mandy inchaustegui

Every once in a while, I get an itch to do a family project that’s a bit of an experiment. Here’s the latest Inchaustegui adventure!

We live in a fairly urban part of Los Angeles. We regularly see people who are homeless, walking on our street with their shopping carts or hanging out at the corner of a major intersection that’s close by. It’s so easy to just get used to it, not acknowledging the humanity of the people we see. I wanted to change this for our kids. Everyone is a person, with feelings, hopes, dreams and hurts. No matter who they are or what they’ve been through, we are to love.

So, I decided that we could make about 20 brown bag lunches and drive around town, handing them out to people who looked like they could use a meal. Working together as a family team, we had our mission to simply love a tiny piece of this city.

First, we laid the brown bags on the living room floor and Xander and I wrote “Happy Valentine’s Day” on the front. Then, all four of us made an assembly line to make 20 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Elijah and Xander opened and set up all the bags and, working together, put a sandwich, an apple, an orange, some peanut butter crackers and some valentine’s chocolates in each bag. Finally, Anthony and Xander wrote “You are loved” on some little valentine cards and one went into each bag. We closed them up, put them in a box and loaded up the car, ready to hand them out.

Our first stop was to find a woman we see all the time. She’s always walking around and I often see her cooking and doing her laundry on the side of the road. We found her sitting on the street, by a bridge. Anthony and Xander got out to give her a bag of food and she started screaming at them to go away. Anthony tried to explain what we were doing but she wouldn’t take it. They quietly got back into the car, with both boys asking the obvious question. We talked about how people often get hurt so badly that it can be really hard to receive love sometimes. And how it’s difficult to admit that we might need help. We all could relate and connect with her. We were sad but we understood.

Next, stop…Figueroa and York. This is a pretty big hangout for people and this evening was no exception. We parked the car, took our boys and the box of meals (Elijah is in his Spiderman costume, by the way), and walked over to the benches on the corner. I have to admit that I was a bit nervous. I knew things were ok but I also knew that we were walking into a situation where we were not in control. I took a deep breath and followed Anthony.

There were a little over a dozen people there, men and women. Their faces lit up when we asked them if they wanted some food and that we just wanted to tell them Happy Valentine’s Day. Xander and Elijah passed out the bags, with huge smiles. Apparently, peanut butter and jelly is a favorite among adults, too!

For me, I watched their faces. The women looked me in the eye and just kept saying, “Thank you.” One gentleman, pulled out the valentine card first and just stared at it for quite a while. You are loved.

We got back in the car to drive around, looking for more people who might appreciate what we had to give. As we drove, we talked. We talked about Matthew 25 where Jesus says, “as you do to the least of these, you do to me.” We talked about how everyone is human and deserves to be loved and is valuable. We talked about the Lord’s Prayer and how we are to pray and live, “Your Kingdom come.” We talked about love.

We found a few other people. Looking for homeless people on the streets of LA is kinda like asking a woman who’s pregnant when she is due. You better be sure and not assume. Unfortunately, it didn’t take us long to hand out the 20 bags. We ended the night with Happy Hour at a hipster burger joint in Eagle Rock. We talked about how we were grateful for the love we have for each other and how thankful we are for what we have. And how thankful we are to love and serve others.

The next day was a rainy one in LA. As we drove by York and Fig, Xander looked out the window of the car to see if the people we talked to the night before were there. “I’m looking for our friends, Mom! I hope our friends are staying dry. We should go back and talk to them.”

Our friends.

Our little Valentine’s Day adventure took less than two hours from start to finish. Something so small, yet, with an impact that extends far beyond what we may ever know. For now, it is enough to know that my kids see the humanity and value of those around us, regardless of a person’s circumstances.

“For God so loved the world…”

A Valentine’s Day well spent.

Anthony and I have been talking about parenting a lot lately and the vision and hope that we have for our kids and family. Part of our vision is that we are intentionally living in the city of Los Angeles in order to be a voice of hope in a place where there’s a lot of darkness and despair. As our kids get older, and interact more with the culture around them, there is a new temptation to want to shelter our kids, keeping them from knowing all that we know they will see and know.

I, myself, have a hard time handling being around all the darkness sometimes. The graffiti, the people yelling at each other, the smell of pot, the homeless woman cooking and doing her laundry on the side of the road, the weary faces of the sick or unemployed.

And that’s just a normal day walking down the street outside our home.

There are also the very real and honest conversations that are shared with us of awful things that happen to people, especially children, in this world as Anthony and I have the honor of leading the Celebrate Recovery ministry at our church. We are not in any way naïve to the darkness that is happening all the time, all around us. I'm an adult, hopefully with skills to be able to process all of this, and manage my own emotions in the process. But even then, it gets to me sometimes and becomes extremely overwhelming.

We don’t share all of the details with our kids. But they, too, are not naïve to the hurt and pain of this world. They see it every day, in the face of the stranger and also in the friend they love. There's a part of me that worries how they will process it all, not wanting to crush their spirit in any way. Yet, I want them to know truth. And this means that they have to know that there darkness exists in order for them to fully know the beauty, power and goodness of the light.

There are moments when I just want to keep them from all of it, holding onto their innocence, sheltering them from the ugliness of this world.

But this is my ultimate conclusion.

I do not want to shelter my kids, keeping them from the knowledge of bad things. Most days, to be honest, it’s pretty unavoidable.

