A Record-Setting Day

Today, we had four volunteers show up to help with the afterschool program. Which turned out to be a lifesaver, because 36 kids showed up.

That's a record for our little apartment, and it only went smoothly because of the excellent help. So today's blog post is dedicated to Sharon, Cliff, Jarrett, and Mr. Bob.

We have a few kids with special needs, and our volunteers adapted well to the situation. Sharon was able to walk Julissa through some of her worksheets:

Jarrett is our resident math expert. Here he is trying to focus on helping Bryan while Cliff does some posing:



Kids who finish their homework get to do puzzles until the lesson begins. Asberry and Natalia worked on one together today:



Ruthie rounded the kids up and warmed them up for lesson time:



Sharon and Cliff had prepared a lesson on the Ten Commandments. They taught them all from the perspective of LOVE, which is the central message and the driving force of the whole afterschool program. It's great how these things line up sometimes:



And, to demonstrate love to all the hungry kids, Mr. Bob ran the kitchen. He made enough chicken noodle soup to feed all the kids and the volunteers:

Clean-up Time

Sometimes I am stunned by how rewarding the afterschool program is. We have a rotating group of over 30 kids who are relational, funny, intelligent, helpful, and eager to learn.

The end is always the most fun, where we pick the more mature kids and allow them to stay late and help with clean up. It gives us some more focused time with the older kids, and we don't have to work as hard to keep order, so we can relax, joke around, initiate meaningful conversations, and learn more about their lives.

We had a new eighth grader with us today named Susanna. She volunteered to help clean up, and took charge of the dishes from the meal we fed the kids:


While Susanna washed the dishes, Maritza and some of the other girls brought some fresh greens and carrots out to our rabbit, Leonard:
Karina, who is usually diligent during clean-up time, roamed the apartment harrassing the other helpers. Here, she snagged Vanessa's power cord. It took Vanessa a while to figure out what was going on:

Valentine's Day Party

This Saturday, Cornerstone Christian Academy threw a Valentine's Day party for the kids in our neighborhood. 40 kids came for games, a craft, and a meal time.

The party gave us a context to express love to our neighbors, allowed us to initiate new relationships, and resulted in four kids coming to church the next day. Behold:

The Set-up (Hooking pt 2)

Your average Latino day laborer lives packed into a small apartment with several others like him. Early in the morning, he walks to the gas station on Buford Highway or Chamblee-Tucker Road and waits. The white men come by in pickup trucks, and he clamors with the others to be picked for work that day.


His family lives back in Mexico or Honduras or El Salvador, or maybe even Texas, where they settled before the work dried up. He's a hard worker when the work is available, which seems to happen less and less these days.


At some point, noon approaching, if he has not been picked, he heads home to spend the day alone or with his roommates.


He keeps his cash in a freezer or mattress or a hole in the wall, since the banks will not work with him.


He hears a knock on the door, and he opens it. A young woman or man smiles at him and offers to sell him jewelry or flowers or chocolates for his girlfriend or wife.


Our laborer, lonely, bored, and unemployed, tells the vendor that he has no girlfriend or wife, which is true in the moment, if not in a larger sense. This is the answer the vendor is looking for.


"We have something to take care of that," says the vendor, changing tone, confiding, offering a helping hand, suddenly playing the pimp or prostitute. And, for a small amount of his buried cash, our laborer can buy a little company to pass the time.


The women the laborer can afford are generally washed-up, often eastern European, missing teeth, dressed in secondhand clothes. They come into the neighborhood when ordered, and do their work day and night, according to the demand.


This is the set-up, anyway. The real story, the arc, the shame, the outside lives, remain obscure for those not in the trade. Ruthie and I are not in the trade, so we only know what we are told, and we have no strong feelings about it until our neighbor, lonely and a bit drunk, misunderstands our purpose in the neighborhood and invites us in.

Christmas Newsletter

Below is a copy of our Christmas Newsletter, in case anyone isn't on our mailing list:

Two months ago, we stood outside of our apartment looking at the broken glass on our porch, wondering if we should move. We hadn't been living in the apartment due to mold problems, and word had spread through the neighborhood, resulting in a break-in.

We were at the apartment to assess the damage, and as we stood outside waiting for management to change the locks, a group of kids from the afterschool program gathered to encourage us and see if they could help.

"I'ma figure out who did it," Junior told us.

"Should we try to raise money to fix it?" Betzabe asked.

"I can't believe they did this to you," Vanessa said.

As the kids reacted to the event, and as we discussed our next steps, we realized that living in this neighborhood sends a message. No one could blame us for moving out, with mold problems, safety concerns, and now a break-in that resulted in the loss of over $5,000 worth of personal property.

However, in the weeks after the break-in, we made the decision that sharing the hardships of the people we work with is central to following Jesus' example.

Now, a few weeks before Christmas, we are back in the neighborhood, and the Church has rallied around us, contributing financially, working alongside us, and praying for us.

We are busier than we have ever been. We have been able to run two yard sales where we got much-needed clothes and goods into the neighborhood, we enjoyed a huge Christmas party where over 40 kids received gifts, and we have the privilege of feeding, teaching, and mentoring over 30 kids several days a week.

In the middle of all the demands of the holiday, it is important to remember that Christmas is about a God who "became flesh and dwelt among us." We have had opportunities to discuss, reflect on, and live out this truth during this season. In all its pain and glory, this truth is changing our lives and the lives we connect with.

We at Refugee Arts are so thankful that we have been put in a place where we can follow Jesus' example of moving into the neighborhood and living out God's love. To all our financial supporters, volunteers, and prayer warriors, we extend our heartfelt thanks. You have helped to make Christmas come alive in this neighborhood.

Another What? (Hooking pt 1)

They are not our problem when we roll through in a car or see them through a window, but when we weave ourselves into the narrative fabric of the neighborhood, every subplot matters:

Jarret and I see her as we turn onto Plaster Road from Buford Highway. White, worn-looking. Her age is in question because her profession tends to exaggerate the years. A few absent teeth, streaks of white amid otherwise blonde hair.

- I don't know why they're here all of a sudden. I don't remember any hookers when we first moved here, I tell him.

- Or when I moved in, Jarrett replies.

She walks in the flash of our headlights, looks over her shoulder as if she knows she is being discussed, and keeps moving.

- I don't get the appeal, I say.

Jarret nods.

- Desperate times, I suppose.

We get to Jarrett's place, an apartment in our same complex, and he grabs a change of clothes before we head back out. Back in the parking lot, he says to me, There goes another one.

I look around to see what he's talking about and meet the eyes of a brown-haired, heavyset fortysomething white woman in loose-fitting jeans and a pullover rushing by.

- ANOTHER WHAT? she growls, and keeps walking.

It seems like there are more of them here every day, moving out across the neighborhood, looking cheap and tired, catering to probably the last market available to them in Atlanta.

They are not the ones we came here to reach, nor are they friendly to our purposes here, but here they are nonetheless, right in plain sight for management and the police and every lonely Latino laborer to see.

We have chosen for the story of the neighborhood to be our story as well. So when they move in and peddle their wares, they become players in a redemptive arc that has already been told somewhere, but remains obscure to us here, now. We are characters ourselves in this tale, and are neccessarily blind until the curtain closes.