The Elves in the Hood

I really should be cleaning or here's a novel thought...sleeping. It is afterall the wee hours. But, these little gear-turning elves in my brain will not quit working. Guess we know they're not with the Union.

Many of you (like I'm talking to a crowd here) know that I teach a teen girl's Bible study in one of the local projects here in Huntsville. It's been about six years now and I finally feel as though I've won the trust of most of my students, which trust me, is no small accomplishment. One even calls me her godmamma. They are the reason I can't shake the elves tonight.

They live hard lives in broken-down homes, daughters of disfunction. Most of the fathers are gone. They want to do what is right, but they have so few examples to live by. Sometimes I feel like they are broken cisterns and every week I come with Living Water. I pour the water into the cisterns, but because of the cracks and fisures the precious water leaks out and, by the next Sunday, they are completely dry again as though water had never passed through them. It is frustrating to the point of clothes rending or hair uprooting. But, I love them as Jesus loved the woman at the well.

Right now, two of my girls are pregnant. Both due in February. One is 17. The other is 12. No that was not a typo. She is actually the second 12-year-old students I have had who has found herself pregnant. I can understand the 17-year-old, at least a little bit. So far, her boyfriend has stuck by her. She is a realist. She knows babies are hard, wake-you-up in the middle of the night, keep-you-from-having-fun work. I wouldn't say she's ready. What first mom is? But, she's got a good head on her shoulders and she'll do all right. The 12-year-old. Well, she's 12. And that, in the strange economy of the inner city, makes all the difference. Her mother plans to raise the child as though it were her own, while pretending that the baby is her daughter's sister. It's certainly not the best scenario. I would prefer that she place the child for adoption. But, it's not about what I prefer.

This all brings me back to the elves and the endless acrobatics my mind does to try to get to the bottom of it all. Why do the father's leave, act like they were a million miles a way when the deed was done? Why do the women allow themselves to be treated in such a base, inhumane manner? Why is poverty acceptable? Why do they pass around their babies like they're blue jeans? Why isn't education the great bridge out of poverty like it was for me?

I'm no anthropolgist (though I wish I was), but I've been conducting my own little anthroplogical study these last few years, filing away little bits of information here and there hoping for a break through. I've read that some theorize that the prevelance of male infedility in some black communities can be traced back to the days of slavery, when a married slave could be sold to a plantation 100 miles away from his family. He might never see his wife again, and so would be left with no choice but to be unfaithful to the first and take on another. Well, that may be so. But let's be honest. That happened 150 plus years ago. And unless you believe in some sort of Clan of the Cave Bear race memory garbage, it's just not okay to right off the generation-destroying behavior of a large segment of society because of the mindless mistakes of men who have been dead for five generations. Others would say that the tendency to sample several women at once goes back much further to their ancestors' African, tribal days when poligamy was a symbol of status and prestige. And again, I say, rubbish. Do descendents of slave owners seek to preserve the tradition of soul-owning today? Do the great-grandchildren of the Nazis have a right to unfurl the Swastika and shreak, "White Pwer!" How about the many tribes of Papau New Guinea who were totally into canibalism? Would you excuse them for trying to barbecue your mother because it's a tradition they've known for generations?

No! You'd say cut the evil thread. Be gone with it. Bury it in the deepest pit in the deepest cave in the deepest ocean. Look to the Truth that fills the pages of the Bible and start your new life there. Do not use what some mindless master did to your great-great-great grandaddy ruin you and those around you. Do not use culture, or tribal traditions that fly in the face of God's commands as a crutch. I cannot tell you what a difference it would make if just five men in the community where I work would bend their proud knees before our merciful God. Their example would shine like the chrome on the tripped-out, lime-green 1976 Chevy Impala I saw crusing through the neighborhood the other night. Lives would be forever transformed. Souls saved. Girls valued. Cisterns mended. Elves silenced. Oh..that it would be so. Father hear my prayer.