Object Permanance

When babies are very small so is their world. It consists of what they can see, and hear, taste and smell. To a baby’s way of thinking if he cannot see his mother she is simply not there, though she may very well be only feet away. But as a baby matures his world grows. He learns that even if he cannot see something it still exists. Peek-a-boo becomes hours of entertainment because the baby gets the joke; he knows that what he cannot see still is. It’s called object permanence.

Here’s the thing: sometimes I think that object permanence is a lesson we forget as we age. Just like when we were young, we think that our world is only what we can see. I know that is my tendency.

I live in suburbia.
Yards are well manicured.
People are well dressed, and most families have two cars, at least.

My world is absurdly affluent.

I forget that my world is NOT the norm. Most people don’t live as I do.

This road trip has been an excellent reminder. My husband is from New Mexico (yes, that is a part of the union). But the culture here is very different than the one I inhabit in Colorado’s frontrange. It is heavily influenced by Mexican and Native American culture. We’ve driven hours upon hours through rural New Mexico and Arizona, and in so doing crossed lands reserved for indigenous people.

The two story homes that I am used to driving by have been replaced by old trailer homes with tin roofs. The roofs are littered with old tires. I was puzzled by this, but my husband explained they were there to secure the roof against the stiff winds of the Southwest, and to muffle the sound of rain on tin. Yards, become dumping grounds for abandoned cars. And it is not uncommon to see multiple trailers on one lot – extended families live together and keep costs down. And if a second trailer cannot be afforded then an old school bus or Airstream will do to expand the living space.

I love to trespass. It’s a quirk. Somehow, “Do Not Enter” reads like an invitation to me. Abandoned buildings fascinate me and the romantic in me wants the walls to speak. I just know there is a story to be told. Eddie has finally accepted this and will sometimes accompany on my illegal expeditions. He even offered to show me an old abandoned barn not far from his parent’s home. On the way I saw an old run down house. “Can we go check out that one?”, I asked.

“That one? I think someone lives there.”, Eddie replied. That one? For real? Here in the United States? I am stunned.

My first encounter with poverty was as a teenager on a missions trip to Jarez, Mexico, and later West Africa. It’s a thing that changed me; expanded my world. Now, again, I am realizing that the poverty is not so far away from home. It is just beyond my line of sight. And like a baby, sometimes I think the things I cannot see do not exist.

My world is expanding.

So as we drove through the Navajo Nation I began to think about my daughter’s native heritage. I wonder what it’s like to grow up on a reservation. So, because I’m a rich girl, I pull out my fancy phone and Wikipedia, “Sioux Reservations”. While we travel through arid land marked by poverty I read about another land, further North. It is a Sioux Reservation. I am floored:

-70% unemployment

-Rampant alcoholism, depression and domestic violence.

-STDs

-High infant mortality, and pathetic healthcare.

HERE – IN THIS COUNTRY. Poverty...the soul sucking kind.

And those children, they look like mine.

My world is expanding…and I do not like what I see, what I know. I can return to infancy. I can pretend my world is healthclubs, two story houses, and SUV’s. Or, I can grow-up. What will that mean, I wonder? What if I live in such a way that acknowledges that what I have is so much more than most? What if my neighbors live in trailer houses with tires on the roof? And what if their babies’ die because of lack of health care?

If I pray, “thy kingdom come” am I willing to be a part of it? Can I say that I know Jesus, love him, at all if my heart does not break for the things that break his heart?