Out of the Burbs

I’m comfortable living in the suburbs. Not because it’s what I’ve always known. Just because living in the “burbs” is safe for me.

Safe because most people look like me. Safe because I rarely worry about my car being broken into. Safe because being a suburbanite is just easy and convenient. (Where else do you have a Starbucks or Target located every few miles?)

I didn’t grow up in a suburb but rather a small city in southern Indiana barely populated with 20,000–the epitome of safe. I’ve lived in two Dayton suburbs and presently reside in one located just north of Indianapolis.

Thankfully, the suburbs and small town life aren’t all I’ve known ever since I left home for college. I called Orlando home for nine months. And I’ve been fortunate enough to travel to countries like China, Turkey, and Czech Republic, just to name a few.

Needless to say, this small town girl has encountered eye-opening sites and life-changing experiences. I’ll never forget one in particular aboard a flight from New York to Istanbul, Turkey, in 2007. I had settled in on the plane (my first-ever solo international flight), my seat located in the very last row. At one point during the long flight, I vacated my seat for a trip to the compact restroom located in the rear of the plane, and looked to my left. Near the restroom, a Turkish man laid out the thin, blue airline-owned blanket so his wife could pray.

A burka covering her head, the woman knelt down and offered her prayers to Allah while I entered the restroom, praying to my own God.

A few months later, I visited a country in North Africa, another predominantly Muslim nation, and as our team directed basketball drills one day at a local school, a group of 20 men caught my attention just a few hundred yards away. The school teachers knelt on individual rugs in neatly construed rows, faced Mecca, and began to pray as the muezzin’s Call to Prayer blared on a nearby loudspeaker in the city. I’d never seen anything like it and tried not to stare in amazement.

This past weekend I visited Kansas City, my second visit to the city where my youngest sister lives. As my traveling companion and I reached our destination and exited I-70, I was quickly reminded that my affluent Indy suburb was 500 miles behind me. Run-down houses and cars sat on every street. Trash littered the ground. Poverty-stricken people strolled on the sidewalk and congregated on front porches. My sister’s office was located in a neighborhood far different than mine.

Later, we drove five minutes to her place, a studio apartment where neighbors blared loud music and an old mattress lay lifeless near the dumpster. I felt foreign in this city and longed for the comforts of my apartment complex in the suburbs, where loud noises consist of barking dogs, and tenants are fined for setting trash bags anywhere but in the trash compactor.

Despite my discomfort, my trip to the city benefited me with these reminders:

• People live, change, and grow everywhere, no matter their experiences or surroundings or where they live.
• Diversity defines culture. We frequented local restaurants, the art museum, coffee shops and a grocery store.  Some people dress differently, while others hold different views and ideas. We can learn a lot from those who are different than us, those who hold diverse ideas and experiences.
• I have plenty and am more than blessed with what God has given me, whether material items or relationships.

Perhaps most importantly, I remembered that Jesus came to save both the rich and the poor. He couldn’t care less whether I live in the suburbs or the city. No matter my current address, I’m called to love friends and family, co-workers and strangers. After all, He said in John 13:35, “Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples” (NLT).

This weekend trip reminded me that my journey to love continues.