I rarely leave the Tri-Valley. I drive a mile or two to get groceries, or I go to the next town over for church or to visit friends, but most of my life happens right here in my home. Because of this, there are days when I feel like I'm in a bubble: alone, untouched, and with no influence on the world.
It's not because I don't like leaving the valley; I actually miss the eclectic atmosphere of Berkeley and the sense of adventure of being in Chinatown. There are certain aspects of cities that I appreciate, and I always gain a renewed perspective on life when I travel to one. It just doesn't happen very often.
Yesterday was one of those trips, a rare Saturday when our family had nothing on the agenda for the entire day. We decided to visit the Tech Museum of Innovation in San Jose with my sister, to make good use of our Christmas money and see the Star Wars exhibit (props, costumes, and models). I didn't realize this at the time, but I had put on my "going-out-with-five-kids" armor. I am so used to comments and stares when I go to the store, the library, or the park that I had learned to guard myself against the feeling of being an outsider.
But that was not the case at all yesterday. No one stared. No one even noticed. There were children everywhere, and some were dressed in a Star Wars costume, right beside their parents in matching Jedi robes. I had forgotten about the wonderful diversity in a big city! And a few people did ask about my family; one dad (on a father/daughter date with his miniature Padme) shared that he and his wife were expecting their fourth child in March. Another couple had a two-year-old and a baby, and needed reassurance that life with children will not always seem so crazy. They were the only two conversations I had in the dimly-lit exhibit hall, but both were very encouraging for me.
Contrast that with the comment I heard while we ate our sandwiches outside the exhibit hall.
"Children are adorable until they start talking back." It was the young man checking the museum tickets. The young man spoke with confidence and punctuated his statement with a laugh. I'm a bit of a wimp when it comes to jumping into other people's conversations, but I also knew that nothing I said could change the young man's opinion. Either he will believe what he said for the rest of his life, or he will become a dad and realize how wrong he was.
After viewing the other exhibits in the museum, we started heading back to the car. Our day was coming to a close, and I was surprised at how uneventful it had been. But as we approached a crossing, we saw an ambulance and fire truck parked in the street. A man was being wheeled on a stretcher, and I could not tell from looking at him what state he was in. We then saw several police cars surrounding a shopping cart full of bags and things, and I knew right away that the man was homeless. Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was poor health, but whatever it was, he was not doing well. In a corner, huddled on some steps, were two other homeless people, holding each other and crying. I felt the suffering of these people, though they are so different from me in some ways, and I was reminded that this is daily life for some people. They know of nothing but suffering, pain, hardship, and sadness.
We also stumbled across a memorial outside the San Jose courthouse. It was for the Japanese who were put in internment camps during World War II. This memorial beautifully depicted in cast bronze the story of the Japanese who had to sell their businesses and leave their farms on trains and buses to live behind barbed wire. Family crests of Japanese families decorated the borders, and a copy of the official decree for the internment was printed on the side. More reminders of the sadness of life, and the need for Hope in this broken world.
And so my little bubble was broken yet again. These images and conversations followed me to bed last night and to church this morning, and will continue to follow me and fill me with a sense of connectedness as I take care of my family, teach my children, and love my neighbor as myself.
It's not because I don't like leaving the valley; I actually miss the eclectic atmosphere of Berkeley and the sense of adventure of being in Chinatown. There are certain aspects of cities that I appreciate, and I always gain a renewed perspective on life when I travel to one. It just doesn't happen very often.
Yesterday was one of those trips, a rare Saturday when our family had nothing on the agenda for the entire day. We decided to visit the Tech Museum of Innovation in San Jose with my sister, to make good use of our Christmas money and see the Star Wars exhibit (props, costumes, and models). I didn't realize this at the time, but I had put on my "going-out-with-five-kids" armor. I am so used to comments and stares when I go to the store, the library, or the park that I had learned to guard myself against the feeling of being an outsider.
But that was not the case at all yesterday. No one stared. No one even noticed. There were children everywhere, and some were dressed in a Star Wars costume, right beside their parents in matching Jedi robes. I had forgotten about the wonderful diversity in a big city! And a few people did ask about my family; one dad (on a father/daughter date with his miniature Padme) shared that he and his wife were expecting their fourth child in March. Another couple had a two-year-old and a baby, and needed reassurance that life with children will not always seem so crazy. They were the only two conversations I had in the dimly-lit exhibit hall, but both were very encouraging for me.
Contrast that with the comment I heard while we ate our sandwiches outside the exhibit hall.
"Children are adorable until they start talking back." It was the young man checking the museum tickets. The young man spoke with confidence and punctuated his statement with a laugh. I'm a bit of a wimp when it comes to jumping into other people's conversations, but I also knew that nothing I said could change the young man's opinion. Either he will believe what he said for the rest of his life, or he will become a dad and realize how wrong he was.
After viewing the other exhibits in the museum, we started heading back to the car. Our day was coming to a close, and I was surprised at how uneventful it had been. But as we approached a crossing, we saw an ambulance and fire truck parked in the street. A man was being wheeled on a stretcher, and I could not tell from looking at him what state he was in. We then saw several police cars surrounding a shopping cart full of bags and things, and I knew right away that the man was homeless. Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was poor health, but whatever it was, he was not doing well. In a corner, huddled on some steps, were two other homeless people, holding each other and crying. I felt the suffering of these people, though they are so different from me in some ways, and I was reminded that this is daily life for some people. They know of nothing but suffering, pain, hardship, and sadness.
We also stumbled across a memorial outside the San Jose courthouse. It was for the Japanese who were put in internment camps during World War II. This memorial beautifully depicted in cast bronze the story of the Japanese who had to sell their businesses and leave their farms on trains and buses to live behind barbed wire. Family crests of Japanese families decorated the borders, and a copy of the official decree for the internment was printed on the side. More reminders of the sadness of life, and the need for Hope in this broken world.
And so my little bubble was broken yet again. These images and conversations followed me to bed last night and to church this morning, and will continue to follow me and fill me with a sense of connectedness as I take care of my family, teach my children, and love my neighbor as myself.
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