Uh-oh, it looks like your Internet Explorer is out of date.
For a better shopping experience, please upgrade now.
Temporarily Out of Stock Online
Overview
But there is another way.
Pastor and storyteller Rich Perez casts vision for what it might look like to pursue love--love expressed with eyes wide open--in the context of the real world. Because love is not primarily a feeling, an emotion, or a sentiment, Perez challenges readers through a combination of memoir and teaching to take a different path than the momentum that carries the culture we live in. With the flavor of Washington Heights, New York, readers will be transported into Perez's neighborhood on a journey to learn how to love again.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781462743711 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | B&H Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 11/01/2017 |
| Pages: | 232 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.50(w) x 8.40(h) x 0.60(d) |
| Age Range: | 3 Months to 18 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Plant Roots: 'Tate Quieto!
Have you ever been in a sea of people and realized that, although they're in the city you call home, they're still just nameless faces? Of course you have. Perhaps you haven't if you're from a small country town, but most of our global cities have millions of people in them. It's absurd to think that you can know everyone.
If your family is anything like mine, the feeling is similar to being at one of those outrageous family parties. There isn't a soul sitting down. (Well, perhaps abuelo is. He can go days without getting off his recliner.) Everyone is on the dance floor, which is really just your living room floor after half your furniture gets pushed to one side of the room. Quite honestly, the floor shakes like there's a herd of wild animals running on it. Kids are screaming and running around playing "red light, green light" while the adults dance un perico ripiao encendio, as my uncle Bonilla would say. Every member of the family is there, from second cousins to uncles younger than you to primo-hermanos (not your typical relative, just a super-close friend of the family). They're all there, and with every new person you greet, it gets more outrageous — but also, somehow, more refreshingly memorable. The time offers you a microscopic sense of familiarity and closeness, but the sense of distance is still there — only because, like I said earlier, you just don't know everybody intimately. You say to yourself, I know you're my family and I'm supposed to know you, but I kind of don't.
The city can make you feel this way. The easy thing to do is to walk into the train, look around, find that corner seat that you were hoping would be vacant, pop your Beats in, and listen to your playlist while you disconnect from everyone. I've done it on a number of occasions. But then the feeling changes a bit when you jump off the train and head back into your neighborhood. You know the people here. You give somebody a head nod, or show some love with a "qué lo que!" There is a sense of comfort here because you're home. These are the folks you see at the bodega, the barbershop, the ball courts, or the playgrounds where you take your kids to see what dirt really tastes like. You know this place.
Now, it would be ridiculous for me to say that you know all of these people intimately, but there is a sense of closeness. You deal with the same train delays. You get the same neighbor discount from the coffee shop. You have la doña (sweet, grandmother-kind-of neighbor) watch your kids play outside from her ground-floor window while you run an errand or finish dinner. For me, there's something just slightly different in this environment. There is a sense of family here. The Hispanics here had no one else with whom to build that sense of family, so they did it with each other. They immigrated to this neighborhood in Manhattan and never moved away. Whether because of fear, miseducation, or familiarity, they stayed put — and in the process, although perhaps unintentionally, they created this sense of rootedness, this feeling of home.
As Simple as the Color Yellow
On a recent trip to Argentina, I sat next to a gentleman named Rodrigo, who was traveling from his hometown of Trelew to Buenos Aires on business. We engaged in small talk for a bit, but then I became really intrigued when he began to talk about the color yellow. Yes, the color. Rodrigo said yellow was the color of the walls of a coffee shop near his home. He was strangely specific about it, but I enjoyed that. He said that yellow reminded him of the flowers at his grandmother's house where he was raised, just a couple of blocks from that same coffee shop. Poetic, right? Rodrigo appreciated the nostalgia triggered by the yellow walls so much that he visited that coffee shop often, making it part of his regular morning routine. He made great friends there and even met his wife in that coffee shop. Amazing! He said that no matter where he traveled and what beauty he saw as he traveled, his love for the people and colors of his city would always draw him back.
Can you imagine the kind of love he felt for his city? Granted, we were on the plane for about three hours and the conversation didn't start until about an hour into the flight. If we had talked longer, I would have learned about his fears, concerns, and gripes concerning his city. But the first things he talked about were his experiences and memories of being planted in his city. The colors, smells, and people had such a profound place in his heart that they would always draw him back.
As I listened to Rodrigo, I asked myself a few questions. What kind of imprint could I leave on the world if I paid this much attention to my own city and my community? How deeply and loudly would my life speak into the lives of those around me — my wife, kids, neighbors, and those under my leadership — if I took this kind of interest in them and the community? Would I leverage my influence to grow meaningful relationships that lead people to the ultimate experience of love and meaning that's found in Jesus?
