Notes from my Knapsack 10-10-24
Jeff Gill
A personal stake in the input, plus the outcome
___
Both of my parents were born in the middle of the Great Depression. They would call themselves Depression babies, but it's also true they were respectively seven and six years old when Pearl Harbor happened, and times went from Depression shortages to wartime rationing.
None of which is to take away from them the challenges they each faced, in Iowa and Illinois where they grew up in rural communities. Yet they both finished high school, and grew up with indoor flush toilets and running water, and electricity even if it was frequently subject to outages.
So my folks were very at ease with the lights going out. We always had a kerosene lamp as a dining room centerpiece, and a couple more around the house. They were used to trimming wicks and refilling lamps, where they were strange to me.
I bring this up because I realize, having spent some time getting my mother to talk about her childhood in the last couple of years (the one set of memories which, once we tap into a vein of them, still flows freely), that it wasn't that they had to pump water for the kitchen or make soap for the washing up — though they were familiar with such things! — but they were raised by people who did. My grandparents raised their kids having known what it was like to carry every bucket of water in from the side yard pump, and it made my parents rather vigilant about how long we ran the tap, or how much soap we used.
And I'll be honest: it took me years to get to where I wasn't cautiously squeezing out the dish soap in dribs and drabs. It was a second generation carryover of that caution, which starts with the frugality that comes from knowing just how much work it takes to make a bar of soap (or to churn up a dish of butter, or pump a bucketful of rinse water).
Where I got interested in these generational effects was when I started making crackers. No, I don't do it often or wholesale, but the first time I read about the possibility I thought "oh how quaint" and did it for amusement. Then I kind of got into it, for a quirky taste twist.
But the interesting thing to me is, after I've done the mixing and cutting and baking and cooling and serving, I'm both more aware of the taste (hey, I made these!) and I don't tend to plow through them as quickly.
On the other hand, I am as capable as the next guy to sit mindlessly munching on a box of factory made chips or curls or crackers. I don't think, I definitely don't savor, I just eat. And whoops, they're gone.
Making my crackers? Sure, it's the back end of laziness: if I eat too many, too fast, I'll have to do the work to make more. Can't get 'em at the store in a quick trip. Still, there's something else going on. I don't want to consume, I enjoy.
Sometimes, I think about all that at the kitchen sink drinking a glass of water. And my grandmother at the pump a century ago, wondering how many trips today.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's working on being mindful of his crackers. Tell him what makes you stop and think at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads.
Saturday, September 28, 2024
Faith Works 10-4-24
Faith Works 10-4-24
Jeff Gill
Faith and trust and electoral awareness
___
Faith, we are told by the author of Hebrews, is the assurance of things hoped for. Faith can also be called the conviction of things not seen.
Now, something not seen is hard to put on television. And in our world as it is right now, if it's not on TV, did it even really happen?
Yet it has been an . . . I was going to say interesting, but maybe I'm looking for something a bit more like bracing, or even a shocking realization, that instant replay has not ended arguments over referee's decisions in sports. There was hope that the widespread use of body cameras would resolve concerns about law enforcement interactions with the public, but while I think they have a useful place it's also true we are still finding wide variation on interpretation of what we just saw when something tragic or terrible happens.
Some of that is about when the video starts or ends, or what's just out of view, or blurry (and yes, you need to turn them on and not leave them off when an encounter begins), but just like end zone calls with a toe on the out-of-bounds line, it all depends on camera angles.
Which makes me think of politics.
Honestly, everything does right now, doesn't it? if you watch anything on broadcast TV you have already gotten a snootful. October 7 is the last day to register (you have been warned!) and early voting starts the next day, Oct. 8. That's right, the election may well be decided before we even get to Nov. 5.
We have a presidential race (you may have heard) and there's a U.S. Senate seat up for re-election, but there are local races from county commissioner to your ability to buy liquor on Sundays on the ballot, if you work on down to what I think of as the real nitty-gritty.
When we're making up our minds on what to vote on or for whom we will vote, there's a great deal of faith at work. Faith Works is the tag I put on this column now almost twenty years ago, riffing on our earthworks as a local landscape image, and a reminder that faith is not just a mental process but a part of what we do, as we figure out how the cosmos works and where we fit into that.
Faith is part of how we react to information we hear about the candidates or issues. We can't know everything there is to absorb about where they've been or how they've changed or why they make the statements they make that we see and hear on the internet. In fact, we're likely to believe faster what we want to believe, and hold back when information pushes back against our assumptions, the beliefs we started with.
