God Doesn't Help Those Who Help Themselves

Its a notion that has permeated Christian culture, the idea that God helps those who help themselves.  But its not true.  That axiom was created by the same people who feel a right to judge every situation.  I see it everyday on Facebook, judging people using government assistance, or the handicapped parking spot, or taking advantage of free offers and food for the poor.  This judgement is heartbreaking.  It sat wrong with me as a middle class American, now it gnaws at me as an impoverished one.

I want to ask for help.  I type the status on Facebook--that internet collection of friends and family who supposedly have an interest in me and my family's well being.  I can't bring myself to hit post.  I can't bring myself to beg.  Not when I see that my family and friends demand the degradation of people who are already begging for help from a reluctant government.  Not when they howl for drug testing the poor, or complain about the diets of the poor, or decide who is worthy and who is not so for the limited government assistance available.  How can I ask for someone to help me by sending their cast-offs for my children to wear?  How can I ask to tag-a-long on a Costco trip in hopes of buying cheaper dog food?  How can I even acknowledge that I can't get health insurance in the state of Idaho because I'm too poor for the federal government to help and yet not poor enough for our state to begrudgingly help us?

By the way, its not in the Bible.  If God only helped those who helped themselves we have no need for grace.

A Stretch to Relate to a Dying Goldfish

The goldfish is dying. The oldest shrugged and said she hadn't planned for the fish to live more than a week when she bought it 4 years ago.  Its a life, and it deserves to be treated with respect.  An angry responding question, "what's the difference when you catch fish?" 

 "What do we do with those fish?  Don't we eat them?  Have you ever seen us waste the fish--waste the life?"  I'm much angrier at her for allowing her goldfish to suffer and die than my own mother was of me when mine suffered a similar fate.

Yet, I wonder as that poor goldfish struggles to live, or maybe struggles to die, even as the water has been changed and the tank cleaned, the guilt offering of food, I wonder at how its a lot like everything in my life right now.  We need, we need, and we are ignored and shrugged off.  We have no voice to be heard as we struggle through the drowning in everything.

Like our fish, we do our housekeeping; I've watched the fish move rocks to free its plant and move it to a more pleasing location.  We keep our home painfully clean, trying to keep out the squalor associated with the poor.  The kids cringe when stern voices question them on why shoes are out, or army men are left to march across the floor.  I suppose its the only thing we can still control with certainty.  It isn't fair to them, we know that, but to be poor and slovenly?  Unthinkable.  Like the fish with its rocks, its a compulsion we can't seem to control.

So, we keep our home clean. We forget the sad little goldfish burning in its ammonia saturated tank.  

I can't help but watch the fish as it gives up, then fights to live, and then gives up, over and over. 

I was once very proud of the new, little house, the trees with the sun glinting off the leaves, the brightly colored vegetables that grew, the beautiful kids and striking pets.  The goldfish sparkled in it shiny new tank. It all glittered with lower, middle-class hope. 

I'm not completely sure that we won't be like the fish.  What happens if everything finally changes? What happens if nothing changes?

Small things

To start, the Boy broke his arm this week.  We are definitely praying and hoping that it heals without complications.  He was a trooper through the whole ordeal, in fact, the combination of his personal brands of stoicism and humor kept the ER doctor and nurses laughing.  The kid really is one of the brightest lights in our life.  He's managing to handle the discomforts and inconveniences with great aplomb.

Other small things today:  The kids' history all line up this year.  I've often had the girls in the same history but last year they worked at their own paces and got off track.  This year, the girls will return to Medieval and progress through the Renaissance.  The boy will continue on from the ancient times to the Medieval and then continue on to the Renaissance too.  We'll be steeping in these time periods for about a full year.  I'm excited.  I really liked the curriculum that we used with the girls when they were around second grade, so I look forward to using it again with the boy.  I have to piecemeal quite a bit for the girls school this year.  The days of buying a large order of curriculum and working through it are gone for now.  I regret my previous dependence on workbooks.  It seemed like such a little thing to be able to replace consumables before.  I'm a little worried about replacing some of the vitals like Math for the boy, but I guess we'll figure something out... we usually do.

So as much of my life seems to be lately, there are still good things amidst the bad.

Back to School

Today is the day that the city goes back to school.  Pictures of kids dressed to impress are popping up on my Facebook newsfeed.  The schoolyard across the street is filled with the voices of excited children, and the nasal drone of names being called intermittently to the school office over the PA system.  My own children check their daily lists, balk at their assigned chores, and continue their lessons as they have throughout the summer.

I considered sending the kids to public school this year, even as I know it isn't the best option for any of my individual children.  They would certainly suffer from the experience as strong-willed, self-directed individuals that have indulged upon rabbit trail learning and open ended time frames all their lives.  But in the end, I save that option as one that we'll only pursue if there is no relief to this onslaught of bad circumstances.  I like homeschooling my kids, even as I nag at the boy to get ready for history, even as I again review fractions.  

I wonder though, how poor people even manage to send their kids to public school.  I looked at the costs of enrollment and for one child its around $50.  That doesn't include the costs of breakfast or lunch, or the special supplies to be purchased at the store.  The government may say we are entitled to a public education but it certainly is not free.

Ache

I limp to the window and watch as my oldest and youngest set out walking the dogs.  My husband has pulled out of the garage in order to go to "fake work".  He's been out of real work now for 9 months.  He goes to an office in a neighboring town, where he and his former coworkers try to find jobs.   Metal prices are down, you know.  Things might pick up soon.  In the meantime, he uses his time to look for work.  With tens of thousands of unemployed geologists out there, the competition is stiff, even for the best.

I hurt.  The student doctor at the free clinic said it was a torn meniscus.  The best they could do was suggest time and a stronger anti-inflammatory that eats my stomach.  These things normally heal and in a few weeks it should have been well on its way.  I know from the constant pain, the catching, the painful joint popping that wake me up at night, it is not right.  I know enough to know that this is not the simple small tear.

I hurt. The arthritis, discovered three years ago, in the other knee and in the lower back has gotten so bad that I can't help but cry in my sleep.  Its surprisingly excruciating.  Some days, I use crutches simply because the pain cannot be dimmed by the pain relievers I take around the clock.  It is a surprise when I push back the blankets and step out of bed only to realize I cannot actually stand or walk.  Some days, I feel sorry for myself.  A walk.  Just a short walk.  I am not asking to hike the back country, I'm just asking for an evening walk.

I look for work, since the security of a paycheck would keep us in our home, with our car, and feed our children.  I interview, and I answer questions about the knee.  I am not sure if its appropriate for them to ask, but then I am not sure if I'm lying by telling them its temporary.  So I guess we are even.

I ache.

A change in Naptime

I'm going to take Naptime in a different direction for a while.  I know I haven't posted in the last 3 years, and I need to write to reflect that change.  I need write through what is going on in my life now.

Life is hard.  Sometimes having an outlet helps.