Over the last few years, I have realized that loving our cities well demands that we know our cities well. It seems natural, right? What aspects of our cities should we be celebrating because they reflect what God has envisioned? What are the idols of my city — those things or people that overpromise and underdeliver? In what ways can the city grow? Where and how has God called the church to play a role?
I realized that if I was going to contribute to the much-needed reform in culture, personally and as a spiritual leader in my community, I was going to have to plant roots here — a tall order, for sure, and intimidating in some ways. But why does this matter? Because I'm convinced more than ever that in our constantly changing culture, anything that takes root will take time. And if we, as kingdom-of-God citizens, don't look to the long haul, we won't have a considerable effect. Time will be one of our greatest assets. Risk will be one of our closest friends. Transforming love will be our greatest motivation. Is it worth our time? Is it worth the risk? Is it worth the sacrifice? Ask any kid who doesn't have a dad or big brother. Ask the parents working long hours to make sure their kids have book bags for school. Ask the young girl who sees no other way to feel accepted and cared for than to give herself away to men. Ask the older gentleman who feels enslaved by his ambition to climb the financial ladder. Ask the immigrants who quietly move about the community, gripped by fear because they're unable to communicate in a foreign country. Ask them. They will all say that it is worth the time, risk, and sacrifice.
Doing More with What You Know
We have some great neighbors — some we know casually, others we know a little better, and others we know as friends. José and Lilly, our neighbors from upstairs, are our friends. My wife has built an intimate friendship with Lilly; they're both young mothers living in the craziness of New York City. Lilly is a schoolteacher and José works on the New York University campus. Anna and I realized how difficult it was for them, during the school year, to manage their schedules and find babysitting for their little boy, Nathan. Because of their conflicting schedules, they reached a point where they swapped baby duty at the 116th train station, as Lilly was on her way home and José was going in to work, even in the bitter cold. They didn't seem to think much of it. It was tough, I'm sure, but they probably thought to themselves, Hey, this is what it is and we have to get it done.
But Anna and I saw friends who worked hard, and parents who would go to great lengths in caring for their son. We saw that God had blessed us with significantly flexible work schedules. And ultimately, all those variables added up to an opportunity to help our friends. So we did. We loved them in the way that seemed most practical. We can't quite remember how it all started, but with our flexible schedules, Anna and I made ourselves available to watch Nathan while Lilly made it home from work. On some occasions, we encouraged Lilly to take a couple of minutes to detox from her day before picking up Nathan at our apartment. Even when she came to pick Nathan up, she would often stay at our apartment for some hangout time.
We deeply value those times, because they provide a fresh picture of how a Christian family engages its neighbors and community. I don't share this experience to showcase what great neighbors we are, not in the least. I share this story so that you can capture the principle that a healthy perception of your community demands genuine and intentional engagement with it. In other words, you cannot sit on the sidelines if you're trying to know and love those in your community.
Walking the City
Let's go to Acts 17 for a moment. Although it easily can go unnoticed, Luke uses a couple of key words to describe what Paul does when he settles in Athens, Greece. In verse 22, Paul makes a confident assertion about the Athenians. He says, "I see that you are extremely religious in every respect." What follows is the major key (as DJ Khaled would say), so watch closely. The word for is used. This is important, because it will tell us why Paul is so confident in his assertion about them. Luke goes on to say in verse 23, "For as I was passing through and observing the objects of your worship, I even found an altar on which was inscribed: 'To an Unknown God.'" Why should these words be blowing your mind? Because they are the most practically helpful words any Christian in any city looking to share Jesus with anyone can hear. Paul passed through, observed, and found things in the city of Athens. His perception that they were religious people didn't come from mere intuition or a stereotype. And quite frankly, it didn't come from a special revelation from God. It came simply from Paul walking the city and taking the time to know it.
Paul goes on to share some memorable words about faith with a very non-Christian crowd. But what makes this all the more profound and effective are the words that follow his long spiel to the Athenians about this unknown god they serve. "When they heard ... some people joined him and believed" (Acts 17:32, 34). Paul's words proved to be timely for the Athenians. Paul understood the Athenian context; he traveled around the city to learn what was good and bad about Athens, and who their idols were. And with his burning passion to make God known, Paul shared some timely words. It resulted in some people mocking him, other people wanting to continue the conversation, and finally a group of people who needed no more convincing that the God of the Bible was the true God.
