Tuesday, November 28, 2017

Paris, encore et encore





 I once spent a year in Paris. It was awesome. It was also hell-on-earth.

I often summarize the year by stating, "it was simultaneously the best year of my life and the worst year of my life." I wrote all about that year on this blog, so I won't go into detail about that year. Other than to tell this story.

It was a beautiful spring day. The day before, Erin and I made plans to take Dawson to school together and then take the train into the city, spending the day together in Paris. In what was a common refrain that year, well intentioned plans fell apart.  Neither of us handled this change of plans very well, leading to yet another intense fight. This fight was different than the others, though.

Somehow we moved from the Hotel de Ville till we were standing in the middle of one of the city's medieval bridges spanning the Seine River. What happened next will forever be seared in my memory. In the middle of a raging argument, time seemed to slow down and I became intensely aware of my surroundings; the feel on my skin of the warm sun combined with the chill in the air, the tourists passing us by and the cold, grey stone which composed the bridge. What struck me most, though was the beauty of the sun's rays dancing on the waves of the Seine. The bridges over the Seine, linking the two sides of Paris, quite possibly one of the most romantic sites in the entire world.

I don't remember the words but I can feel the intense anger.  I can also still hear my own voice inside my head, "well, this is it. Our marriage is going to die right here, standing on a bridge over the Seine in the 'City of Love.'" Maybe it didn't end right then but it was a serious nail in the coffin.

As I wrote in the first entry in this series, the death of our marriage (an inevitable event?) was sped up during our year in Paris. And yet, as you would notice were you to read a few entries from the blog I linked to above, I thoroughly enjoyed the year in Paris. As someone in our church remarked, "Every street in Paris is an outdoor museum." And I explored as many of those museum-streets as possible. I also tried to take Dawson to every park in the city. We often spent weekends exploring parks in every arrondisement of the city.

I lead so many groups and individuals around the city, both during that year and later with a collegiate study-abroad program that I finally tried to follow the advice of all those people who told me I should be a Paris tour-guide. Last year, I tried to put together a guided tour of Paris. A lot of people expressed interest and in the midst of receiving all that interest, N decided to join me on the trip. Well, none of those people who said they wanted to go ended up joining the trip, so it ended up being just the two of us; N had her own private tour guide.

It was an amazing week. We visited the touristy stuff sure but I was also able to show her some of the more hidden gems of that city. To her credit, N convinced me to try some places I hadn't visited during that entire year in the city. We even got to share a meal with some of the people from the church where I'd served as a volunteer pastor.



Some Parisian "joi de vivre"

The Versailles Church building

The Thursday afternoon in June meal























I was able to share the many aspects I loved about that city with an amazing travel companion.  Our last night was spent walking along the Seine, observing the various ways Parisians experienced their joi de vivre in a city full of sensual delights.  N turned to me and said, "I wasn't completely sold on Paris the first few days, but now I understand why you love this city so much."

That statement made my trip.  It was wonderful to experience the joys of that city with her.

As I wrote earlier, I broke up with her a few weeks later.

In response to that emotional decision, I decided to take another trip to Paris.  I did so in late September/early October.  While my trip with N was about exploring the light and beautiful parts of Paris, the solo trip ended up being about exploring the emotional darkness of the city where my marriage fell apart and about facing and reuniting with the congregation we tried to serve while we were there.

Back in October of 14, when leading the group of college students around Paris, we had the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon in the Versailles Gardens with some close friends.  While walking around the basin, feeding ducks and swans, the husband made an off-hand comment about how he can't understand why people can get a divorce.
That was a comment that I shamefully carried with me for years.

What I'm about to share, though won't be a surprise if you've been reading this blog...
When that couple found out about the divorce, they made a point to tell me that I'm still loved and a part of the church family.  I got to spend a wonderful afternoon with that family, an afternoon filled with quiche, wine, good conversation, laughs and grace.

The church even had a post-worship meal together, welcoming me back.  It's hard to put into words how wonderful that felt.

I also had the chance to spend hours talking with the missionary whom I worked with/for while there.  We talked about so much yet I can hardly remember the details.  I do know, however that the conversation will likely be remembered as one of the more significant post-divorce healing moments.

Making the conversation more significant was where Brian met me.  He met me at the park outside the apartment where we'd lived.  I told him I'd be spending some time there that morning, sitting on a bench, looking at the apartment where Erin first said she wanted a divorce and I eventually came to agree with that decision.

I had to feel that pain.  I had to retrace my steps, immerse myself back into the dark pain caused  by  the death of my marriage.  I had to face that apartment on Rue Parc d'Ardenay.  I had to face the congregation I was trying to serve while simultaneously knowing Erin and I weren't going to make it.  I had to have an honest conversation with the missionary I'd tried to help for a year while also trying to hide from him just how miserable my life was.

And I did.  I faced it all.  The apartment lost its power over me.  The church welcomed me with open arms.  The missionary helped set me free from some false guilt and unwarranted regrets.

I did sit on my seat on the plane for the flight home, but I think I might've been able to fly back across the Atlantic with my own wings.  The absence of that emotional weight was physically noticeable.

I still love Paris.  I can't wait to go back. Again and again...


I just love wandering the streets of Paris
Paris at night, in the rain - a beautiful sight
After our Sunday meal
"Les esclaliers de la butte..."
Brian Ketchum, AKA "The Missionary"




Grief

How do I write this without once again giving into grief?

Or maybe that's not the right question because I haven't had many moments of grief over the past year.

But that's not to say I didn't grieve.  I grieved.  Deeply.  Most of that, though happened during the 2.5 years between The Declaration and The Move Out.  I already wrote about all the crying I did when  The Declaration first happened.  I wrote about sobbing in a therapists office, though that happened in other therapists offices, too.

One Sunday afternoon in October of 15, I was standing at the kitchen sink doing the dishes and listening to one of my favorite musicals, Once.  Keep in mind, this was 14 months before The Move Out

Part of me/ Has Died/ And won't return/ And part of me/ Wants to hide/ The part that's burned
Once, once/ Knew how to talk to you/ Once, once/ But not anymore
Hear the sirens call me home
Part of me/ Has vied/ To watch it burn
And the heart of me/ Has tried/ But look what it's become
Once, once/ I knew how to look for you
Once, once/ But that was before
Once, once/ I would have laid down and died for you
Once, once/ But not anymore.
Hear the sirens call me home




I moved out on a Friday afternoon.  I went to Ikea that evening to get some furniture for my new place.  The ride home was snowy and as a result of the guy ahead of me losing control of his vehicle, I got into a minor accident.  The frustration of that was tempered, though by the fact that I narrowly missed getting t-boned by another out-of-control vehicle.

The accident could've happened earlier, though as a few minutes before my car slid out of control, it was taking all my effort to simply keep my eyes on the road.  It was surprisingly hard to concentrate on the road as I was sobbing, pounding the steering wheel, yelling out F-bombs - all while listening to this song.



 I've only cried a few times since that day, though.

The most significant was the actual divorce hearing.  It took every ounce of strength I had to  continue to agree to the things the judge was asking of me and not break down and double over with sobs.  In looking at the judge and feeling the people around me, I kept having flashbacks to the face of the pastor who married us and the 300+ people who surrounded us that day.  The act of "undoing" my vows was one of the more difficult things I'd ever done.  During the walk from the courthouse back to my apartment, though I felt a wave of relief.
I did, though cry myself to sleep that night.

I still get blindsided by the occasional moment of grief.  While it's always unexpected, I can always pinpoint the reason.  A movie, a song, something that stirs some sort of emotional memory.

While we are both still breathing, we experienced a significant and painful death.  Not only the death of our marriage but the death of our ideals, our dreams, our expectations of what life would be like and the future we'd always assumed we'd experience.

Back in 2002, when we first set up our IRA accounts, we put everything in my name because it would be easier.  I remember telling stating, "it does't matter whose name the account is in, it's not like we're ever getting a divorce."

For the record, a divorce decree allows you to transfer money from an IRA tax and penalty free.  It's cheaper than a death tax but possibly more painful.  Either way, it will leave a scar.

Identity

I've seriously considered changing the title of this blog.  I already did so once, years ago, when I changed the title from "One Church Planter's Journey" to "One Pastor's Journey."

Can I still call myself a pastor?  What happens to the calling I believe I received as a high school kid when; a) I'm divorced and b) I'm disillusioned with church.

I don't really know, honestly.  I still have a lot of work to do to figure it out.

I know what I need to stop doing, though and that's referring to myself as a "divorced pastor."
I'm not sure where or if the pastoral label/identity means anything but I for sure need to stop referring to myself as a "divorced dude."  Well, except for on dating sites, so the potential matches don't think I'm hiding that I'm married, as I've heard happens...

