Contentedly Surviving Poverty
Last night I realized something significant. It’s fairly self-evident, but in the spirit of denial, I didn’t want to see it — or couldn’t. I think I saw our current situation as temporary. Who knows why denial is such a powerful tool. I do know I’ve been bitter, angry, and have felt victimized — like those are even useful tools? So, in an effort to combat those dysfunctional feelings, I chose denial. I guess the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree after all.
One of my main frustrations with my Dad is his overuse of the denial card. Sometimes, to the point of being clueless. When he wasn’t utilizing denial, it seemed as if he made decisions based on fear. Occasionally he’d have a vision and dream that he would pursue, but too often, he lived in denial. Grrr, that was frustrating to watch, but then I have opportunities like this to help me see the denial in my own life.
There are people all over the world who live in poverty. They didn’t choose to live in that country, region, or war-torn desolation. It’s just what happened. In the west, we are isolated from the total deprivation that is absolutely desperate. In fact, even the poorest person in the USA is richer than most of the world’s population.
I didn’t choose to lose my job in 2009 — even though some of my choices led to that firing. I didn’t chose to lose my house and (nearly) everything we owned, even though certain choices led to that circumstance. I believe there were dysfunctional forces and misguided political interests that were stacked against us — but how is that different than a peasant family in Syria losing everything and fleeing their homeland, or a Miskito family in Nicaragua living without food and healthcare?
For the past seven years I’ve been working through the anger of injustice, the hurt of not being heard, the loneliness of being abandoned and ostracized, the bitterness of rejection, the grief of loss, the fear of poverty, and the helplessness of being victimized.
Of course, I know on an intellectual level that faith, prayer, and therapy can overcome these feelings. I know that people who feel victimized place themselves into a cycle of fear, dependence, and hopelessness. Even when one is victimized — by flood, tornado, predators, or disease, it is important for them to rise above that feeling and see themselves as a survivor.
This is why we don’t refer to “victims” of abuse, but “survivors” of abuse. We don’t say we are “suffering” from cancer, rather, we are “fighting” cancer.
Does this mean I am not a victim of the 2008 financial collapse? Maybe I’m a survivor of the crash? It’s really just semantics, but it’s also how we see ourselves and how we approach life.
…dropping the facade of denial is a good thing…
Three years ago we drove away from our rural Oregon home on the banks of the mighty Columbia River with no more than what would fit in a 14 foot, broken down, box truck. The fear and discouragement threatened to consume me. It was as if I were wading through waist deep, wet concrete. Every step was an overwhelming effort. It seemed as if my heart could not contain the grief and fear. For the next six months we lived on the grace of public assistance (food stamps, unemployment checks, and medicaid) and relatives and friends. We were homeless, unemployed, and waiting.
What I realized last night was how I’ve also been subsisting on denial — with a side-dish of victimization. For a couple of years I’ve been gainfully employed in a perfect job. It’s as if the last 40 years has perfectly equipped me for such a time as this. However, I’ve been clear with others that what I’ve been through is not fair, I was wronged, and I’m a victim of injustice. I’ve been quick to point out that my family is living just above the poverty line. I’m not afraid to share that we lost everything and for awhile we were homeless and unemployed.
Unfortunately, this has not really garner the sympathy and support I was craving. Some showed interest. Others changed the subject. Some remained my friend, others moved on. If people would linger, I’d share my views on the injustices of our culture, the brokenness of The Church and The Government, et cetera, blah, blah, blah.
But, so what?
Last night I stood in my bedroom. I looked at the broken and torn blinds that we pull down each night. I used paper clips to hold our cheap, ugly curtains together. I glanced out the drafty window clouded by age and condensation. I looked up at the gooey fly paper hanging from the ceiling. I crawled under the cacophony of old blankets that keep me warm at night and listened to the gurgling of the pipes. I wondered if this would be the night the plumbing breaks, or the furnace explodes. I wondered if we would ever live in a decent house again?
And then it struck me — we’re poor.
We really are. Our cars are old, our furniture is used, torn, and deteriorating. Our floors are scrappy, our basement is smelly, and our house is old. We scrimp on food, don’t eat out, and we limit our spending in a myriad of ways. Most of my clothes are 10–20 years old and I make old shoes work because they still do — even if they are in need of replacement.
But dropping the facade of denial is a good thing. In fact, we are warm, dry, and well-fed. Our lives have purpose and meaning. We are not in debt, our marriage and family are healthy — physically, emotionally, and spiritually. We have all we need, and our wants are few.
Poverty is not a bad place to be.
Jesus said, “Blessed (happy) are the poor in spirit, for the Kingdom of Heaven is theirs.” I see that today. I really do.
I’m no longer a victim. I am a survivor.
Compared to 90% of the world’s population, I am rich. Compared to the way my ancestors lived in the 1930s, life is grand. We are comfortable — many do not have the luxuries we have.
Yes, we’re poor and we may never live in a brand-new, 2000 square-foot, four-bedroom house again, but what does that have to do with happiness and contentment? Nothing.