This is a bigger factor with national or statewide races, yet it's true for even local matters. We have the senior levy up for renewal, for instance. I know what I see on my property tax bill; I'm told it's not going to increase if I vote to renew it, and that the programs it supports are worthwhile and needed.
Here I find the mix of faith and certainty working in my favor: I've seen and worked directly with some of those funded services for seniors, and all I know directly matches the bigger issue I'm asked to, well, take on faith. So I say yes with an easy heart.
Presidents and senators? Oh, I have opinions, a modest store of observations, and an acute awareness that my faith is inevitably part of the mix. How does faith guide you in voting?
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he knows voting is already a top of mind issue for many. Tell him how faith will shape your decisions at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads.
Jeff Gill
Faith and trust and electoral awareness
___
Faith, we are told by the author of Hebrews, is the assurance of things hoped for. Faith can also be called the conviction of things not seen.
Now, something not seen is hard to put on television. And in our world as it is right now, if it's not on TV, did it even really happen?
Yet it has been an . . . I was going to say interesting, but maybe I'm looking for something a bit more like bracing, or even a shocking realization, that instant replay has not ended arguments over referee's decisions in sports. There was hope that the widespread use of body cameras would resolve concerns about law enforcement interactions with the public, but while I think they have a useful place it's also true we are still finding wide variation on interpretation of what we just saw when something tragic or terrible happens.
Some of that is about when the video starts or ends, or what's just out of view, or blurry (and yes, you need to turn them on and not leave them off when an encounter begins), but just like end zone calls with a toe on the out-of-bounds line, it all depends on camera angles.
Which makes me think of politics.
Honestly, everything does right now, doesn't it? if you watch anything on broadcast TV you have already gotten a snootful. October 7 is the last day to register (you have been warned!) and early voting starts the next day, Oct. 8. That's right, the election may well be decided before we even get to Nov. 5.
We have a presidential race (you may have heard) and there's a U.S. Senate seat up for re-election, but there are local races from county commissioner to your ability to buy liquor on Sundays on the ballot, if you work on down to what I think of as the real nitty-gritty.
When we're making up our minds on what to vote on or for whom we will vote, there's a great deal of faith at work. Faith Works is the tag I put on this column now almost twenty years ago, riffing on our earthworks as a local landscape image, and a reminder that faith is not just a mental process but a part of what we do, as we figure out how the cosmos works and where we fit into that.
Faith is part of how we react to information we hear about the candidates or issues. We can't know everything there is to absorb about where they've been or how they've changed or why they make the statements they make that we see and hear on the internet. In fact, we're likely to believe faster what we want to believe, and hold back when information pushes back against our assumptions, the beliefs we started with.
This is a bigger factor with national or statewide races, yet it's true for even local matters. We have the senior levy up for renewal, for instance. I know what I see on my property tax bill; I'm told it's not going to increase if I vote to renew it, and that the programs it supports are worthwhile and needed.
Here I find the mix of faith and certainty working in my favor: I've seen and worked directly with some of those funded services for seniors, and all I know directly matches the bigger issue I'm asked to, well, take on faith. So I say yes with an easy heart.
Presidents and senators? Oh, I have opinions, a modest store of observations, and an acute awareness that my faith is inevitably part of the mix. How does faith guide you in voting?
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he knows voting is already a top of mind issue for many. Tell him how faith will shape your decisions at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads.
Sunday, September 22, 2024
Faith Works 9-27-24
Faith Works 9-27-24
Jeff Gill
Taking chances, seeing a longer-term upside
___
Tom Chapman died a few weeks ago, at the age of 82.
He had lost his wife Vicki back in 2015; his son Chad and brother Bob had helped manage his care in these last few years; as I'd turned to caring for family members myself, I'd lost track of him. It was good, at least, to thank them at Tom's calling for their care.
Tom Chapman had cared for his community in an interesting assortment of ways over the years. He may have been best known as the owner and operator of a collection agency in Newark, which brought him into contact with everyone from bankers to the bankrupt, and everyone in between.
Not many ministers get to know collection agents, and that's probably an oversight. I've had parishioners who worked for some of the online bill collection companies here in the area, but Tom was the only "go and knock on doors" collections person I've had the chance to talk to at length.
This association came about because Tom was the very first landlord of the Licking County Coalition for Housing in 1992 as we were getting off the ground. He rented us four apartments for transitional housing use, well before LCCH had HUD grants or other major programmatic supports. We were a patchwork of memorandums of understanding between agencies, and a handful of donations from Church Women United and a few cooperating churches in the area. Jana Lowe was a part-time director with each paycheck a hope and a promise to be renewed each month.