I've had two people get up in my face and challenge my use of the label "divorced pastor." One time was from the pastoral couple I mentioned in the "Shame" post, whom have both gone through a divorce themselves, though it was before they became Christ-followers and went into pastoral ministry.  I was sitting at an inspection with them, a couple of weeks ago, sharing more about my own journey.  Somewhere in that conversation, I referred to myself as a "divorced pastor" in a rather sheepish or even shameful way.  The husband got in my face a bit (in a gentle way, of course) and stated, "Stop referring to yourself as a 'divorced pastor.'  That's not the summation of who you are.  God has so much more for you than that."  I believe him, though I don't know what that is yet.

The other time was during a conversation with an intuitive, wise, direct and smart lady I dated for a short time.  Again, somewhere in the conversation, I referred to myself as a "divorced pastor."  The fact that I was called out for that twice makes me think I've done it a lot of other times but the other person simply let it slide.  She also got in my face, "Donnie, that's not your story.  Maybe you'll never stand behind a pulpit again (which I don't believe I ever will, at least not as a permanent role) but God still speaks through you.  I can still see 'the anointing' on you (did I mention she's Pentecostal?).
She challenged me to add to my morning list of things for which I'm thankful a list of ways I've served the Kingdom.  No act is too small to write down; helping a homeless guy get connected to some housing, helping with kids church on Sunday morning, the "sermon" my boss asked me to re-tell in a training meeting (a little discourse on how "perfect love casts out fear").  I've been doing that.  It's a great reminder each day, both of what God has allowed me to do and when I'm starting to slack off a bit.

Coincidentally, or maybe not, both of these people who got up in my face are a part of the same church.

A lot of my identity as a "preacher" or "pastor" came from my upbringing.  My dad was, admittedly, a bit disappointed that I didn't share his passion for farming.  As a self-centered kid, I didn't think about how my lack of interest in farming would hurt my dad.  As a dad myself, now I realize I was hurtful to him.  In the middle of High School, though I sensed a call into full-time ministry.  For a Miller, the next best thing to being a farmer is to be a pastor.  My identity or self-esteem began to be built up around the pride my dad (and even my Grandma Miller or Grandpa Tyler) beamed on their faces every time they were in the congregation while I was preaching.

Obviously, I didn't make it in pastoral ministry.  I failed at the two things the most important to my dad; church and marriage.  Ironically, I think my dad and I have never been closer.  I think the breaking down of these false identities has helped us to connect on a simple, yet profound, father-son level.

That pastoral identity however, was also pumped up by my home church.  Whenever I was visiting, I usually did something up front, whether that was leading in prayer or actually preaching a sermon.  Of course, this has stopped as I've worked myself out of a ministry position.  I tried different non-traditional ministries until I eventually just turned in my credentials due to inactivity.  It took me about 9 months from the divorce until I had the guts to attend my home church while visiting my family.

I shouldn't have been surprised by the response I received; grace, acceptance and a lot of hugs.
I talked with my parents' pastor after worship and told him how embarrassed I was to show my face and how hard it was to visit.  He simply hugged me and said I'd always be a kid of that church and I was always welcome.

Why did I believe those lies?

When dating N, I talked with her a lot about how hard it was for me to face former congregation members after the divorce.  Being Catholic herself, she didn't really understand this Protestant expectation that the pastoral family be a model of everything godly, including having a strong marriage.  She kept telling me, "you don't have anything to be sorry for.  You didn't owe anyone an apology or anything else."
That was hard for me to accept, though.  So I've been slowly going on what I jokingly call my "apology tour."  Or maybe "forgiveness tour" is a better label.  Whenever I meet with former congregation members, I talk through the divorce and apologize for the pain that it likely caused them.  Well, not "likely" caused them because the news of Erin and my divorce hurt a lot of people. 
What I've found though, is that the hurt former congregation members or ministry partners were felling was hurt for us and not from us.

Which just goes to show that my identity is so much more than any type of ministry position. Ultimately, I'm just a kid.  That's all I'll ever be.  My dad's kid, yes but more importantly, a loved child of my Heavenly Father.

As I learned from Breakthrough almost three years ago, "I'm okay.  I'm just a kid and that's okay."




Monday, November 27, 2017

Shame

"Miller's don't get a divorce."

We were driving home from an Iowa basketball game on a late December evening. Dawson was sleeping in the back seat.  Our family had just returned home after spending a semester working all across Europe.  To put it mildly, our marriage was a wreck.  On a high-speed train from Paris back to Busingen, Germany, we'd had a fight and there was another declaration of the need to separate. That was the last weekend of October.  We'd hardly talked since.  The tension between us was palpable.  So the topic of my failing marriage was impossible to avoid on that cold and snowy trip back from Iowa City that night.

Dad was right, of course.  Out of the 24 of us Miller cousins, I'm only the second one to get a divorce.  I think most family members chalk up that first divorce as a mistake of youth, as she was only married for two years and things seem to be going just fine with her current husband.  While delivering the eulogy at my Grandma's funeral back in 2011, I shared the cumulative years of all the Miller cousins' marriages as a shining example of my Grandma's legacy.

Among the many beliefs I held during the demise of my marriage that I've now found to be completely false, one of them was that I'd be the black sheep of my family; a family full of doctors, pastors, missionaries and all-around wonderful people.  The debunking of false beliefs is going to be a common theme of this blog post as is the mind-blowing amount of unexpected grace and acceptance I've received.  That's been true of my cousins, too.  In fact, while talking through it all with one of my cousins last February, she assured me that we're all broken.  Sure, Millers look good on the outside (and generally are really good people) they are also simply much better at hiding their sin than other people.

The shame of living with a dying marriage, along with the reality of wanting it to die so I could move on, strangled the life out of every single relationship.  All the relationships of my life; my friends, my family, my son and, of course, God, were withering on the vine.  The shame was all-encompassing and utterly debilitating.

The shame was earned honestly, though.  In addition to the reality that "Millers don't get a divorce," my church upbringing taught me that real Christians never get divorced.  "Marriage is hard" is something I heard all too often.  While the statement, at face value, is accurate.  What's implied is "if you'd simply work a bit harder, the marriage would improve."  That's simply not true if both people aren't willing to work at it.  "Marriage is hard" means that if you'd just try harder and believe God more, the marriage would improve.  And if it doesn't improve, then the mark of true discipleship is to stay in the sick marriage, no matter how much it hurts.

Is that true?  Maybe, I'm not sure.  I continually hear Paul's admonition that husbands "love their wives as Christ loved the church."  The therapist, however helped me see that there were things happening in our relationship that precluded me from using that verse to beat myself over the head.  I had to let go of the shame that my particular interpretation of that Bible verse induced in me.

For my parents and, I believe, many other people in my church, divorced Christians were viewed as "second-rate Christians".  That attitude was tangible in my house.  And my parents' 40th wedding anniversary, which was a beautiful celebration, the renewal of vows ceremony being officiated by me, was held up as the pen-ultimate example of both God's blessing in their lives and their commitment to God.
That's a lot of weight to carry with you as you're living in a sick marriage.
To their credit, my parents have since apologize for and repented of that "second rate Christian" attitude they held toward divorced people.

If marriage is the most significant sign of your love for God, how could I pray to that God when everything inside of me wanted out of the marriage, at least the state into which the marriage had devolved.

I couldn't pray.
I couldn't read the Bible.
I couldn't sing in church.
It was all I could do to just listen to some Christian podcasts.
The shame was all-encompassing.
Stop me if you've heard this before... the shame was utterly debilitating.

It was all a lie, too.

Before learning it was a lie, however, I decided I didn't care if I lost, or significantly damaged, every significant relationship in my life.  I was so incredibly miserable I had to make a change.  So I found an apartment a block from Dawson's school and moved out of our house on Spruce and into that apartment on Friday, Dec 16th, 2016.

About a week after I moved out, Dawson and I were showing a house for a buyer-client couple.  This couple, who will reappear later in this series of blog posts, are pastors and some of the kindest, most faith-filled people I've ever known.  I was, of course, embarrassed to tell them that I was divorcing my wife.   I knew I'd be working with them for awhile and wouldn't be able to hide the fact that I was divorcing, so I confessed my situation to them.  What happened next was another one of those moments I'll never forget.

The wife responded with a bit of tears and a sudden sense of serendipity.  "I knew it," she gasped.  "I was having my prayer time this morning and God brought your face to my mind.  I knew something was going on with you."

Remember that, at this time, I was completely unable to pray.  I was separated from God by the wall of shame I'd allowed to build up around me.  In that empty house (which took me almost another year to sell), God, through the compassionate faith of that pastor, reached around my wall of shame to gather me in his embrace.
I almost hear an audible voice.
"You're not a fuck-up.  You're my son.  I love you.   You're my boy.  And nothing you ever do could change that fact."

