Rich man, poor man and a woman of faith

I guess you'd call it the literary equivalent of a blind date. A Facebook friend recommended a book about the unlikely true-life story of a modern-day slave who spends much of his life homeless and an international art dealer who meets him through his volunteer work at a homeless shelter in Fort Worth, Texas. The two men are brought together by the art dealer's wife, who insists that her husband join her in volunteering at a shelter as an expression of their Christian faith.

I hadn't heard about the book, "Same Kind of Different as Me." Nor about the co-authors, Ron Hall and Denver Moore. But my friend Jocelyn recommended it as "an awesome read." Hall grows up poor in east Texas but makes it to college, then parlays a single, big-ticket sale into a lucrative career as an art dealer, with offices in Texas and New York and regular trips to Europe to schmooze with brokers and wealthy clients. Moore grows up as a sharecropper on a former plantation in Louisiana, in the pre-Civil Rights era in a place so far off the grid that the abject racism and poverty leave him uneducated, unskilled and desperate enough to hop a train as a teenager in search of something -- anything -- else. He winds up living on the streets of Fort Worth.

With Hall's wife Debbie as the catalyst, the two men overcome their prejudices toward each other and all that each represents, and develop a friendship that continues today. The book is an easy read, with alternating chapters (typically six pages or less) that are told in each man's voice. As billed, it's an inspirational tale that weaves faith throughout its 244 pages. Ultimately, it's a story about how two strangers build trust and how each achieves his own brand of personal redemption.

As a lapsed Catholic, I admit to reading the book with a feeling of some skepticism and self-doubt. Debbie is the real hero in the story. In fact, without her influence on both men, there would be no story. Hall strikes me as the kind of self-satisfied, out-of-touch Christian I would veer away from, especially when he talks about his accumulation of luxury automobiles, palatial houses, and acquisition of a sprawling ranch as a family getaway.

He mentions prayer, of course, as a real and constant source of guidance. And it's understandable that he would turn to it even more when Debbie develops serious health problems. But as someone who's still something of a non-believer, it seems excessive, occasionally grating and, at times, somewhat of a stretch to interpret events, good and bad, as God's will.

To his credit, Hall owns up to his prejudices toward the homeless. That he is able to confront and largely overcome his attitudes and beliefs is a credit to Moore, who initially comes across as an intimidating, moody, reclusive person but over the course of the book becomes a font of common sense and wisdom. He too finds strength and guidance in the Bible, despite a lifetime of abuse, poverty and racism.

The story of the men's developing trust and friendship really is quite remarkable and meant to make the reader reflect on some obvious questions: What do I think when I see a homeless person? How can I help in ways other than giving money to a shelter? Could I see past my own prejudices to develop a friendship with someone living on the streets?

Despite my criticisms (and I realize they sound snarky), I enjoyed the book. The story is unlikely, for sure, but it's a powerful testament to what can happen when two individuals, different in every possible way, make an honest effort to really lock in and listen to each other, and see past the chasms of race and class. And, as mentioned, it prodded me to reflect on my own stereotypes of both the homeless and born-again Christian communities.

I asked Jocelyn how she came upon the book. "Believe it or not," she said, "I usually walk around Barnes $ Noble and find books based on the feeling I get about them. I know sounds crazy but it's almost like I'm drawn to each of the books I buy. Once I land on a book that attracts me I read the back cover and usually just buy it."

I've done that too and found some real gems, along with a few that have proven to be fool's gold. In this case, I'm glad Jocelyn took the time to find and recommend this book. The lessons of faith will keep me wrestling with my own thoughts and interactions with both sets of people represented by Hall and Moore.

A man of faith

Héctor E. López

If most people on the planet are connected by six degrees of separation, if often seems there are only one or two degrees in Portland.

So it happened that a mutual friend's cyber-introduction resulted in my meeting the Rev. Héctor E. López for coffee last week. What a delightful, intelligent man. And who knew we'd have so many things in common?

He's a 72-year-old retired minister from the United Church of Christ who's married to Lynne Smouse López, the current minister at Ainsworth United Church of Christ in the Concordia neighborhood of Northeast Portland. It's a congregation that bills itself as "a multicultural, multiracial, open & affirming community" that explicitly welcomes members of the LGBQT community, and part of a centuries-old progressive church that in 1700 (76 years before the United States came into being) to oppose slavery.

