Generous People Are: Part 3

I met Scott the summer after fourth grade. We became the best-est of friends. And luckily, we have stayed friends. He is a brother to me. An eternal part of my story and my family's story.

Recently, Ryan and I were at dinner with he and his wife Jessica. Jessica began to tell about a funny moment she had at work while on her lunch break. She recalled checking Facebook and seeing that I had posted a message that went something like, "A dear friend of mine since the 4th grade just bought 25 copies of my new CD to give out to his friends and family. I hope I'm as good of a friend to other people as they are to me."  She immediately knew who that friend was and called her husband.

"Hey- what are you doing?"

"Not much," he replied. "What are you doing?"

"Well- I'm just at work, checking Facebook, wondering if we are the proud new owners of 25 copies of Jenny's new CD?!?!?"

We all died laughing as we sat around the dinner table hearing this story. And Scott said he couldn't help it. He had to support me. I was like his sister.

Scott is also the man who found out that Ryan and I needed to move from one apartment to another- in less than 24 hours- and showed up. I was 9 months pregnant and about to leave on the last leg of a tour. We went downstairs to find our van, trailer, merchandise and all our instruments gone. Not only did we lose everything we used to make a living; we lost our sense of safety. And I refused to bring a new little person into that kind of place. So we called the police and I immediately started packing.

A lot of generous people showed up for us that day. Scott sticks out because he drove 30 minutes and came in a 3-piece suit on his lunch break and worked, in the Texas sun, for nearly two hours. Who does that?

My friend Krista also sticks out. She showed up that day with a yellow legal pad. She handed her own kids off to a babysitter and told me to get in the car. She was going to drive me to apartment complexes across town until we found a suitable place to live. Dropping everything on her agenda that day- she took a broke, crying, pregnant girl to apartment complexes and negotiated lease agreements like a seasoned lawyer. When the agent didn't seem like they would break- she would play up the "this is a pregnant woman whose livelihood was just stolen from the parking lot- don't you have anything better to offer her?!" card.  And then she would look at them with that look. You know the look. She helped me find the perfect place. The place our daughter called home until she was three-years-old.

Exactly one year later, March 2010, Krista was one of the first people to reach out after the fire that took away the rest of our livelihood. Krista is practical. Not so much the nurturing friend. But the friend who shows up with a legal pad. She called and said- "How much money do you need?" I said I didn't know. She said- "To replace instruments and the things you need to make a living until the insurance money kicks in? How much?" After some adding up I told her about $10,000. "Gregg will be in touch asap"- she said.  That's her husband- our friend.

They sent us $15,000.

They told us to keep doing what we were doing- making music that brought the world a little bit of hope- and pay them back whenever the insurance money started coming in.

When I think of generous people- I think of Scott and Jessica; Greg and Krista. I think of so many people who are just- well-

slightly crazy

Over the years I've learned a lot about what generous people have in common. They are free. They are people lovers. They are usually joyful. They are people of purpose. They are not necessarily rich by "Western standards"; just diligent and faithful with what they do have. And- truth be told- they are just slightly crazy.

They live differently than the rest of the world. They live with open hands and open hearts. They make decisions based less on logic and more on love. They think a little less about themselves and a little more about others. They see a bigger picture. Often beyond today. They remember yesterday and dream big for tomorrow.

25 CD's? That doesn't make logical sense. It's excessive! It's exorbitant! It's generous.   A legal pad, leaving your kids, and a day devoted to coaxing apartment agents? It's excessive! It's exorbitant! It's generous. A normal couple loaning a band $30,000 out of the kids college fun? It's excessive! It's exorbitant! It's generous. A dad who says "Are you 0k" long before he wonders if his stuff is ok. It's excessive, exorbitant generosity.

People who live like this seem a little bit crazy. They stand starkly against the tendencies of human nature and show us what it looks like to turn things upside down and on their heads. Jesus was the ultimate example of generosity. And he taught that his ways would be so confounding to people fully immersed in themselves and the greedy, selfish nature of this world that they would actually hate him and his ways- because his way of living- stood in stark contrast to selfishness.

"In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death— even death on a cross!"

Philippians 2:5-8 seems to paint a pretty upside down idea of a typical "successful man." And yet it was this man who changed the course of history because of who he was, how he lived and what he gave away freely. Jesus set the stage for what it looks like to live generously.

