It's So Not About You

Thanks to Lisa Samson, over-achiever extraordinaire, I did a little somethin' different this Saturday night: I stood out in the rain and took pictures.

Saturday morning i read that back in Lexington, Kentucky the Samson family was packing up to spend the night out in the open for a good cause--to raise awareness for the desperate situation of the children in Uganda. Lisa's blog directed us to Invisible Children's site, the organization promoting the event. Curious, I checked it out. And I discovered that, amazingly, Tulsa was hosting its own all night event.

Cool.

The Tulsa plan was for a meet-up at the famous (or infamous, depending on your perspective) Praying Hands statue at ORU, and walk the 5.5 miles down a major street to Mardel's, the mondo-big-box Christian retailer here in town.

Now this wasn't going to happen in the Philipson household for two reasons:
1. No way, no how would Tesla tolerate even one mile in a stroller, walking, on Randy's shoulders or whatever...and
2. It rained...all day. And I'm made of sugar.

Actually, for those of you who don't live in Oklahoma, this fact (that it rained, not that I'm made of suger--which most of you know is NOT true) probably qualifies as a Class B miracle. We've been under a burn ban for about six months--we're talkin' serious drought conditions. If you talk to any rancher, farmer, back-yard gardener, or little old lady who grows catnip outside her kitchen window for Princess Paws, you'll hear the strain of deep worry in their words. Drought. Dry winter. One hundred degree heat all summer ahead and plenty to burn....

And yet...for the last 48 hours we've had nuthin' but wet stuff. Hal-le-lu-jah.

So I pulled my car out into the rainy, chilly early evening, and tooled on down to the reception site, with plans to stop at the Starbucks on my way. (See how much I'm suffering for the cause?) Along the way I drove past this pack of cheerful supporters and tooted my horn for them in solidarity.













The folks at the Starbucks drive-through looked positively relieved to know the truth of the matter. "Yeah, we keep seeing all these people--hey! those guys are from my fraternity!" (waves)

Welcome to the party.

The curiousity down at Mardels was more amusing in a just plain sad kind of way. Big sedans would slow down as they left the store parking lot, and from inside the cars well manicured ladies with lots of jewelry would politely ask, "What's this about?" We'd tell them. They'd blink. "Oh." And, having no context at all for our answer, would glance back again at the kids behind us with a look of vague discomfort, and then turn, roll up the window and motor on. Not "good luck" or "God bless" or even "stay dry." Just "onward, Harold, I got a roast in the oven."

This, folks, is the common face of middle-class American Christianity: well manicured, well accessorized, and ever so vaguely discomforted. Uganda? Never heard of it.

Haven't you read your Rick Warren? The first chapter is "It's Not About You." The book's more common than a Gideon Bible and still we haven't learned its first lesson. Haven't moved past our Sunday school coffee klatch and the comfort zones of our reassuring cultural boundaries.

Ahem. So we were wet. I did have my cappuccino in hand, but I was wet along with everyone else. And it was appropriate. If this night was meant as a expression of solidarity with Uganda's children, then why not sleep out in the cold rain?


I signed in and went to roam around.

I found Patrick Fincannon (guy dressed appropriately for wet camping). Total surprise. Patrick serves in a worthy ministry called Chrysalis, which basically exists as an apprenticeship program in loving others. I served in Chrysalis for about seven years, and Patrick is a mighty positive memory of my time with the organization.

I also met this sweet girl, representin' Oklahoma Wesleyan University.

We played 'I've seen you before somewhere' until we discovered she was a freshman at the school the year I taught as an adjunct.

Then I headed off to the art table to do my bit. They were having a rough time of it with a drooping tarp, but we artistes had a ball. Fun! The girls at the front desk had taken a terrible polaroid of me and encouraged me to use it in my art. Oh dear, but no. My chicken neck was in full form and I looked washed out...

but...it wasn't about me, was it?

And so I created this.














The last bit was to write my letter, look around for any other familiar faces (John Ray was, in typical fashion, very late and so I missed him) and scoot back home to the family.

I wished I could have stayed. My heart hurt to see so few "grown-ups" at the event. (Are only youth groups and college students interested in this sort of injustice?) And I hope that if this becomes an annual event (God forbid that it would have to!), we'd see more adult people show up. Still, seeing the younger people reminded me how much I love them. How I love their enthusiasm, their idyllic dreams, their knucked-headed impulsiveness. Yes, they think the world revolves around their emotions--except when they don't. And when they step outside themselves, they are some of the most beautiful creatures I know.














Please pray for the safety of the children of Uganda, and for all the world's invisible children wherever they may be.