That wall of shame started to crumble that day.

"Sin separates us from God."  A simple statement of Christian belief.
I believe it's the shame of the sinful act, however and not some legal status of the sinful act, that separates us from God.  We can't approach God because the voice of shame tells us that a shit-bag such as ourselves has no right to be in God's presence. 
Thanks be to God, Jesus dealt with our shame on the cross.  He hung naked as he died the type of death given to the terrorists of the day.  He took shame upon himself, bore our shame, so that we could be reconciled to the God from whom we were separated as a result of that shame.

Guilt says, "what I did was wrong."  Truthfully, I have plenty of guilt from the sin of divorce.  Shame says, "I am wrong."  I have no need for shame.

I've intentionally saved the final part of what my dad told me that night till the end of this post.  Immediately after making one of the most shaming statements I'd ever heard, my dad followed that up with quite possibly the most freeing, grace-filled and loving statements I've ever heard.  "But whatever you do, son, you'll always be my boy and I'll always love you."

Months later, hunched over with sobs in a therapists office, the therapist told me to listen to that voice.  To ignore the first part but take in the second statement uttered by my dad.  "That second part," she declared, "was the voice of your Heavenly Father."

And so it was.

The Woman Currently Known as N



A few months after my divorce went final, I was hanging out with some close friends (a part of my "apology tour") when the wife told me that the dad had said, right after I moved out, "give Donnie a month and he'll be dating someone."  Well, he wasn't quite accurate.  He was off by a day.

31 days after I moved out of the house I'd shared with my ex-wife, N and I had our first date  Like several other first dates, we met under the clock at Union Station and took the KC Streetcar to a coffee shop.  The short walk from the front doors of Union Station to the street car platform was enough time for me to realize that this date was going to be different. I think we both fell pretty quickly for the other person's smile.

In his book, "Blink", Malcolm Gladwell asserts that we need to trust our initial, gut instinct.  I don't know whether that applies to all areas of life but it certainly applies to dating.

In one of those unknown contingencies and twists of timing that life throws our way, the date almost didn't happen.  N admitted later that she had become quite jaded from dating and wasn't sure she wanted to get her hopes up again only to get disappointed - again.  I showed up that early afternoon not sure I wanted to be there either.  Just the night before I'd just had a great second date with A, whom I was thinking might be the perfect person for what I thought I needed at the time; a short-term, but enjoyable, post-divorce relationship.  Yes, I realize the technical term is a "rebound" but that term feels so derogatory, particularly when used in reference to N.  If this was a rebound, and I think it was so much more than that, than it was a rebound due to timing and not the result of character or compatibility.

Spoiler Alert: another twist of timing precludes this story from having a happy ending, at least as far as the two of us are concerned.

N and I met on Tinder.  When I tell most married people, they seem shocked and think of Tinder as only a hook-up site.  Us middle-aged single people know, though that while they are creeps to be found and hook-ups being searched for on Tinder, there are also a lot of normal and even wonderful people looking for a second shot at love.  I am kinda surprised N agreed to go out with me, though, considering I'd made fun of her choice in beer and admitted (only half-jokingly) that I was looking for a rebound relationship before we'd even talked on the phone, let alone met in person.  Her profile stated she's too tender of a soul for Tinder.  And since she lives almost an hour away, had I not super-liked her profile, we might've never met.  Oh... those twists of fate.

It was one of those first dates where your mouth hurts from smiling and your throat is sore from talking (though maybe I was more hoarse, as I'm always the blabber...).  When we finally left the coffee shop and took our seats on the street car again (admittedly, sitting much closer together on the ride back than the ride there) we'd both all but verbally acknowledged the obvious chemistry.  I eventually gathered the courage to put my arm around her shoulder and made a bold prediction for the newly developing romance, "I'm not totally sure what is going to happen between us but I'm willing to bet it's going to be somewhere between buying matching grave plots and never going out again."

That's exactly what happened.  But so much more than that, too.  N helped heal my broken heart.  N helped me believe again in the possibility of love between two people, even when those people felt betrayed by their first loves.  N is, in fact, the type of person with whom I could purchase matching grave plots.  Well, almost that type of person.  With the obvious disclaimer that every relationship has challenges, the one which we couldn't overcome was that of timing; we simply met at the wrong time.  I just wasn't ready yet for a commitment, even a commitment to someone as wonderful as N.  I know now, though that the next time a wonderful woman is standing before me, asking to be in a relationship, I'll be ready to make the commitment (rather than crapping the bed, as I did with N).  Maybe I had to mess up my first good thing to be ready for, and more appreciative of, my next good thing.

Approximately 10 months after our first date, N has once again taken the risk to be vulnerable and is happily dating someone with whom she believes she truly does have a permanent future.  As you might've guessed, though that person isn't me.

Yes, that does hurt.  But it's my own fault.  And despite the regret, I believe it's for the best.  You can't marry your rebound, right?  At least, that's what a lot of voices were telling me, voices of people who care about me.  Not all the voices speaking into my life, though.  In particular, my parents and sister were encouraging me to stay with N because they loved her.  In retrospect, though I probably would've driven myself crazy wondering whether I'd committed too soon.  Now I just drive myself crazy wondering when I'll find someone else as great as N.  I know I will, though, there are other great people out there. It's just a matter of searching till you find them.

The more I fell for N, the more worried I became that I'd end up hurting her.  While I was able to talk with some other friends about that fear, I lacked the guts to talk with her about it (one of the many things I learned from dating her and that I plan to improve upon in my next relationship).  One of my friends, another pastor who has gone through a divorce, told me that the worst-case scenario was that I'd raise the bar for her, dating-wise.  N told me that she'd never been in a relationship with a nice guy, one who was honest and treated her well.  After we broke up, N thanked me for, indeed, raising the bar.

I broke up with her about three weeks after we got back from Paris.  Planning a trip together was a way to make a short-term but solid commitment.  The week in Paris was an incredibly fun and deeply significant week for me (though getting the full effect required a second trip on my own, which I'll write about later) When we got home, though, I started staring down the rest of my life.  So I broke up with her.  I panicked.  She didn't see it coming and it hurt her.  It hurt me, too.  I cried for a week and lost my appetite for awhile (which was a convenient jump-start to the training program I went on last summer).

You know what?  That's understandable.  I can forgive myself for that one.  What I have trouble forgiving myself for is that, about two months later, I hurt her again.  I don't have the energy to share all the details of the emotional ups-and-downs over those two months, but in yet another twist of timing (where her timeline of making a decision and my timeline didn't align), I basically broke up with her a second time.  Man, was that a shitty thing to do.

So shitty, in fact, I realized I needed to go talk through it with a professional, which I did.  I came to some realizations, but it was too little too late.  N eventually decided, rightfully so, that whatever on-again/off-again thing was happening between us needed to stop. 

The irony of it all is that the things I believed would happen to her, happened to me as well.  My heart was broken (though it was ultimately my own doing) and my own relational bar was raised.  In response to a podcast I've listened to several times as well as my time dating N, I've developed a list of "non-negotiables" and the "would-really-like-to-haves" I'll be looking for in my next long-term dating relationship.

I mentioned in my first blog entry, Le divorce, that a recent event had finally given me the motivation and inspiration to start writing again.  That event was simple yet profound, it was N texting me to wish me a "Happy Thanksgiving."  Our short catch-up conversation, while nice and friendly, brought up some emotions I needed to deal with.  When dealing with the emotions surrounding N, I realized I should go ahead and face some other emotions, too.

N shared two wonderful gifts with me, things I hadn't experienced for years.
1) Hope that I'll find love again.  Or maybe even better than hope, a confidence that a second chance at love is a high probability.  I'm not throwing my hands up in resignation nor resigning to cynicism.  I'm actually going to keep trying.  Even if it means risking more broken hearts. I have too much to offer to someone and there are too many other wonderful people out there for me to give up on the hope of finding love again.  Or, better yet the confidence that it will, in fact, happen.

2) Forgiveness.  I didn't deserve her forgiveness, considering how I hurt her, but she offered it to me anyway.  She didn't just say the words, though she actually released me as the recipient of her justified anger and resentment.  I think it was our short exchange over Thanksgiving that helped me realize she's truly forgiven me.

And truly moved on.

As I also move on, I'll take with me the gifts she shared with me.








Sunday, November 26, 2017

Le divorce

This another rewrite, another edited version of the story I’ve felt compelled to share, another attempt to respectfully, yet honestly.

19 Parc d'Ardeny, Palaiseau, FR 91120Our apartment living roomMay of 2014

"I want a divorce."

