Love, God and Philosophy, by Joachim Bajema

Joachim walked in and got right down to business. He whipped out a photo-copy of a cover of a book: Love, God and Philosophy by Joachim Bajema.
“I’m Joachim Bajema, and I wrote this book.”
I don’t know if he knew where he was or who he was talking to, but it seems like he did, and maybe it’s true, that philosophers can sense each other somewhere in their cheekbones. We talked some about Love (and so some about God by default), but mostly about philosophy, and his resume. He gave me three different addresses to put in his file: One in Switzerland, one in D.C., and one down the street, on the street. He came in every day, and we talked, and I asked about the strange, small silhouette of a dog on the cover of his book, and he dove into some crazy theory about the spirit of Love and God in Dogs (and yes, the lettering had something to do with it), and then left again.

Later that week, the FBI arrived (they come frequent enough not to scare us; infrequent enough to still clear the place out) with a large, photocopy of Joachim’s grinning mug shot.

“Have you seen this dangerous man?”

Dangerous man. I had seen him, yesterday and the day before, and we were talking about Love doggone it.
He had brutally murdered his father, his mother, his grandmother, the neighbor who tried to intervene, and the police officer who arrived later. They “WANTED” him.
I told him that he was either in Switzerland, D.C., or down the street, on the street.

Knowing I wouldn’t get to talk to him again, I tried to figure out how to get a hold of his book.

Evolunteerism

We want to give what we think is important for us. This helps us to recieve the purest simplest feelings of productivity because we can imagine what it feels like to not have these things, in the situation that we are currently in. But how is it to not have these things when we've learned to live without them? When we are in a different culture?

We volunteer to serve ourselves. I mean this in two ways: we volunteer our time in order to fulfill a need we have--a need to feel like we are making a difference, serving God, bringing good into the world, changing lives... whatever you want to call it. Humans have this need to affect positive change (at least some of them do). In my opinion, this isn't a wrong or impure motive at all. In fact, I think God created us in His image, and God is love. We are made to want to serve.

But. What we do about it is another thing. We volunteer to serve ourselves--to provide things that we can imagine ourselves needing and appreciating (to assure ourselves that we are being needed and appreciated). But we are not serving people like 'us'... and somehow we can know that and be totally unaware of the reality of that at the same time. Or... maybe we just have a very hard time liking things we don't really like.

Today's example: a wonderful, sweet older woman spent all summer and fall knitting hats for those staying in the shelters down town. Most of the people staying in shelters are men. Most of the hats would be perfect for a wonderful, sweet older woman.

This is not an isolated or unique example. So often, I watch volunteers start facilitating activities that they enjoy, serving food that they love to make, and having conversations based on their own curiousity. These are such good things, but they so often miss the mark.

It is so possible to give people what they need, but it does require sometimes sacrificing what we want, and what feels the best for us to give. We can remedy this by educating ourselves, buiding relationships and knowing who we are serving. I have heard a lot of very valid arguments that have realized that the barrier between the donor and the recipient only grows when money is donated, but as long as that barrier exists in any degree, money donated to an organization that recognizes the needs and culture of the people it serves will always be used better than if it was used by those who don't.

Look at it this way: You have a Grandma that lives in Florida who you never get to see, but she loves you like crazy. Every Christmas and birthday, she sends you a porcelain figurine of a little boy fishing or playing baseball or petting his dog, along with a framed picture of a peaceful cottage in a forest. You would rather have the money. She doesn't know you very well anymore, but she loves you, and wants to show you that. Perhaps you still feel the love, but resource-wise, the situation would be much better if you just told her what you needed, and she listened.

This is to say that the love is there, and the intentions are good, but as much as the thought counts, there is an opportunity for more: helpful contributions, educated gifts, connection.

A friend of mine once told me that it is difficult to love someone if you are focused on what you can receive.
A science fiction novel once taught me that you cannot love someone well unless you can understand them enough to know why they love themself.

I am thankful for the both of them, and for an opportunity to witness why their wisdom is important, and the consequences of not following it.

As volunteerism evolves, so will we.

Clean

Latisha is finally clean.
She has been clean from crack for 6 months;
clean from lying for at least 2.

"When you's addicated, you don't care about nothin but that crack. It's all your damn brain can think about. You's going to say anything, do anything to get more. You even surprise yourself sometimes. You look at yourself, what you're doing, what all's comin out of your mouth, and you do you best to pretend it's not even you, because if if is, you's in big trouble. 'Cause to get crack, you'll say the craziest things, you don't even know how you came up with it.

You'd say you had a newborn baby and no diapers jus' so you could get some cash from some lovin' person who thinks babies is important and special.

You'd say you had no food or water or anything, and you probably don't, and then when you get a dolla or two, you still don't have no food, but you don't care--you know that dolla ain't goin to buy no sandwich and chips.

You'd say you's stranded and you're whole family's dyin of some aweful disease over in Georgia and you really just want to make it back for their funeral--and you hope maybe they'll give you even part of the money for the ticket so you can be high for a night.

You'd even say that your six kids all have this vision problem where they can't see shit, but they all's want to go to school and make somethin of the world, and won't you support our country's suffering youth so they can get some education? Won't you jus' give some money to get them some glasses?

Sometimes, I'd walk around with that cash in my pocket, and get halfway to an eyeglass place, lookin' for my six kids before I realized I made it all up. Crack makes you crazy, Anna. It makes you downright nuts, and if anyone deserves a crazy check* the most but needs one the least its people like me.

I'm tellin you this so you can see how good'a lies are out there. Somehow, Anna, you gotta see the lies and love the person anyway. But that don't mean you give them no money. That means you love them best by givin them a firm smack in the face.

Anna, maybe you shouldn't smack em in the face after all. I don't want you to get hurt or nothin. But I'm just sayin. I know what I'm talkin about. I tol' ya, I havn't lied for two months."