People who practice generosity don't expect anything in return. In fact, often times there is no way to even give them something in return. They give without expecting. They give without selfishly hoarding. They humble themselves- giving freely of who they are and what they have.

Generous people give away intelligence, cures, time, money, grace, wisdom, friendship, power, hope and health. They do it backwards. Their idea of success is different. And at the end of the day- many people look at generous people- with puzzled eyes, all the while thinking, "You people are CRAZY."

And they are. They live by different standards. Generous people are free, people-loving, joyful, purposeful people living counter-culturally in a "me-first", security-driven, selfish culture.

And that makes generous people just a little bit crazy...

for all the right reasons.

Generous People Are: Part 2

A few years ago I wrecked my dad’s truck. In the Target parking lot. I wrecked into a parked car. I pulled through a spot, turned left, and somehow- in a stroke of mind-boggling science- I hit the car to my right and jacked it up into the air. Straight up into the air, with my truck pinned underneath its driver-side hood. Kids and old ladies gasped and everyone else was looking at me, smirking, as if I was the most stupid girl they had ever seen in real-life-action. Who hits a parked car? Seriously Jenny?

I called my dad crying.

And he replied the same way he has my entire life. “Are you hurt? Are you OK?”

And I replied the same way I have my entire life. “I’m fine. I just _____.”

Wrecked your truck. Caught the microwave on fire. Spilled nail polish all over the carpet. Broke all the glasses in the top of the dishwasher. Burned a hole in the carpet with my curling iron. Locked myself out of the house. Out of the car. With Annie inside.

You know- the normal issues a girl like me has.

And dad always responds the same. No matter what I throw at him. “Are you hurt? Are you OK?”

I tell him I am fine. And then he always, always says, “OK. Well that other stuff is just stuff. As long as you are OK. That’s all I care about.”

And the thing is- he means it.

He cares more about me, my mom and my sisters than about the carpet or his truck or any of his belongings.  And he has always made sure in the midst of our tears and panic- that we KNOW- besides us, to him, everything else is just stuff.

My dad is, without question, the most generous man I know. And not just with his money- though he is insanely generous with his money. He is generous with his affection. He is generous with his forgiveness. He is generous with his time. And he is generous with his grace.

Take  IT

Back to that pesky fire I talked about yesterday.

People were insanely generous with us. We showed up to our next few concerts and people gifted us with clothes, jackets, diapers, suitcases and even guitars. I remember getting a call from a DJ at KLOVE radio who said that someone in Oklahoma had heard about our RV exploding and burning to the ground and had an RV they wanted to offer us to use for as long as we needed it. After some conversations with them- we sent our driver out there to pick it up.

He called Ryan and I and said, “We can’t take this R.V.”

We said, “Why not?”

He said, “It’s too nice. It’s brand new. There’s like- plastic still covering the chairs up and stuff.”

We told the couple that we had had our van and trailer stolen twice that year. Followed by a fire which burned our last RV down to the ground. We told them we were bad luck. We told them we were traveling with at least seven people and a toddler. We told them we would be driving it from California to South Dakota to New Jersey. We told them, there was a chance the thing would come back broken, scratched, with thousands of miles on it.

We told them: you don’t even know us.

They told us: take it.

Them. A young couple. With young kids. With a lot to lose by giving us their RV. This was their investment into their family’s vacations for the next ten, fifteen years. This held incredible value. And they said take it.

And here’s what I’ve learned about generous people from my dad and from this couple in Oklahoma and from so many others:

Generous people like people more than they like stuff.

A lot of them like their stuff too. Like houses and cars and art and good wine and nice clothes and memorable vacations. But at the end of the day- if it comes down to honoring one thing over another- they make it very clear that people trump, say, animals or cars or carpet.

Without flinching, generous people value human beings more than stuff.  Generous people are lovers of people. They realize the value of their belongings pale in comparison to the value of the human being standing before them. Grace trumps glares. People trump possessions. And everything they own finds its value, not in monetary currency, but in the way those things allow for love, grace and open-handed generosity to flourish in the people around them.

Generous People Are _________.

Three years ago- in the springtime- there was a big explosion, followed by an epic fire on the RV we (Addison Road, my former band) were traveling in. We weren’t on the RV at the time- and for that, I am forever grateful. But all of our stuff was. And by stuff, think everything you use to make it through the day. Like clothes and laptops. Then think of everything you use that makes it possible for you to work and earn a paycheck. Ok- we lost all of that stuff. Not to mention the actual vehicle. It feels like a different life time- an eternity has been lived since that moment- an eternity learning about how good people are, how perfect God’s faithfulness is and what generosity really looks like.