That statement rocked my world but it wasn't really a surprise.  Things had been bad for years.  In fact, there is family a picture (which I’ve since taken down) at our son’s first birthday party in February of 2010, which I believe to be beginning of the end.  We had happy moments after that point and some moments of hope, but that’s when things started their inevitable descent toward divorce. 

During that spring of 2010, things started to change and by the time some formal family pictures was taken in June of 2010, I knew things weren't right, though I had no idea just how bad things would get.  My mom told me years later that she sensed the change in 2010 also, prompting her to start praying fervently for us.

In July of 2013, we packed up our belongings (or sold a lot of them) and moved to France to spend a year as Mission Corps Volunteers.   I had high hopes that this year in Paris, helping with a church, living in the "City of Love" and being removed from the pressures of every-day life at home would be the exact remedy our struggling relationship needed.  The opposite is what actually happened, though.  Being removed from the relational support of family and friends (and, to be honest, the distractions as well) actually served to speed-up the disintegration process.  With both hindsight and the knowledge of how much better life is now, that speeding-up process was actually beneficial.

I’ve received some many opinions regarding the different levels of disclosure I’ve made on this blog but I still believe this paragraph below, which I wrote at the very first, to be true. 

This is probably the time to state that out of respect for my ex-wife, whom I believe to be a good-hearted person and for whom I wish only the best (boy, that sounds trite, but it's true), I'm not going to share the details or causes of why our marriage died. I do however, want to share the agony I experienced over the last few horrible years of a sick and dying marriage.  I'm going to share the shame, grace and personal growth that I've experienced thee past few years via a series of blog posts.

Though I didn't actually move out until December of 16, the fate of our marriage was all but sealed that night back in May of 14.  We spent the rest of that week not talking (which was to become a common occurrence as we tried to co-parent and live separate lives while legally still married and occupying the same residence) and I went into Dawson's room every night that week, praying over him and crying tears of shame and guilt that my son was going to have divorced parents.

By the end of the week, however two realizations dawned on me:1) A lot of people whom I know and respect, people who truly love God, have gone through divorces.  Even this guy...
John Wesley sucked as a huband


2) A divorce and a fresh start might not be all bad.From the time my ex asked for a divorce (and I mentally assented to it, so it really was a two-way decision) till the time I actually moved out, we had two good months.  Those good months didn't last though, because the destructive habits reared their ugly heads and strangled the remaining life out of our marriage. Those two good months I mentioned were September of 14 (right when we moved back to Europe), a couple of weeks in February of 16 and about a week in May of 15.

Why did it take so long until we finally called it quits?  While I can't speak for both of us, I'd say it was two major factors; shame and hope.  The hope was stubborn; "maybe things will turn around?"

The shame was debilitating; "God, family, friends, when they know, they're all going to hate me and disown me."  I'm going to do an entire post on shame later on.

About 75% of the 2.5 years from The Declaration till The Move Out were spent just existing, clinging to some vague hope that things would turn around.  There were a few seasons of mildly sustained effort, though, like the few weeks in the spring of 16 that we spent going through Breakthrough.    Going into that, I stated that I felt like it was a last attempt to save our marriage.  For a couple of weeks, the save appeared to have taken place.  A couple weeks later, however the emotional high wore off and I realized the patterns hadn't really changed.

I had the sense, in June of 15 when I could tell Breakthrough hadn't changed anything for us, that weren't going to make it, but we stayed in the marriage another 18 months.I'll admit, it was incredibly easy to escape into a fantasy of what the next relationship might be like.  The counselor whom I visited often on my own and sometimes together, warned me that real life could never compete with a fantasy.

That fantasy was fueled however, by the fact that I'd noticed Christians who had gone through a divorce and came out stronger with healthier second marriages.  So at one of our last sessions, in August of 16, I asked the counselor (a Christian who has herself gone through a divorce) why she and I were wasting our time when we could on and find someone else whom we'd get along with better.  The counselor responded with something I'll never forget, "You're not wasting time.  You're spending time.  If your marriage doesn't survive, you won't look back at these difficult years with regret and label them wasted time but rather with satisfaction and peace, labeling them years well-spent."  Was she ever right.  The several years of the downward cycle that lead up to The Declaration  were difficult.  The years spent between The Declaration and The Move Out were relational hell-on-earth.

While it's impossible to know all future contingencies, when I moved out last December, I did so with a broken heart but also a heart full of peace and relief.  She actually thanked me later for having the courage to do what we'd both been wanting.It did, however, take me five days to have the courage to call my dad on the phone.  As I was sitting on the floor of my apartment, finally having a phone conversation with my dad, I was surrounded by piles of things I still needed to put away and was bawling my eyes out. My dad hurt with me.  My dad, whom I was almost too ashamed to talk to, offered his own love and acceptance.  He even offered the acknowledgment that he didn't understand why this happened to us nor that he really knew what to say.  He simply offered his assurance of his love for me, along with his knowledge of God’ unwavering love for me as well.

It's hard to understate the significance of a statement like that.

That reassurance came from a man who views marriage as the ultimate expression of our love for and commitment to God.  That reassurance came from a man who loved Erin like a daughter.

They were years spent, not years wasted.

I finally have the courage and motivation to start writing about all of this.  I think I know what prompted this desire to write but I'm not actually comfortable sharing that yet.I've been needing to write for a long time, though.

I have a pastor friend who walked through the difficult, death-of-the-marriage years with me.  At a Bible study about two weeks after I moved out, I was explaining to him how much better I felt and how my fears of everyone abandoning me (God included) were simply not true.  He then told, me, " "You need to write this out so you can share with other people going through similar struggles."  I wasn't ready back them to start writing but about a year later, I'm ready to do so.  This is the first of several blog entries in which I'm publicly going to bear my soul, think through some past events and try to find some healing.


Thursday, May 28, 2015

The American Way of Poverty: How the Other Half Still Lives

As I mentioned in my previous post, we've been living in a poorer are of Kansas City while also trying to restart our careers/finances after moving back home from our 18 months in Europe.  It's been a bit of a challenge, but with Erin accepting a full-time teaching position at Dawson's school, things are starting to stabilize.

Due to both living in the Northeast and struggling to make much money, I've gained some serious insight into what it's like to be poor.  I'm not ready to go into all the details yet, but I will eventually share my first hand experiences with "poor shaming" and heartless and immovable bureaucracy from the past few months.  In the meantime, though I will share some hightlights from a book I recently finsihed, "The American Way of Poverty: How the Other Half Still Lives."  I found myself agreeing often with the books author, either because I've observed what he's describing first hand or have actually experienced it myself.  Here are some quotes from the book.

pg. 5
[There is a] sheer loneliness of poverty, the fact that profound economic hardship pushes people to the psychological and physical margins of society – isolated from friends and relatives; shunted into dilapidated trailer parks, shanties, or ghettoized public housing; and removed from banks and stores, transit systems and cultural institutions.  The poor live on society’s scraps –a few dollars in government assistance or charity, donated food, thrift-store clothes.  They can afford neither transport to venture out of their communities nor simple luxuries such as movies or a cup of coffee with friends in a café.  They cannot afford to vary the routines of their daily lives.  Embarrassed by their poverty, worried about being judged failures in life, and humiliated by that judgment, many told me that they have essentially withdrawn from all but the most necessary, unavoidable social interaction.

The second that that one realizes in telling this story is the diversity, the complexity, of poverty.  Its causes, and therefore its potential solutions, cannot meaningfully be reduced to a pat list of features.  There are people with no high school education who are poor, but there are also university graduates on food bank lines.  There are people who are poor because they have made bad choices, gotten addicted to drugs, burned bridges with friends and family – and then there are people who have never taken a drug in their lives, who have huge social networks, and who still can’t make ends meet.  There are people who have never held down a job, and others who hold down multiple, but always low-paying, jobs, frequently for some of the most powerful corporations on earth.  There are people who have never had a bank account and use payday loans and other predatory lending sources whenever they need access to extra cash, and there are others who, during more flush times, owned huge suburban houses and expensive cars.  There are children whose only hot meals are what they are given at school, and young adults who have nothing now and never really had anything earlier in life either.  There are military veterans who have struggled to find a place in civilian life, middle-aged and once-middle-class people falling down the economic ladder as the recession fails to fully lift, and elderly people cascading into destitution as savings evaporate and expected equity in their homes fails to materialize.

Poverty is, in other words, as diverse as the United States itself.  What the poor have in common, however, is an increasingly precarious existence in a country seemingly unable – or at least unwilling – to come to grips with their collective despair. 