Basically, our birthday organizationally was the day after Tom's memorial service; on Sept. 23, 1992 our incorporation was processed by then-Secretary of State Bob Taft, and we signed a rental agreement with Tom Chapman for four units above his collection agency. Other landlords had looked us over and said "ah, no thank you" but Tom said yes.
Even so, the whole operation was shaky, and Deb Tegtmeyer, who would not become our first full-time executive director for a few years yet, stood with me on a snowy November evening as we filled the first three of our four units, using up most of the housewares and bedding we'd collected over the previous few weeks. It all felt very uncertain.
Then Tom pulled up, in a station wagon. He got out, our new landlord, but still an uncertain quantity in this whole variable filled formula, and looked at us with a note of concern on his face. Then he said "I have four frozen turkeys in my back seat, plus four bags of groceries that I thought would be right for Thanksgiving; should I take them up to the residents, or would it be more appropriate for me to have you give them?"
Deb and I looked at each other, and we both knew: this crazy idea might just work. Because Tom Chapman believed in what we were doing.
LCCH has grown beyond four units; we do much more than just transitional housing, and I think our best work is what Tom always hoped we'd be able to do more of, which is helping prevent homelessness before an eviction or other action was taken. Through the next thirty years, Tom helped us in many, many ways, including helping us get funds gathered for unexpected needs which are an ongoing memorial for Vicki and now, of course, for him.
Tom Chapman took a chance, because he knew all too well how much some people needed second chances, and he wanted to be a part of extending them. He couldn't do it alone, and we couldn't have done what we've done without him (and others like him).
Rest easy, Tom. The work and the second (and third) chances will continue.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's glad to have known Tom Chapman. Tell him about your unsung hero at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads.
Jeff Gill
Taking chances, seeing a longer-term upside
___
Tom Chapman died a few weeks ago, at the age of 82.
He had lost his wife Vicki back in 2015; his son Chad and brother Bob had helped manage his care in these last few years; as I'd turned to caring for family members myself, I'd lost track of him. It was good, at least, to thank them at Tom's calling for their care.
Tom Chapman had cared for his community in an interesting assortment of ways over the years. He may have been best known as the owner and operator of a collection agency in Newark, which brought him into contact with everyone from bankers to the bankrupt, and everyone in between.
Not many ministers get to know collection agents, and that's probably an oversight. I've had parishioners who worked for some of the online bill collection companies here in the area, but Tom was the only "go and knock on doors" collections person I've had the chance to talk to at length.
This association came about because Tom was the very first landlord of the Licking County Coalition for Housing in 1992 as we were getting off the ground. He rented us four apartments for transitional housing use, well before LCCH had HUD grants or other major programmatic supports. We were a patchwork of memorandums of understanding between agencies, and a handful of donations from Church Women United and a few cooperating churches in the area. Jana Lowe was a part-time director with each paycheck a hope and a promise to be renewed each month.
Basically, our birthday organizationally was the day after Tom's memorial service; on Sept. 23, 1992 our incorporation was processed by then-Secretary of State Bob Taft, and we signed a rental agreement with Tom Chapman for four units above his collection agency. Other landlords had looked us over and said "ah, no thank you" but Tom said yes.
Even so, the whole operation was shaky, and Deb Tegtmeyer, who would not become our first full-time executive director for a few years yet, stood with me on a snowy November evening as we filled the first three of our four units, using up most of the housewares and bedding we'd collected over the previous few weeks. It all felt very uncertain.
Then Tom pulled up, in a station wagon. He got out, our new landlord, but still an uncertain quantity in this whole variable filled formula, and looked at us with a note of concern on his face. Then he said "I have four frozen turkeys in my back seat, plus four bags of groceries that I thought would be right for Thanksgiving; should I take them up to the residents, or would it be more appropriate for me to have you give them?"
Deb and I looked at each other, and we both knew: this crazy idea might just work. Because Tom Chapman believed in what we were doing.
LCCH has grown beyond four units; we do much more than just transitional housing, and I think our best work is what Tom always hoped we'd be able to do more of, which is helping prevent homelessness before an eviction or other action was taken. Through the next thirty years, Tom helped us in many, many ways, including helping us get funds gathered for unexpected needs which are an ongoing memorial for Vicki and now, of course, for him.
Tom Chapman took a chance, because he knew all too well how much some people needed second chances, and he wanted to be a part of extending them. He couldn't do it alone, and we couldn't have done what we've done without him (and others like him).
Rest easy, Tom. The work and the second (and third) chances will continue.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's glad to have known Tom Chapman. Tell him about your unsung hero at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads.
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