Coincidentally, the Ainsworth church is the same one where a group of young parents, including us, established a Montessori preschool in the upstairs of the building in the early '90s.

Hector struck me immediately as a friendly, generous man (he insisted on buying my coffee and scone) with a keen sense of self and his family's and church's history.

-- He's a third-generation Congregationalist, owing to his maternal grandparents' conversion from Catholicism in the 1880s in Mexico. 
-- His parents immigrated to the U.S. in the 1910s and settled in southern California. Héctor was the youngest of three children and wound up following his older brother to UC Berkeley, graduating in 1960. As a tribute to his deceased sibling, Héctor wears Humberto's class ring from UC.
-- He was part of three-member team that did off-site supervising of a woman minister in her last year of seminary in Los Angeles. (That would be Lynne.) They married in 1996 and moved to Portland the same year.
-- He and his wife are raising two adopted children, a 20-year-old son and 17-year-old daughter. I shared the story of our adoption and it turns out their kids attended some of the same schools as ours.
-- He and a Muslim imam are co-leaders of an interfaith group that meets every Tuesday in downtown Portland for informal conversation. They started the group after the 9/11 attacks nearly 10 years ago and are still going strong.
-- He's a member of the city's Human Rights Commission and its Community and Police Relations Committee, panels that allow him to take a stand against discrimination, racism and overly aggressive police.

Clearly, this is a man who lives his values. I admire that in a person.

On the day we spoke, Héctor told me that we was flying to Boston the next day to present a scholarship to a student at Andover Newton Theological Seminary in Andover, Mass. Not just any scholarship, either. The Héctor E. López Scholarship, established in 2005, is awarded to Latina and Latino seminarians preparing to become United Church of Christ ministers.

Two students received scholarship funding this school year. The other: Andrea Cano, another transplanted Californian who's made Portland her home. Andrea graduates this month from the Pacific School of Religion in Berkeley (my birthplace, btw) and already has a job waiting for her next fall as a chaplain at Portland's Providence Hospital.

Is it any surprise that it was Andrea, a former journalist and community activist, who brought Hector and me together with an email suggesting we might enjoy meeting each other?

A family of faith survives Alabama storms

Tornado damage near Huntsville

A week ago, I was nearing the end of my shift as the day assignment editor when a phone call came in out of the blue. A woman on the other end of the line said she was returning a reporter's call but didn't know the name. My three reporters were already busy or out of the office on assignments so I stuck with the call.

And so began a lengthy interview that led to a spot news story about a couple of Portland natives who'd moved to Alabama two years ago after the husband was laid off and how they and their six children had survived the killer tornadoes that had devastated so much of the Deep South.

When I left work that Saturday, the woman, Sharon Canaday, had promised to try to email a photo or two so a colleague, the night editor, could add one to the story I posted on OregonLive. She never did. And when I returned to work early Tuesday, I discovered the reason why: She'd broken her ankle Saturday night and had to go to the E.R.

The Canaday family

I did a followup story and this time there were plenty of photos. With the help of a photo editor, I uploaded them into a gallery of 11 photos -- a first for me -- and wrote a story that was more compelling than the first. I share it here because it's got a Mother's Day angle. Plus, today is the Sabbath for the Canaday family, which belongs to the Seventh-day Adventist Church.

It's a remarkable tale of resiliency, with strong elements of luck, faith and support from their fellow church members. Hope it makes you feel as good reading it as it did me reporting and writing it.

"Improbable story of survival in Alabama fuels faith of a former Portland family"

Photos: Courtesy of the Canaday family

Putting faith into action

For someone who seldom attends church and continues to wrestle with questions of religion and spirituality, it may seem odd that I keep returning to the topic. However, I've come across two more instances where I've got to tip my hat to people who are finding constructive ways to act on their values.

Tonight, a group of women who call themselves Scarlet Cord are holding a designer rummage sale, silent auction and fashion show as part of a fundraising event in support of their efforts to assist young girls and women who are sexually exploited.

A family friend / fellow blogger named Kristen is involved with the group. I admire her commitment and recommend her blog for further reading: "The Dragonflies in My Net"

Meanwhile, yesterday's front page of The Oregonian has a story ("A Christian initiative at a Gresham apartment complex bears fruit") about folks taking it one step further.