Pg. 7
Were we as a society able to implement [a plan to deal with poverty] in affordable and equitable ways, the result would be a fundamental reimagining of the American economic landscape.  We can use four major revenue sources: 1) a public works fund to protect against mass unemployment; 2) a new educational opportunity fund to dramatically expand access to, and affordability of, higher education; 3) a poverty mitigation fund built up from the introduction of a financial transaction tax and energy profit taxes; and 4) money to stabilize Social Security and start reducing the national deficit, made available from higher taxes on capital gains, high-end inheritances, and the income of the most affluent wage earners…. If we used these revenue sources, we could change both our expectations of society and our long-term financial calculus in a way beneficial to tens of millions of people. 

Pg. 34
We will get far further in understanding twenty-first century American poverty if we consider how entrenched the new plutocracy, and its economic agenda, has become than if we look solely for explanations regarding the purported intellectual, economic, and cultural inadequacies of the poor.  It is, after all, surely no coincidence that the United States, the country with the wealthiest elite in the Western world, and an economy that has averaged 2.2 percent productivity gains each year since 1947, also has vastly higher poverty rates than its peer nations.

Shortly after the financial crisis hit, the OECD published a table on income distribution: Even after government benefits were factored in, more than 11 percent of the American population had incomes of only 40 percent of the median income in the country. In Great Britain, that number was only a little above 6 percent; Germany’s number was a little more than 4 percent.  In Sweden it was 3.8 percent; and in the Netherlands, 2.7 percent.  Even Greece and Ireland, two countries tottering toward bankruptcy, had a far lower percentage of their population living significantly below the poverty line than did the United States.

“What’s most striking in the past few years is the absolute absence of discussions of poverty on the public agenda,” noted University of California at Santa Barbara historian Alice O’Connor, who has built her career studying Americans’ shifting attitudes toward poverty over the centuries.  “It’s just not there.  The great shift is that we’ve come to accept very high levels of poverty as either inevitable or the way things should be.”  For O’Connor, the callous approach to poverty wasn’t unprecedented in American history, but it was something that found equivalents only distantly back in time.  “You’d have to cycle back to the Gilded Age,” in the latter decades of the nineteenth century, “to find a similarly untroubled acceptance of mass poverty,” she believed.  These days, says O’Connor, politics has become increasingly reliant on the big-dollar contributions, and in so becoming has lost touch with the expectations of the vast majority of Americans who cannot afford to buy access to the political process.  “The narrow politics of winning elections, “she averred, “has less and less to do with connecting with what people really care about, and more to do with raising money and buying media and these kinds of things.”

Pg. 51
In the same way that our political culture lacks the language to adequately confront poverty, so too in recent years it has lacked a vocabulary to explain why rampant inequality is a problem.  As that inequality grows, and as the political rhetoric is skewed toward meeting the requirements of the country’s new elites, so public infrastructure becomes ever more fragile.  An anti-tax, anti-government movement, using the language of populism, and turbocharged in the aftermath of the 2010 Citizens United Supreme Court ruling, which allowed outside interest groups to spend freely on attack ads and “independent expenditure” campaigns, claims to represent the little man against Big Brother.  In reality, however it has created a public sector defined by squalor and an insecure citizenry unable to define itself by commonly accessed, and accessible, institutions.

The method is simple: defund public services, ensure that the government only delivers second-rate goods, convince the electorate that long-term societal investments such as Social Security and Medicare are Ponzi schemes unlikely to survive down the generation, and it becomes ever easier to convince ordinary people that taxes are a mugging rather than an investment.  There is, after all, a reason that Swedes – who receive quality education, healthcare, childcare, vacation times, and pensions courtesy of their government – tolerate far higher taxes than do Americans.  It’s no because they have some strange Scandinavian-only pro-tax genes in their DNA.  Nor is it because of some bizarre streak of masochism in their culture.  Rather, it’s because they actually get their money’s worth from their taxes.  They pay good money and get good quality services.  In America, by contrast, increasingly the public receives duds.

Sell enough lemons, conservatives have realized, and you can trigger demands that the whole enterprise be shut down.  It is, quite simply, a classic bait-and-switch maneuver.

Able to spend virtually unlimited sums to influence political and judicial races, groups such as the US Chamber of Commerce and   Crossroads GPS; and individuals such as the Koch brothers; Newt Gingrich’s 2012 primary season backer, Sheldon Adelson; and Rick Santorum’s funder, Foster Friess – have seeded a conservative push to undermine what remains of the progressive tax structure and to denude government of its role in providing basic serves to the populace. 

More and more, as a result of squeezing government services, those with resources opt out of the public sphere, sending their children to private schools and colleges, protecting their homes and other property with private security systems, abandoning public transit systems, forgoing as many interactions with the public sector and with government agencies as they can.  Similar processes have happened in recent years in countries such as South Africa and Mexico.  It no instance has such a retrenchment led to a fairer, more equal or more tranquil society. 

Pg. 88
In part, America’s poverty epidemic is a failure of imagination – we haven’t invested enough energy into understanding the causes and the manifestations of poverty in today’s United States, or into imagining alternatives.  In part, though, it’s a failure of empathy – we haven’t as a society worked out why we should care.  Too many people either believe they have no obligations the broader community or do not understand the consequences that follow when public infrastructure is allowed to crumble.  That is the point raised by then – Harvard Law School professor Elizabeth Warren, whose word led to the creation of the US Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, in her critique of businesspeople who didn’t want to pay their fair share of taxes and who didn’t believe that the state played any role in their success.  Even a self-made man, she explained to an audience in 2011 – at the start of her successful campaign for the US Senate – used publicly funded roads to truck his goods to market, hired workers educated in publicly funded schools, and relied on publicly funded police forces for security and firefighters for putting out fires.  “Part of the underlying social contract,” she continued, “is you take a hunk of that [profit] and pay forward for the next kid who comes along.”

Pg. 132
Throughout history, philosophers and political figures have sought to distinguish between the deserving and the undeserving poor; or, to put it another way, between those whose poverty is caused by outside forces and thus merits society’s sympathy and those whose poverty is the result of poor life decisions, or communal dysfunction, and thus merits our scorn.

Such a distinction is pervasive today in the United States, where politicians spend an inordinate amount of time trying to distinguish between those simply down on their luck and those trying to con the system.  In doing so, we have set up a tremendous number of barriers to accessing anti-poverty programs.  These barriers have, in all likelihood, stopped some ne’er-do-wells from gaining assistance they ought not to get; but such gains have frequently come at the cost of scaring away many others who do qualify but are deterred from applying by the cumbersome, frequently humiliating, nature of the application process.

Pg. 136
In the modern American context, all-too-often this discussion about whether or not impoverished residents are deserving of sympathy and of government aid takes place against a backdrop of racial and class animus.  For while white conservatives use government assistance e copiously – whether it be Social Security or mortgage tax relief, low interest federal college loans or Medicare- in their political discussions they tend to define their benefits as not being “welfare,” in contrast to the somehow less noble assistance provided to their black and brown neighbors.  The Cornell University political scientist Suzanne Mettler writes in her book, “The Submerged State” that a self-identified conservative is 50 percent more likely than a liberal to claim never to have used a government program, despite the fact that 96 percent  of Americans she surveyed had, in fact, utilized government assistance – from mortgage tax relief to federal farm subsidies, from Medicare to Social Security.  Certainly, no one has talked about drug-testing seniors before they can access Social Security, requiring people filing for mortgage relief piss into a cup or mandating that bankers seeking to access billions of dollars of bailout funds prove their cocaine-free bona fides before tapping TARP.

Pg. 177-179
That so many people were seeing huge drops in income, with the resulting and all-too-predictable, impacts on their ability to pay their mortgages, rents and other basic bills, wasn’t just to do with unemployment.  It was also to do with a political push to dismantle prevailing wage structures, and to keep the minimum wage extraordinarily low in many states.  In fact, in the years prior to the onset of the Great Recession, much of the worst poverty data came out of states with lower-than-average unemployment.  In places like Idaho and Texas, the jobs were there; they just were no longer paying enough to live on.  In 2011, researchers with the Economic Policy Institute estimated that if the government entirely absented itself from the business of tax subsidies and assistance to the poor, the poverty rate in America would immediately jump to 23.7 percent.  The reason?  As was the case in Victorian-era England, millions of twenty-first-century Americans, lving in aperiod during which trade unions were on the sane and the power of employers on the rise, were having to work jobs that didn’t even get them up to subsistence-level living.

As a result [of “right-to-work” laws making it harder for workers to organize into trade unions being pushed by conservatives and adopted by more and more states], even before the Great Recession hit, real incomes for working-class Americans were lower in the early 2000s than they had been a generation earlier.  To remind readers of the salient numbers here:  The median age peaked in 1973 at $33,000 in 2010 dollars.  By 2005, during the roaring decade that preceded the financial collapse, that median wage was down to $29,000; and in the years following, as the broader pillars of the economy tottered, it fell still further, toward the $26,000 mark.  Millions of poor people were working full time yet being inexorably swept backwards economically.

