branches. In the kitchen, Keturah patiently showed each girl how to spread the olive oil and the sauce. And I watched as girls who have never picked an orange squeeze dozens into a pitcher, making sour faces as deliciously tart juice dripped through their fingers.

 

We sat on the front lawn in a circle, eating our own pizzas and sipping orange juice that was almost too sour to enjoy. As we were cleaning up our mess to leave, I thought about how freeing it was to watch our girls running and laughing in a backyard I never use, bringing home bags of fruit that I see as decoration, and delighting in their first homemade pizzas. I wonder how many treasures hidden in my life only need little girls to discover them.

 

 

 

Christmas, Carols, and Cocoa – by Mikkele Bringard

Earlier in the week, Erwin, the pastor of El Camino, called me and invited me to “Christmas, Carols, and Cocoa”, the church’s attempt at gathering some of the neighbors to Lydia’s house to meet them and tell them the Christmas story. Lydia lived in Baker and was very active in El Camino; I’d spoken to her a few times, but this was the first time I would be spending any substantial time in her house.

It happened that their neighborhood party was the same day as the Mika Christmas Store,  so when I arrived at Lydia’s house, I had already worked a 10 hour shift on 5 hours of sleep after surviving an incredibly hard week for me personally. I wasn’t thrilled about having to leave the Store and return an hour later to spend the rest of my night cleaning, but I went anyway.

I walked in right at 5pm and was greeted with the smells of beans, rice, and fried tortillas. Erwin sat me down with a plate full of food and an excited look on his face and said, “Michaela” (my Spanish name), “we would be honored if you would read the Christmas story to the children. The story is in English and the kids will respond to you.” I knew they had wanted me there to talk to some of the neighbors, but I didn’t realize I would be heading up the activity that was the central purpose of gathering the neighbors together.

Because I had to get back to the Christmas Store within the hour, I hardly had time to think about it. Immediately after we finished eating, we went outside in the back alley behind the apartments where all the chairs and the nativity scene were set up. I was introduced to a few families and sat down in a chair in front of a group of 20-30 people. I was handed a microphone, a book, and a bag of prizes– to give to the kids after they correctly answered my questions about the story. All the children in the crowd gathered at my feet, and I stared back at them as they waited to hear what this girl that couldn’t communicate with most of the crowd could possibly have to say.

And then I read. I could hear my voice projecting through the speakers down the alley and into the apartments. Most of the kids had no idea what was happening. They fidgeted a lot and occasionally looked up at me to see the pictures. After I finished the story, I had to come up with questions about what I just read. “Who told Mary she was going to have a baby?” Silence. “God,” one child quietly answered. “Well, technically, yes…but…” I trailed off. “Okay, how about another question..Why do we celebrate Christmas?” I asked. “God,” another child answered. After what seemed like hours, we were finally able to coax the kids into giving the right answers and gave away all the prizes. A wave of relief came over me and the neighbors clapped and cheered for me.

Before I left, I sat at the sidelines to take it all in. Neighbors went and got food. Kids ran around and looked at the nativity scene. People smiled at me and I smiled back at them. I had left the comfort of my behind-the-scenes job at the Store with the rest of the Mika staff to stand in front of a crowd of native Spanish speakers who I hardly knew. They had invited me– insisting that I re-arrange my schedule so I could be there– to put me in a leadership position in their community. I realized what an honor it was to be a trusted part of their lives although we have so little in common. However, that which we do have in common– the desire to be in community despite our obvious differences– brought us together. I was refreshed, and suddenly going back to finish cleaning the Christmas Store didn’t seem so daunting.

Belonging on Center Street – By Jenna Tourjé

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:19).

 

The memory of wet clothes seems to make this easier to write.  It keeps me in that place – the feeling of my soggy feet drenched in soggy shoes.  I left the droplets on my face to remind me of the way I lifted my tongue into the night under the eucalyptus tree.  And it was good, and I knew God is good.  It’s strange to think that He shows himself in the places that you least expect him.

 

At the Hope Center, my days are brightened by the second graders, who come in everyday with hugs and funny questions about normal things. They are willing to learn, eager to please, and easy to love. As the evening wears on, the younger students leave, as does the general peace. The Center is soon filled with a frenzy junior high students, who have discovered that studying is not as fun as joking around with friends, and that boundaries are better when crossed.