I’ve learned a few universal characteristics about generous people these past three years.

This week, I want to share those with you.

Generous People Are ________. 

Making it through the fire and maintaining our business required a short term loan. But banks don’t really give loans to semi-successful bands whose stuff burns up and gets stolen all the time. We are sort of a risk, you know? So we found someone to give us a loan. Mr. American Express. He gave us everything we needed and then some. After about three months of recovering we realized we had to break-up with Mr. American Express and really wished we had never met him. We were back to the original problem. We needed a loan- but seriously- financial institutions were avoiding us like a plague. So I emailed our families, pastors, a few friends and one new acquaintance that I couldn't make myself delete from the list.

That new acquaintance couldn't make himself shake the email. He told his wife- “Addison Road needs a loan and can’t find one. They need $30,000.” He knew they had $30,000 sitting in an account somewhere, but didn't dare mention it to his wife as a real option. Until she said, “Well- we have $30,000 in the kids college fund.”

And if reading that makes you feel uncomfortable- try being the girl on the other end of the phone.

I can’t take your kids college money- what if there is an emergency- and they need to get to college right away? As four-year-olds?!?

After some prayer together, some prayer with us, a contract that said we would honor the loan and a few phone calls back and forth, we found ourselves holding a personal check from a couple we had hardly known- for $30,000.

It should be noted- this isn't a family of millionaires; just normal, middle class Americans. This decision carried a weight for them. But free people, truly free people, are OK making weighty decisions and taking a few risks.

The opposite of freedom is bondage. And most bondage is derived from fear.

What if our child DOES get into college by age 7? What if there is a tragic accident and we need that money immediately? What if we need a new house? Or another car? Or aliens invade?

People who live in fear of the “what-ifs” have a hard time being truly free.

Being financially set for life is a good thing, but we should bear in mind, it is a first world luxury. Historically, most people have not had the luxury to store up a good nest egg for retirement. Secure retirement is a direct result of modern living. And oh how I love modern living! Except that sometimes it damns us to live a life of fear, what-if’s and short-sighted selfishness.

I remember talking to the wife in the early days of this process and she said something that forever changed me, “What if my kids don’t make it to college? I have no guarantees of that- just today. Just what we feel like God is leading us to do right now.”

I mean- she speaks as a woman who might lose a child to the bubonic plague! Imagine! The audacity to live with her hands slightly opened to the possibility that she may not possibly direct her own future!

She lives free. They live free.

From this couple I learned the defining hallmark of truly generous people.

Generous people are free.

They don’t live in fear.

(At least not all the time.)

So do not consume yourselves with questions: What will we eat? What will we drink? What will we wear? Outsiders make themselves frantic over such questions; they don’t realize that your heavenly Father knows exactly what you need. Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and then all these things will be given to you too. So do not worry about tomorrow. Let tomorrow worry about itself. Living faithfully is a large enough task for today.  -Matthew 6: 31-34, The Voice Bible

Why I Like Her.

I just got off the phone with my mom.

She is currently, at this very moment, sitting on her back porch coaxing the largest raccoon I have ever seen into eating bread out of her hand. She gives me the play by play.

"OK. He's getting closer. And closer. Can you believe this?!? He's not even scared of my voice!"

"No SIR. Do NOT eat from that bird feeder! Do you understand me?  That is not yours. Do not eat from the bird feeder."

"Mom," I try and get her attention, "Who are you talking to now?"

"Oh- still the raccoon. He knows what I am telling him. He understands my voice."

And somehow you get the feeling- listening to my mom converse with this wild raccoon- that perhaps it actually does speak her language and does understand her voice.

Her. The lady who talks to- and names- wild raccoons. The one who fearlessly sang Jesus Loves Me to an angry longhorn who's horns were pointed straight at her, because she was sure this was the best way to calm him down. The one who decided to rent a sheep from the neighbor down the street, to bring to church and use as a sermon illustration. Her. The one who frantically calls me with a sheep bleating in her back seat, wondering why the sheep isn't calming down when she sings it Jesus Loves Me.

I mean- it worked on the longhorn.

Her.