[This is] why Texas Governor Rick Perry could enter the presidential primary contest in 2011 claiming that he’d presided over a period of extraordinary job growth in the Lone Star State, while his opponents could decry the fact that 17.9 percent of Texans lived in poverty, and 7.4 percent in extreme poverty; that 6.3 million Texans had no health benefits, which mean that a larger percentage of the population in Texas has no access to medical coverage than in any other state in America; and that a higher percentage of the state’s residents were “food insecure” than in all but one other state.

Both sets of claims were true: Texas was seeing more jobs being created – between January 2006 and January 2011 it added over half a millions positions, while other states were hemorrhaging employment.  But they were low-paying, non-benefited, and frequently dead-end in character.  The state wasn’t educating workers well enough to help them move up the economic ladder; it wasn’t investing adequately in job training programs; it wasn’t putting resources into monitoring workplace conditions.  For employers, Perry’s Texas was a low-wage, low-regulation paradise.  For employees, too often it was a place of crushing drudgery.

Pg. 181
So why the skyrocketing food insecurity in Texas?  In large part because more and more of the working poor, in a state with only the federal minimum wage, were earning rock-bottom wages.  In 2010, the US Bureau of Labor Statistics estimated that Texas and Mississippi were tied for having highest percentage of their workforces earing only at or below the federal minimum wage of $7.25 per hour.  Fully 550,000 Texans were stuck at this wage level – about half of them were actually earning less than the legal minimum – with millions more earning not much more.

For companies such as Walmart, all of this was, quite simply , great for business.  Taking advantage of the anti-union, anti-labor environment, the world’s biggest retailer opened up dozens of stores in the 1990s and 2000s in the Lone Star state.  In the Dallas region alone, by 2012 it had more than twenty outlets.  Texas’ low-wage environment apparently meshed perfectly with Walmart’s employment philosophy.  According to the online wage-monitoring site Glassdoor, as of mid-2012 the average pay for a Walmart sales associate was $8.88 an hour; for a “guest service team member” it was $8.42; for a cashier $8.62.

When meat-cutters in its Jacksonville, Texas store tried to unionize in 2000 to better their working conditions, the company responded by eliminating the butcher’s section from its store, limiting itself to prepackaged meats instead so as to avoid having to negotiate with a labor union.  It’s a tactic the company has perfected all over the country – rousing the wrath of organizations such as Human Rights Watch but proving remarkably good for business.  In 2011, Walmart posted profits of more than $15 billion.  After all, keeping workers nonunion allows the company to pay wages so low that the children of many employees end up on Medicaid, the workers themselves on food stamps.

In October 2012 several Walmart workers in the Los Angeles area launched a strike against the company;  and a month later, on Black Friday, the biggest shopping day of the year, Walmart workers in several stores around the country, including some in Dallas, walked off the job, in a rolling attempt to force the company to recognize the UFCW and other unions.  Walmart’s response?  A spokesperson denounced the action as a “union-funded publicity stunt.”

Pg. 185
Utterly wedded to a rigid market ideology – to a belief system that holds that whatever outcomes the market, left to its own devices, generates must be right – the Social Darwinists of modern politics simply cannot fathom why a society would need to intervene to break cycles of poverty that, again by definition, are caused by personal failings.  Once upon a time, the absolute social mobility that they believed produced fair economic outcomes might have been the case for certain groups in society.  Not for enslaved African Americans, clearly; not for Native Americans kicked off their land; not for women; almost certainly not for poor white sharecroppers… but possibly for other non-share-cropping white males.  Yet, even by the logic of that truncated definition of “society,” today clearly American is not a land that produces equal opportunities for all to excel.  In fact, a slew of recent studies have found that Americans born into poverty move up the income ladder less frequently than their peers do in areas of the world such as Germany, the Scandinavian countries, Canada, France and many other advanced industrial democracies; and that the incomes of children born into poverty end up more closely resembling their parents’ income than is the case elsewhere.  The reports come not just from liberal academics and think tanks, but also from establishment institutions such as the Boston branch of the Federal Reserve, and government data-collecting agencies such as the Bureau of Labor Statistics.  On measure after measure, social mobility in the United States has fallen off from where it was in previous eras; and, as worrying, a host of other countries that used to trail America in terms of the opportunities they afforded the impoverished amongst their citizenry now stand out as providing increased levels of opportunity.

For a country built on notions of self-improvement, home to millions of immigrants and their descendants – who come, and come, to a country they believe gives them opportunities to succeed that they would have nowhere else on earth – that curtailment of opportunity at the bottom of the economy is peculiarly devastating. 

Pg. 197
My purpose is not to suggest that we enforce absolute equality on a population of 300 million people.  Despite the fearmongering raised by conservatives whenever conversations about equity take center stage, absolute equality is neither possible nor remotely desirable; it is, in fact, a straw man.  Rather, I hope to suggest ways of limiting the extreme levels of inequality that have, increasingly, come to derail the American civic project in recent decades, as well as developing quality uses for hard-earned tax dollars so that large numbers of Americans are willing, once more, to fund the sorts of ambitious social investments that allowed for the creation of Social Security, Medicare, and unemployment insurance.  Nor is my goal to undermine important moral and philosophical notions about the importance of personal responsibility; rather, it is to suggest ways of giving everybody an opportunity to maximize their own potential.

Lastly, my intent is certainly not to propose a set of policies that inexorably increase the national debt; nor is it to suggest that the country’s political leaders somehow spin money out of nothing.  The size of America’s economy, as of this writing, is in the region of $16 trillion per year.  That’s large, but it’s not limitless.  In an era of anxieties about ballooning budget deficits, I want to show how, in redistributing a few hundred billion dollars per year of that $16 trillion economy, through changes to the tax structure and changes in how we prioritize federal and state spending – or, to put it another way, in reprioritizing who receives and who spends about 2 to 3 percent of the vast national pot of wealth that is America, while leaving undisturbed the remaining 97 to 98 percent – we can create a set of vital anti-poverty initiatives that have the potential to dramatically improve the lives of tens of millions of Americans.  And I want to show how, if done smartly, these initiatives can serve as a down payment for a decades-long push that has the potential not just to ameliorate poverty once it arises but to make its presence a rarity rather than a commonplace in mid-twenty-first-century American life.

Pg. 199
Poverty is, after all, a web of problems enormous in their complexity.  It bubbles up because of systemic failures in how the economy and the political process functions and at the same time, it also emerges because of individual choices and behaviors.  Any simple solutions, any one-size-fits-all promises of reform, are doomed to failure, and anyone who claims to have found a magic bullet to once and for all banish poverty from America’s shores is either a scam artist or a Pollyanna.

Pg. 206
“In seeking to close the achievement gap for low-income and minority students,” wrote economist Richard Rothstein in his 2004 book Class and Schools, “policy makers focus inordinate attention on the improvement of instruction, because they apparently believe that social class differences are immutable, and that only schools can improve the destines of lower-class children. “  But, he continued, in all likelihood “establishing an optometric clinic in a school to improve the vision of low-income children would probably have a bigger impact on their test scores than spending the same money on instructional improvement.”

Raising the minimum wage so that the parents of these children were earning enough money to adequately feed, clothe, and house these same kids would work even bigger wonders.  In fact, argued Rothstein, increasing the minimum wage or boosting the EITC “should be considered educational policies as well as economic ones, for they would likely result in higher academic performance from children whose families are more secure.”

Rothstein calculated the cost of a series of big-picture reforms that would use schools as epicenters in a broader communal effort against poverty and its consequences.  How much wojuld it cost to create a set of conditions that would allow kids from impoverished backgrounds to approximate the experiences, both educational and life, of more affluent children?  His answer: $156 billion per year.

Now that’s a huge sum of money and one that clearly isn’t going to be freed up by federal and state governments anytime soon.  But, as Rothstein points out, it’s about equal to the amount of money redistributed back to the super-wealthy as a result of the tax cuts enacted during the early years of George W. Bush’s presidency.  That’s not a nebulous comparison:  In a world of finite resources, tax cuts have consequences.  One of them is that less money is available for public goods that benefit everyone and that can be used as tools to tamp down broader inequities.  Yes, in the current political moment any politician who proposes raising taxes to fund a $156 billion per year increase in education spending would be printing themselves a one-way ticket to political oblivion.  But, in another moment, defined by a different set of priorities, a country as wealthy and dynamic as is America could, clearly, fund some extremely ambitious anti-poverty, and pro-education, measures.