Two young guys actually moved into Barberry Village, a low-income housing complex in a sketchy part of Gresham, a couple years ago, wanting to host community meals, get to know their neighbors and bring in local churches. Reporter Steve Beaven writes:

"So far, as part of their grass-roots project, roughly a dozen young Christian men and women have made Barberry Village their home. Their goal: Create a sense of community in a chaotic neighborhood overrun with drugs, prostitution and gangs.


"Their work mirrors, in some ways, the “new monasticism” movement, in which Christians move into urban or rural areas to work with the poor."

The organizers, David Knepprath and Josh Guisinger, both in their early 20s, were looking for a way to create a ministry that went beyond church walls, fully aware they were "outsiders, college students and young professionals with day jobs who could live in almost any neighborhood they chose," Beaven writes. "They were also Christians who wanted to talk about their faith. But they had to strike a delicate balance; they didn’t want to come on too strong and alienate their neighbors."

It's not been easy and their work is far from finished, but they do have some successes to show for their efforts. Good for them.

Photograph: Benjamin Brink, The Oregonian

Catching up with Rainy

A little over six months ago, 220,000 people were killed and 1 million left homeless by the Jan. 12 earthquake that devastated Haiti.

Three months later, I worked with a Portland woman who was part of a 10-person team of medical professionals to tell the story of her week-long stint as a volunteer with Troy Marshall Ministries, an international Christian organization.

And three months after that, I finally met the author of the piece -- Rainy Ostrom, a dialysis nurse with a kind disposition and more than a few things in common with our family.

One of the best things about my job as Sunday Opinion editor is that I get to work with a great variety of writers from week to week -- both staff reporters and columnists and freelancers of varying experience and ability. Occasionally, there's a good reason to meet with a freelancer for coffee during the reporting and writing process. Less frequently comes an opportunity to meet after a piece has been published. Such was the case on Monday afternoon when I finally met Rainy for lunch at a Southeast Portland restaurant.

We'd been trying to get together ever since her article, a lovely piece of writing titled "Resilience beneath the rubble," appeared in mid-April.

What triggered the interest?

I couldn't help but ask about her name. Rainy, she said, was short for Lorraine. Well, that was a coincidence. My Lori is also named Lorraine (though only her closest relatives call her that) and as a young girl she went by Rainey (with an -ey).

And when I asked, politely, about her age, it turns out Rainy is 57 -- exactly the same age as Lori and me. We tried for weeks to try to coordinate our three calendars to get together for coffee but somehow it proved impossible. Last weekend, I made another pitch. Lori (er, Rainey) couldn't join us but Rainy and I managed to finally get together.

How did it go?

We had a pleasant conversation during which she asked just as many questions (without being intrusive) as I did of her. Turns out that Haiti was the third international relief trip she's made (the others being Uganda and Scotland); she was born in McMinnville (just like our younger son); and she's lived all over the United States, owing to her father being a church pastor who served in various rural communities.

As a committed Christian whose children were educated in a home schooling co-op, she chipped in by teaching whatever subjects needed to be taught, including music, science and Bible studies. I, on the other hand, attended public schools all my life -- from kindergarten through college -- and have maintained a healthy skepticism of organized religion after falling away from the Catholic Church as a teenager.

As a younger man I probably would have let such differences get in the way. These days, I respect them. I find myself drawn to such differences as a way of bridging personal interests, learning from others' experiences and keeping my mind open to the possibility of new insights, even change.

In this case, having finally met Rainy, the words she wrote those many weeks ago resonate with greater meaning because it's obvious they are an expression of her faith and a call to serve.

"Surprisingly, it is a plant that taps the well of my tears. As we drive from place to place, one emotional impact layers upon another. I look up to see a bougainvillea blooming brightly. It is surrounded by white rubble halfway up. But its roots go down deep, tapping pure water. Its vibrant green reaches toward the sun, and its pink is vivid. Its way of life, its source of life has not changed. It has not been shaken. The incongruity of its vitality among ruin, uncovers the emotion within me. My tears fall, and they do not stop. No one else in the van is crying. I turn my head to face the window, and allow myself to feel what I'm feeling."

Want to read more? Go back up and click on the link to her piece.

To see Rainy's photos from Haiti, click here and look at the first 13 images. (Ignore the name of the photo editor who posted the pictures.)

Photo of Haitian schoolgirls praying before class at a school set up in UNICEF tents in Port-au-Prince, by Ramon Espinosa, The Associated Press.