The one who has made the absolute best of the empty nest and the daughters and granddaughters living all over the country. Not once giving up on her rights to be the most active grandma ever... even if it means playing hide-and go-seek in a self-made tent over Skype.

Her.

The one who has always encouraged alone time and freedom of expression. Even when it has meant children (and grandchildren) who hide under blankets and threaten to move to the woods behind the house (but actually just run-away to the laundry room). "I'd run away too!" She would say. And inevitably this leads her into quoting- and butchering- the entire storyline of Alexander and The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. "Move to Australia and eat worms!" she says in a moment of solidarity with her troops.

Her.

Who has built Annie a "magic house" deep in the woods. Complete with year-round Christmas ornaments, ribbons, wind chimes, Gnomes and magnificent stories. Her. The one who taught me to dream and think and pray and ask good questions and make craft projects- even when they all sucked- and not be afraid to build forts in the woods and produce my own newspaper by the age of five.  Her. The one who keeps giving Imagination. Creativity. Curiosity. New eyes for things long forgotten in this world. Like bugs and magic houses and old people with stories rich in heart ache and beauty.

Her.

The one who gave me my sisters. And by extension, my nieces. And kept my dad around- even when he was really mean- a long time ago- before he was the dad, the amazing dad, that he has grown to be now. Her- who has loved us all well. And fought to keep us together. And fought to keep us loving each other. And fought to keep underwear on our bodies and food in our bellies and fight in our spirit. Her. The one who was stepped on by people who claimed to love her- who was fired, humiliated, betrayed- and kept going back for more. Because it wasn't about HER. Or them for that matter. It was about something bigger. It was about love winning. It was about Christ being constant- redemptive- worth it... even when people broke her.

Her.

The one who keeps fighting.

Her.

Who calls to let me know that Annie is hugging a chicken... and she is sure that Annie was gentle and didn't squeeze the chicken too hard... that the chicken is just fine and loving it. LADY- I DONT CARE ABOUT THE CHICKEN. How is my daughter? Her- who keeps modeling over and over  and over again for anyone who will listen and pay attention... that life isn't really all that complicated. Wake up. Sit and stare at a few birds. Listen for Jesus. Go do something that matters- mostly- pay attention to the people and the world around you... no matter what your job title might be. Love well. Hope deeply. Drink richly. Call your kids- or someone else you care about. Befriend a few wild animals. Hug a chicken. Repeat.

It just shouldn't be as easy as hugging a chicken- but my God she makes it that way. With her,  life isn't all the complicated- even when it hurts like hell. Even when it is insanely complicated. She is chaos- but knows no chaos. Somehow- she is peace. She is content.

Her. She is maddening and absolutely freeing in one fatal swoop.

Her. Who sang Amy Grant songs before the rest of the world understood that Amy Grant's songs were life-changing. Her. Who explained to me and my sisters what it meant to live in an old man's rubble, why angels watched over us and how there were so many names for God but El Shaddai was one of her favorites. Her. Who told us we had our Father's Eyes. Over and over and over again. That we had our Father's eyes. That we were made in the Father's image and likeness- bearers of that goodness, freedom, grace, hope and love. We had our Father's eyes. He made us and longed to use us. And dad agreed. God didn't make us as girls and then limit how we might be used in the church and in the world... God made us fully in God's image. We had his eyes. We were to hold nothing back from the church or the world. Just like...

Her.

Her. Our biggest fan. Who brought cow bells and bull horns to football games to cheer for us.... the cheerleaders. Yes, it was embarrassing. Her. Who was so worried that my heart had been shattered in the 9th grade when all the other cheerleaders got homecoming mums and I didn't, that she went and ordered one for me herself. It ended up weighing about 20 pounds and was the most hideous thing I've ever seen in my life. But I wore it proudly through the parade because she loved me so much- she didn't want me to feel the sting of being alone. That was worth wearing ugly proudly. Her. Who texted me as I left this summer for South Sudan and told me she was proud of me and that also- if I felt threatened- to scream wildly like a monkey and furiously itch my armpits and crotch- because "People in small villages are superstitious. They won't touch you if they think you are demon-possessed."

Her.

Who told me time and again, "Jenny it was just an accident. Accidents happen all the time. It's no big deal." Who cared very little about the "stuff" in our house and much about the people walking in and out of it. Who taught me more about scripture than how to apply make-up. More about grace than about stuffy, alienating, pretentious living. More about mercy than judgement. More about freedom than bondage to what others thought about me or what others might be doing. Her. Who would rather we paint our bodies and our walls and our world with bright big strokes- than live small and afraid and neat and tidy and conventional. Paint washes off you know? That's what she would say. There was never an accident worth a dirty glare. Oh God how I'm grateful that there wasn't an accident- in her book- worth a dirty glare.