Rothsein’s yardstick is, though not politically realistic, at the very least a wakeup call.  Even if massive infusions of funds are off the table, surely states oughtn’t to be slashing ever more money from already-stressed schools.  For when they do, when states such as California remove billions of dollars from being spent on K-12 classrooms, year upon year upon year, and reduce the length of the school year to further trim costs, inevitably the poor get hurt the most.   And as inevitable, when that happens, inequality increases, and the long-term life prospects for large groups of Americans deteriorates. 

Pg. 211
In 1974, the English political philosopher Steven Lukes published his book, “Power:  A Radical View.”  In it, he argues that there were three core ways in which power could be exercised, each more pervasive than the next.  The first was raw coercion; one person, group of people, or institution had power and through force compelled others to bow down before it.  The second was slightly more subtle, but even more effective: The groups with power managed to convince their underlings to legitimate that power, both by shaping people’s preferences and, as effectively, by determining what they didn’t want in their lives.  In such a society, those without power voluntarily acquiesced in their own situation.  The third, and most dominant of all, occurred when powerful individuals and institutions managed to so control the psychology of those without power that populations no longer even realized they were being manipulated.  They acquiesced in their own powerlessness and no longer could even envision alternatives. 

In such a scenario, power relationships were so utterly omnipresent that they had become invisible; they were simply the background to every experience, to every choice made in society. And, in a world so governed, the manipulation of the many for the benefit of the few became normal, the currency of political business.

That unfortunately, is indeed how too many transactions are conducted in American politics today.  That’s how people who live just inside the margins are convinced to blame those just outside the margins for their poverty; its’ how people whose wages have shrunk – whose benefits have been eviscerated, and whose access to government assistance has wanted are convinced to vote for anti-tax, anti-regulatory, anti-safety net politicians who will further batter their pocketbooks and throw them into insecurity.  It’s how people without pensions are convinced to blame public sector works who still have pensions for the country’s economic plight, rather than asking why more workers in the world’s wealthiest country don’t have secure retirements in the first place. 

Pg. 219
Currently, the federal government mandates that states provide certain benefits and services, but doesn’t mandate how the states fund these requirements.  As a result, in many more conservative states legislators simply adopted deeply regressive tax systems – such as imposing sales taxes on food to fund social services or, in the case of Alabama, calculating higher state tax liabilities for the poor if the poor have been given a federal subsidy such as the Earned Income Tax Credit – to cover their increased obligations.  These are pure examples of robbing Peter to feed Paul, and they are particularly ironic given how vocally anti-tax most of the political leaders in states such as Alabama are.  Any rational antipoverty strategy would immediately alter such tax codes so as to make them more representative to the needs of the poorest of taxpayers.  Failure to do so would only stoke the suspicion that when conservative southern politicians proclaim their hostility to taxes, what they really mean is a hostility to the sorts of taxes paid by the sorts of affluent voters who tend to make up their electoral base and a resistance to fund the sorts of programs generally used by people who aren’t part of that base. 

Pg. 224
But while Medicaid is a whole lot better than nothing, it has, historically, been severely restricted in a number of ways.  In fact, until all of the major Affordable Care Act provisions kick in, in 2014, most states won’t extend Medicaid to childless adults.  At the same time, a minority of states, mainly southern ones, will continue to place huge restrictions on adults of any status, even those with young children at home, gaining access.

The problem, however, goes beyond one of gate-keeping.  Even in states that have relatively liberal eligibility  requirements for their programs, there are strict asset tests in place that have the effect of forcing the temporarily out of work and/or cash poor to strip themselves of almost all their worldly possessions (homes, car, retirement accounts, savings) simply to gain healthcare – even if this ends up condemning them to long-term poverty by depriving them of the possessions and financial cushions that people need before they can even start working their way up the economic ladder again.
How, for example, can an unemployed person in an area without public transport get a job, and travel to that job, if he has had to sell his vehicle so as to get medical coverage?  Or how can a person afford to retire if she has had to liquidate her small nest egg for that healthcare access?  What should the middle-aged businessmen in California who had lost his business during the recession and who needed knee surgery before he could take on new work do when he was told that he couldn’t get medical assistance, and thus couldn’t get his surgery, until he had stripped himself down to a maximum of $2,000 of assets?  It is, truly, a Faustian bargain into which large numbers of Americans have been pushed.

In other words, while Medicaid does enroll more people during recessions, it does so in a way that, at times, might actually have the effect of tamping down economic recovery down the road by locking recipients into a deeper poverty than they were in when first they lost their income.  In deep recessions, in particular, modifying or eliminating, asset test for Medicaid would go a long way toward keeping people both healthy and out of long-term poverty.  Yet that hasn’t happened.  The political will simply isn’t there. 

Pg. 230
People who feel insecure themselves feel threatened by the idea that somebody who’s demonstrably worse off than they are is going to get help and they’re not.  They have an instinctive feeling these people are not deserving.  There’s been a divide and conquer thing coming from people and interest higher up the income level.  We’ve had an unremitting attack on welfare that started in the late ‘60s.  An unremitting drumbeat saying people who are in need are actually just not trying hard enough, they’re lazy, have become dependent on welfare and it’s ruined their character, and all the rest of it.
Pg. 233
Instead of the current punishment-based approach to welfare – find a job at all costs, or you’ll be cut off from welfare – Americans would benefit from, and the country’s best impulses would be showcased by, an incentive-based solution that rewards those who find work with extra help.  This help should range from an expanded Earned Income Tax Credit to ongoing childcare assistance, from transportation subsidies perhaps on up to top-up welfare checks from the state for a specific period of time while those who have spent months or years on public assistance navigate the tough early days in a new job.  Such a strategy would go further toward raising lower income families out of poverty – to eliminating the poverty trap traditionally associated with welfare – than a great bundle of sticks each used to whack poor Americans harder than the one before. 

Pg. 234
Ultimately, if we cannot work out a language with which to highlight poverty’s corrosive reach, and posit solutions to the problems facing those at the bottom of the economic ladder, our democratic institutions will themselves suffer.  In the long run, the cost of inaction will far surpass the price of intervention.  Far better to get it right now than to deal with decades of collateral damage from our inaction today. 

Pg. 240
[David Onek] urged what reformers were calling “justice reinvestments,” taking money saved by locking fewer people up, and investing it in programs that would lower crime rates through tracking poverty, addiction, mental illness, and other massive societal problems. 
Use the criminal justice system to deal merely with the criminal symptoms of a person’s underlying problems, and you solve nothing, Onek understood.  Instead, you just spent a ton of money locking people up – money that ends up being diverted from other parts of county and state budgets.  And you effectively brand a large pool of people with a modern-day scarlet letter, one they will carry with them when they leave jail or prison, and that will have the effect both of limiting the kinds of work they can do subsequently, and also reducing the amount of money they will earn over the rest of their lives.  In 2012, the Department of Justice reported that a spell behind bars can reduce a person’s future earning by 40 percent.
Imprisonment is, quite simply, all too often a response to poverty, and overwhelmingly it serves as a one-way ticket to lifelong penury.  It is, for this and many other reasons, a powerful weapon to use against someone, and as such it should be used sparingly.
Of course, when people are dangerous, when they are predatory, when their crimes seriously harm others, and when there is no way to keep society safe from their actions other than by locking them up, then incarceration is entirely appropriate.  But when, as is all too often the case in a country that has more than quintupled its incarcerated population since the early 1970s, and that now houses far more nonviolent inmates than any other country on earth, a jailor prison sentence serves mainly to allow society to blow off steam at misfits and miscreants, then, surely, it is better to look for alternatives.  After all, to reiterate a point previously state, in many parts of the country locking someone up costs more, per year, than sending a person to an Ivy League college. And, in the same way as the parents of a Harvard student expect band for their bucks, so, too, taxpayers have a right to expect criminal justice expenditures to make society safer and reduce the likelihood that people will return to crime once their sentences are completed.

Pg. 242
“We have an absolute fiscal crisis.  The number-one driver of that crisis is the cost of prisons.  Meanwhile, teachers are getting pink-slipped, police are being laid off, social services are being cut. Certainly there are people who need to be locked up for long periods of time.  Unfortunately, we have lots of people being locked up who don’t meet that description. “  Onek talked of a three-strikes inmate serving life for breaking into a soup kitchen, another serving life for stealing a pair of socks. And he spoke angrily of how it would cost California nearly $5 billion during the following twenty years to keep incarcerated its population of nonviolent three strikers. “obviously, life in prison, any reasonable person would say, is completely exorbitant punishment for the minor crimes they have committed.  It is foolish; it is literally bankrupting our state.  And we can’t afford it.”

Pg. 264
At the risk of flogging a dead horse, let me reiterate a key point here:  cutting education grants to poor people is utterly counterproductive.  It’s stupid, slash-and-burn, public policy.  It burdens families who stay they educational course with crippling levels of debt, and it discourages others from staying in school and going to college in the first place, thus tamping down their income potential for the remainder of their working lives.