 

One night I took Marco, one of the older boys, aside to talk with him about his behavior. When I spoke, he turned his head away, and refused to meet my gaze – completely silent. Nothing I said, from admonishment to encouragement, could get him to look at me. When I tried to send him home, he refused to leave.

 

I was utterly exhausted, and his constant behavioral problems had worn me out. Even though I had disciplined him and had let him know the effect of his actions, Marco stayed. As the students were leaving, Marco walked by, and without turning his face to me, he muttered, “See you tomorrow, Jenna”. It struck me that he would rather be in a safe place that he could call his own, that out alone in the street or even at home.

 

I knew that the following days would not be much easier, but it made me think about what the Center means to the kids who come. Although the 2^nd graders can brighten my day with their easy smiles and sticky hands, something new springs up when a kid, weighed down with problems at home and at school, chooses to be in place where he is held accountable for his actions.

 

When I left the Center that night, the sky was pouring rain, and felt much of my expectations washing away. I was drenched in the knowledge that when Jesus looks at Marco, He sees his child, beautifully and wonderfully made – filled with life and passions and desires.

 

Marco might be hard to understand, but he is worth it. To witness him flourishing in personal interaction, and grinning mischievously when he sticks his head into the Center whenever the door is open, is worth any 7^th grade attitude he gives. Marco belongs at the Center, and he knows it. 

The Right Tool by Crissy Brooks

” Get the right tool,” my dad would often yell when I used the back of a screwdriver as a hammer or my nails as tweezers.  It was easy for him to say. He had a whole garage full of tools. I was just grabbing for whatever was closest and quickest to get the job done.

Last night when I pulled into my carport I was assaulted by the most vulgar graffitti covering the whole wall in front of me. The kids upstairs have been a problem in the neighborhood for a while. Everybody has been complaining about them. I haven’t seen an adult come or go from the apartment in weeks. Last night it became clear that I couldn’t put off a conversation with them any longer.

I hauled myself up the stairs, stepped over the make shift dog gate, and entered the living room filled with two bunkbeds and the backseat of a mini van acting as a sofa. Five teenagers stared at me as I sat down on the “couch”, a dog on each side of me. “Who’s going to paint downstairs and when?,” I said, skipping over any chit chat.

“It wasn’t us,” one of the girls said.

“I didn’t ask if it was you. I asked when you were going to paint it,” I explained. I really didn’t think that they had done it, but it had to be one of friends that come and go all night long.

“Let’s just paint it now,” the oldest guy said. “I’ll go buy rollers at the 99 cent store.”  He got on his bike and left.

At this point I was pretty surprised. I thought there was going to be more of a fight. I went downstairs to get paint and by the time I got back two of them were standing in the garage with rollers, ready to go. As they painted they began to tell me about themselves, about their family, and their mom being gone all the time. They told me about the kids who did the graffiti and the changes they would like to make. When they finished the garage they went over to the outside wall and started painting over the gang tagging there. They seemed to enjoy the work and sharing about themselves.

As I stood there watching them happily paint, I thought of the focus we place on equipping people in our ministry (www.mikacdc.org). I thought about my dad saying, “Get the right tool.” Here before me I saw how the right tool was bringing out the best in my neighbors. In a simple way, being asked to take responsibility triggered them into action. They were physically equipped with the right tools, but I saw too that they had it in them to do something good, they just needed an opportunity. I wondered if anyone had ever asked them to take responsibility for their builing or our community. Chap Clark’s book Hurt: Inside the World of Today’s Teenagers came to mind. http://www.amazon.com/Hurt-Inside-Todays-Teenagers-Culture/dp/0801027322

Clark asserts that adults have abandoned teens, that we have left them to raise themselves. The two painters in front of me seemed to be a glaring example of this. My first idea was to tell them to paint and leave them to figure it out but when the oldest so eagerly rode off to buy rollers, it made me want to get together the rest of the equipment and stick around. And now after our visit I want to stick around more. Maybe there will be other opportunities to work together or get to know each other. It is convicting to see my own ability to judge and become the cranky lady downstairs. Last night my neighbors gave me a chance to reconsider my view of them. They took my reprimand as an invitation and let me into a sliver of their world. Perhaps we can continue equipping each other with the right tools for loving our community.