Her.

Who loves my baby girl more than I seem to love her sometimes. Who loves me more than I seem to love myself sometimes. Who just loves. And loves. And loves.

Her.

Who has taught countless men and women- now spread out and trickled all over the world- that if you dig your feet into the sand long enough or stare at a sunset and shut-up soon enough- you will hear from God. Because God speaks. Now one way. Now another. In dreams. During "silent sounds." On camping trips. In the mountains. At the beach. In your backyard. In the bathtub. On a bus with three hundred students driving to summer camp. God speaks. Over and over and over again. She has taught us that. Her. The one who heard God speak when she was stoned out of her mind and angry at the world and broken in a million pieces and all kinds of dirty and unusable- she heard God call her name and whisper to her that she had purpose. That she was loved. That she was known. That she could be set free. That he loved...

Her.

And she hasn't turned back. And her daughters- we rise and call her blessed. And those she has pastored through junior high and high school. Through divorces and teenage pregnancies. Through lost jobs and lost love. In delivery rooms and deathbeds. In magic houses and talking to raccoons on her back porch... God has used HER...

To remind us that HE IS- and that's enough.

I love you mom. This world is different because you have danced through it and shown us its beauty.

Just To Be is a Blessing

Guest blog and photography by World Concern Staffer- and my dear friend- Kelly Ranck. To support Kelly and the work World Concern is doing in Africa, please click here!

An aunt of mine quoted Abraham Heschel in one of her recent letters:

“Just to be is a blessing.”

She could not have been more timely.

I’ll admit it, first half of March I was a bit anxious. I was ready to be back in the field, meeting beneficiaries, learning about our projects, and taking tons of photos. I was ready to be ‘working’ again. And then God, pleasantly, reminded me that I can always be working. I was reminded of the importance of being present.

Three years ago I participated in a semester study program in Mukono, Uganda. I spent five months studying at a Ugandan university, living in the dorms, staying with Ugandan families, and traveling around the country. Though this semester completely rocked my world, the overwhelming lesson was the value of being present.

As an alien to the culture and language, the semester consisted of many moments where I was unable to communicate with my colleagues, my host families, or my friends. I had to learn to just be. And, most importantly, I had to learn that merely being present with others in their lives is just as valuable as actively contributing to the conversation.

I learned that doing is not always better than being.

(Because I pride myself on my ability to be proactive and multi-task, this was no easy lesson.)

This past weekend I was able to travel back to Uganda (on a 12-hour long overnight bus) to stay with my host family for the Easter holidays. The reunion was sweet.

Neither of my Ugandan host parents speak a lick of English, thus a lot of our time together is spent just being. Sometimes we point and laugh, we cook, we walk, we milk the cows, we visit our neighbors, we sip tea, we watch the news on their fuzzy black and white television, but mostly—we just sit. “Just to be is a blessing.”

One of my most treasured moments during the weekend (besides being nominated as the honorary family member to slaughter a turkey and a chicken. Sorry y’all…), happened on my final night in Mukono. It was 11pm (we still hadn’t taken dinner) and Jaja (Grandma) was sitting on the couch watching television. I plopped down next to her and for a good hour we sat there holding hands while watching the screen in silence. No words were necessary. I knew that it meant a lot to her that I would just sit, and it meant so much to me to hold her hand. (I adore this woman.)

As anxious as I find myself to get to the field and see our beneficiaries, I am reminded to stop, look, and listen (no reference to ‘Safety Town’). Being present while I am in Nairobi is equally as important as working in the field.

In fact, God is not just ‘in the field.’

He is in my quiet office. In my simple, sunlit bedroom. On my dusty, sweaty walk to the market. In my daily 10am chai break.

And when I choose to be present, I choose to be His—to be used for His purpose in every moment.

-Kelly Ranck You can follow Kelly's journey as a World Concern Communications Liason (bridging the gaps between people at home and the people of Kenya, Chad, South Sudan and Somalia) at her blog: http://kelly.worldconcern.org/

@kellyinkenya (personal World Concern account) @wcinafrica (World Concern Africa account)