Pg. 266
Again, let me stress a point I made earlier; our problem is not a lack of resources to tackle poverty; rather, it has been a lack of will to enact the legislature and taxation reforms that would free up the necessary dollars for such an effort.

Pg. 275
Stable economic environments tend not to produce gangs, street-level drug markets, hunger, homelessness, and all the other daily facts of life that poor kids have to navigate in their communities. Less hunger, violence, and drug dealing tends to mean less disruptive classrooms.  Less disruption inside the classroom means that teachers have more time to actually teach kids and engage with them educationally as opposed to trying to impose discipline on chaotic, and sometimes dangerous, situations. And more meaningful teacher-student interactions tend to lead to higher educational attainments.
In many ways, I believe, educational virtuous circles can be spurred at least in party by non-educational reforms. And many of those reforms are at the heart of the holistic anti-poverty strategy that I have detailed in the pages of this book.  Absent those changes, absent the pathways to broader prosperity made possible by investments in job creation, by affordable healthcare, by large-scale changes in housing markets, and so on, the path to a renascent K-12, even with significant infusions of extra cash, is much rockier.

Pg. 276
Navigate a virtuous circle counter-clockwise, and one dysfunction butts up against another.  If you’re born into wealthy, you will have available to you the most cutting-edge educational facilities.  But if you’re born into poverty – and, increasingly these days, into middle-income families – your options, unless you are one of the lucky few to live near a thriving charter school or a good local public school, are far more limited.  Your family will be unable to afford quality preschool – which makes it far less likely that you’ll succeed academically once you do enter school.  You will suffer the consequences of buzz saws having been taken to programs like Head Start that subsidize early learning opportunities for lower income kids.  You will all too likely attend overcrowded schools reeling from teacher and staff layoffs as a result of endless local and state budget fiascos, in which you use out-of-date textbooks, no longer have access to non-core requirement courses, and rarely are exposes to music, art, and other vital, culturally enriching, aspects of life.  Your school year will likely be shorter than that students experience in most every other wealthy democracy.  And, if and when you manage to get into college despite these obstacles, you will end up heavily indebted and working an array of jobs in a vain attempt to keep up with soaring tuition costs and make up the shortfalls from inadequate Pell Grants.
At every stage of the educational journ, in short, we make it harder on those at the bottom of the economic pyramid.  It’s as if we set up a one-hundred meter race, some of the participants in wich get to sprint down open lanes, while others have to jump a series of hurdles. No guesses for which group of racers will tend to finish ahead of the pack.

Pg. 278
But [educational reform] must occur in a way that recognizes that schools, and school problems, are anchored in the broader community.  While taking dollars away from schools is a surefire way to reduce the quality of the learning experience, raising the money spent on schools, while leaving the broader social conditions unchanged, can’t in and of itself guarantee improvement. 

Pg. 280
So long as the broader conditions limit children’s learning potential – so long as kids are homeless, coming to school hungry, living in communities broken down by drugs and gangs, attending schools so short of funds that class sizes are soaring and textbooks become a luxury rather than a necessity – good teachers along will not be sufficient.
“No nation in the world has eliminated poverty by firing teachers or by handing its public schools over to private managers,” wrote New York University research professor of education Diane Ravitch in the New York Review of Books .  “Nor does research support either strategy. But these inconvenient facts do not reduce the reformers’ zeal.  The new breed of school reformers consist mainly of Wall Street hedge fund managers, foundation officials, corporate executives, entrepreneurs, and policy makers, but few experienced educators. 

Ravitch, a onetime assistant secretary of state for education under president George H. W. Bush and author of the book The Death and Life of the Great American School System, felt that wealthy reformers were setting up charter schools that, because they could cherry-pick their students, weeded out those who did badly on tests.  They provided the illusion of better education while, in reality, oftentimes they were simply being more selective in which students they accepted than could the regular public schools with which they were in competition.  “Charters would be fine if they focuses on the kids who were the lowest-performing kids. And then [they could] come to the public schools and say, ‘Hey, we’ve learned something new, we want to share this with you because we’re part of the same system we want to help,” she told the American Prospect’s Abby Rapoport in the fall of 2012, “Instead, charters have become a competitor to see who can get the highest test scores.”

Pg. 283
Think about these problems in isolate and they appear overwhelming.  Think of them as pieces of a whole, and paradoxically, they problems become more solvable. Fixing America’s educational system cannot be done simply by focusing on schools; but understand the specific challenges faced by low-income kids who go to school hungry, who lack basic medical attention, who might have never been tested for eye problems, whose parents have lost jobs or landed themselves in prison, and more realistic solutions present themselves.  Understand homelessness as simply a personal catastrophe and it is difficult, if not impossible, to fathom why so many millions of Americans lack stable housing options, but approach this crisis as the collateral damage caused by unemployment, by the systemic marketing of bad debt, by underinvestment in mental health and foster care systems, by overinvestment in criminal justice systems, and, again, new and creative solutions can be generated.
As a country, we have the political tools to break both old cycles of poverty and also the new ones produced in the wake of financial collapse.  Add in a credible does of empathy, of moral imagination and indignation, and there’s no reason that we couldn’t, to deliberately misquote Grover Norquist, shrink the problems of entrenched poverty down to a size at which it could be drowned in a bathtub.
That someone is born poor in a country as wealthy and dynamic as is the United States ought in no measure to determine that they will die por.  And yet, for millions of Americans today, their birth is indeed their destiny.  Ensuring that the democratic aspirations of mobility and opportunity for all becomes a reality once more should, I believe be one of twenty-first century America’s top political and moral priorities.

Pg. 287
The disparity of wealth, the disparity of income, the shrinking of wages.  We find our country moving into the most stratified class distinctions that we have ever seen.  And with it comes an increase in poverty.  It’s a very dangerous social crisis that faces this country.  Every time we cut a vital support program the poverty rate goes up and the misery quotient goes up.  For us to tolerate a poverty rate and a permanent underclass of poor people in this country goes against everything that we believe we are as a nation in terms of our values.

Pg. 317
The central idea is simple: As a community, we strengthen ourselves when we find ways to protect our most vulnerable.  When we work out mechanisms to boost the wages of earners trapped at the bottom of the economy.  When we think up creative solutions to keep poor people housed and with access to healthcare.  We bolster the country when we invest in educational infrastructure in a way that makes it possible for poorer children to have as much opportunity in life as their more affluent peers, and when we make sure that pension systems are strong enough to keep the elderly out of poverty.  We enrich ourselves as a society when we reinvigorate our sense of the common good.

Pg. 325
How do we pay for such an ambitious set of projects?
Partly through targeted, sensible, fair tax increases: raising the capital gains tax, increasing the income tax on the wealthiest Americans, eliminating the upper limit for Social Security contributions, reintroducing an oil windfall profit tax, creating a viable financial transactions tax, and imposing estate taxes on large inheritances that are more in line with the taxes levied by countries such as England and Germany.  We un-starve the beast that Grover Norquist’s acolytes have spent three decades gratuitously depriving of nutrients. The creature that is social assistance for the poor, the young, and the elderly is, after all, a far less harmful beast than that of the new plutocracy – which has spent the past several decades fattening itself at the public’s expense; insulating its moneys from taxation; and ensuring the uninterrupted transfer of wealth, privilege and power down the generations.
Partly, we fund such programs through paring other areas of the budget – for example, limiting defense spending increases and restricting the percentage of healthcare dollars that can be used to feather the nests of insurance company executives.  And by asking consumers to pay marginallymore – for goods bought at big box stores and fast food restaurants, for example – so as to provide mechanism to boost the wages of the working poor. 
And partly, through designing them well, we make sure that these programs help fund themselves: Increasing the Earned Income Tax Credit, for examply, by providing low-income families more money to spend on nutritional food and on preventive healthcare, reduces the medical costs associated with large numbers of low-weight and premature babies. Creating a guaranteed minimum income, using taxes imposed on the extraction of state’s natural resources to distribute annual checks to residents of specific states, or seeding businesses in poor communities through an expansion of micro-credit – all would help circulate money through depressed neighborhoods.  Boosting employment through public works would lead to a virtuous circle of economic growth.

How do we generate the political will for such an overarching and holistic project? We educate.  We empower people.  WE convince enough Americans that no matter how much money from big-dollar donors flood the political system, a democracy as vibrant as America’s can, and should, respond to the fundamental needs of its populace.

As did Peicles two and a half millennia ago, when he warned that raging economic divides threatened the Athenian citizen democracy, and as did Polanyi sixty years ago, we detail the dangers to freedom than necessarily accompany a stampede toward ever greater levels of inequality. And we highlight a set of values and a slate of policies that can block that journey into plutocracy.