The perception we have of our cities and communities determines our service toward them. If we see people only from our fire escapes, and not from street level, we handicap our ability to serve. We miss the details. We miss those things that are important to people in our neighborhoods. It should be important to us who the bodegero is, who our neighbors are, who our kids' teachers are, what our coworkers go home to, and why that elderly lady with a bad leg walks around the neighborhood with a worried look on her face. Those things should interest us because, like Paul, we want our personal engagements to be timely, thoughtful, and life giving. If we forgo intimacy with our communities, we relinquish any opportunity for meaningful service and transformation. Knowing our communities will give us a bull's-eye target — the idols that need to be destroyed, the weaknesses that need to be served, and the strengths that need to be celebrated.
Rosanne Cash, daughter of the late Johnny Cash, once said this about New York: "I had rules for myself about my New Yorker-ness. I had to show the city I respected it and that I cared enough to learn about it." In the end, you can come to know New York — or any city, for that matter — only when you commit yourself to her. Commit to hearing her dreams, her values, and her fears. Commit to her growth. Commit to fighting things that bring harm to her. Commit to sitting and listening to her story.
The Investment Monster
All of this commitment can be summed up in one word — investment. Investing is no easy task, perhaps because of the nature of the word itself. Investment is a finance term, and we don't always like talking about money, especially when the conversation has to do with giving money up. People are private about many things, but about nothing more than money — our bank account, credit, and stocks. I'm not suggesting that we walk around shouting our credit scores, or even that we should share them with other people. I am saying that it's difficult to talk about money because we so closely identify with how much of it we do or don't have.
Here's a simple definition of investment: putting personal resources into something that offers potential future return. No matter how you flip it, investing involves risk. We give up personal resources now so that they will — in time — flourish and yield greater fruit. More than often, that proves to be difficult because it demands a hopeful vision of the future, and sometimes our present realities cloud that vision for us.
Perhaps this story will help. In 2003, my older sister and my brother-in-law persuaded my parents to invest in life insurance. My dad was your typical blue-collar working immigrant from the Dominican Republic, and my mom had finally settled at home after working for several years as a teacher's aide and home attendant. My parents were able to lock in a quote where my dad paid $90.00 a month. If anything happened to either of them, my family would receive $100,000 — no questions asked. After about a year, my dad found it difficult to keep up with the payments because of all his other expenses, so he decided to cut it off. No more life insurance. In 2005, my mother received a diagnosis of cancer. In 2007, she passed away. This was no small episode in my life. In fact, it was one of the most powerful and life-altering moments of my life, but I'll leave those details for later. Needless to say, her death was devastating, and also created a huge financial burden that loomed over us. The idea of life insurance or savings — for my family and, quite frankly, for most immigrant families — was a luxury. It wasn't a pressing reality because what was pressing was the immediate present — rent, food, lights — but not death, although we knew it would come eventually. We didn't plan for the future, although we knew we should.
Now let me be clear about this. My dad was emotionally, mentally, and physically involved in my life, as he still is today. He is a great man, and I thank God for his example. But with all great people, we can also learn from their lapses in judgment or their shortcomings. And just like my dad, most of us fail to invest in a vision that goes beyond right now. As an immigrant with no college degree — just the grit in his hands — my dad was working to give us a place to live, food to eat, clothes to wear, and an education to help us excel. The thought of life insurance or savings was too foreign for him, despite the brevity and frailty of life. He pushed it to the back of his mind and ignored it, because of the reality of immigrant life in America — and particularly in New York. There's often not much you can do, even though you know that it's sensible to think about your family's financial future. Because of personal disinvestment, a lack of equal opportunity, and/or the immense pressure that the lack of opportunity creates, your only option becomes to cut even the lean meat. In other words, my father's circumstances trapped him into making a decision that he would regret later — and he did. For a while, it haunted him. His inability to see beyond the now had kept him from investing $90.00 a month, which would have resulted in $100,000 for our family during an unexpected and turbulent season later. In his case, investment was scared away by the monster called the present.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Mi Casa Uptown: Learning to Love Again"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Rich Pérez.
Excerpted by permission of B&H Publishing Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
About the Author xv
Foreword: La Bienvenida: Bustelo in My Cup Again Andy Mineo xix
Introduction: Familiarity Breeds … Love? 1
Chapter 1 Plant Roots: 'Tate Quieto! 21
Chapter 2 Make Homes, Build Families: Entre Familia 65
Chapter 3 Love Neighbor: Quién ha Visto! 131
Chapter 4 Trust Jesus, Die Well: Todo Tiene Su Final 161
Afterword: La Despedida: A Reflection of an Intimate Friendship David Ham 179
Appendix: A Place Called Rest: Recuéstate y Descansa (A Short Story about Identity) 185
Notes 201
Customer Reviews