Instead, I want to create a shelter with them, having our family and home be a safe place for hurting people to come and find love, grace and peace.

This means that we, ourselves, have to be healthy, connected to God and living love and grace and peace. We are currently really trying hard to work on being this.

It may seem risky, and it probably is more than I realize, but, in faith, we intentionally expose our kids to the realities of this world, both the lovely and ugly parts. And we talk about ALL of it. We talk about compassion. We talk about God’s heart for people. We talk about His power to heal...everything.

Ultimately, we talk about our role in that – and choose to create and be a shelter for others. It’s so beautiful to do this WITH our kids and not just FOR them.

May our family be a shelter where people who are hurting will experience the love of Jesus.

In the townhome complex we are currently living in, there is a fascinating diversity of people. We have loved getting to build neighborly relationships with some of them. There are others, though, who very much keep to themselves and who we politely wave at in passing.

One of these neighbors is Sarah. She is probably in her 40s, single and works at the library down the street. She is often seen with a big floppy hat, walking her dog (who, true to classic stereotype, resembles it’s owner) and reading a book as she walks. I think I’ve gotten a smile out of her maybe 3 times in the past nine months we’ve lived here…even when we’ve said hi to her at the library while she’s working. Not exactly the most friendly person I’ve ever met.

So Xander and I were walking to our front door and passed by Sarah as she was walking out, hat on head and book in hand. We said hello and did not receive a response. After she was out of earshot, I whispered to Xander, “She doesn’t talk very much, does she?” He said, “You shouldn’t talk about people, Mom.” (Thank you, Xander. You are right.) I responded, “Maybe she’s just shy.” Xander looked at me with a sparkle in his eye. “She’s not shy, Mom. She’s a mystery.”

A mystery. Yes, Xander. People are a mystery.

Besides being completely convicted of my judgment of others, I was totally caught up in the beauty and excitement of looking at people as mysteries, with a sense of excitement. Xander didn’t see someone who was socially awkward or odd. He sees Sarah as a fascinating mystery – someone to get to know, as they choose to reveal themselves.

There is something beautiful, attractive and fascinating about the mysterious. How would my relating to people change if I saw them as mysteries, with a sense of awe and curiosity? I think I would like to follow the example of my six year old with this one.

Interestingly, we went to a “telescope night” at the library the same day that this conversation took place. Sarah was the one who was running it. We looked at Jupiter and the moon through some homemade telescopes. I talked a bit with Sarah as we observed my boys asking questions and exploring the mysteries of space. Sarah and I enjoyed watching them together, laughing and coming up with questions of our own to ask the owners of the telescopes.

I enjoyed getting to know a bit more about this mystery of a person. One thing I learned? She has a beautiful smile.

After reading (and completely enjoying) Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art, I was curious as to what his novels were like. He happened to have recently written one on Alexander the Great, which sparked my interest, having a son who is named Alexander. We intentionally gave him that name, meaning “Defender of Mankind,” always wanting him to know that greatness lies in defending, protecting and serving humanity. I thought a character study might lead to some important leadership and life lessons. I was not disappointed.

Even though the novel was definitely fictional, there was a lot of truth written of Alexander’s character and leadership. From a very young age, the book speaks of Alexander feeling this force of destiny within him that was stronger than anything else in his life. He had to do what he did. He had to conquer. He had to lead. He had to fight. It was as if this force in him was driving him forward, as if he had no choice but to follow and act.

I can totally relate to feeling this strong sense of destiny and calling on my life. It is what compels me to do things that others might see as crazy. I don’t know how to describe this force within me at times but it gives me strength, determination and drive. I have listened to it and followed for a lot of my life. I don’t want to miss my greatness…my calling…my destiny.

After he conquered Persia, there was a pause. He had led well, his men had fought hard and they had won. Yet morale was waning. His advisors took the risk to share what was going on with the men. They hadn’t seen their families in 7 years and they were ready to go home. Yet Alexander still had this force within him, driving him and pressing him forward. He would not quit until he had conquered the world, finishing the task.

At this point, Pressfield has a sage from India come to meet with Alexander.

“True greatness,” he said, “is when you can say, ‘I have conquered my need to conquer the world.’” When you can let go, giving it all up, knowing who you are, not being controlled by any force, even your destiny. Living free, compelled by wisdom and love. This didn’t mean for Alexander to quit. The sage was wisely pressing into the “why” behind the drive and passion.

This really struck me. “I have conquered my need to conquer the world.” It is one thing for me to get to the point of having that strong vision living what I believe is God’s calling and mission on my life. A very important place to get to! Yet, I feel like there is a next stage where I get over myself, my vision and my need to “conquer” whatever it is that I feel the need to do. I still want to do great things and live a great life. And I want to do it in freedom, not being controlled by anything else but wisdom and love. It is not about my need to “conquer” anything. It is about living humbly and courageously. This is the strength I want to choose to fuel my vision, passion and destiny.

“I have conquered my need to conquer the world.”

Now that the kids are getting a little older, I’m really working on creating more traditions for our family. I try to be really intentional about it because if it’s going to be something that we do year after year, it better be good. I don’t want to get stuck with some “tradition” I hate in a few years or that is a huge amount of work for me. They need to be simple, meaningful and enjoyable. Gradually, we are getting some!

Our one main Christmas tradition happens on Christmas morning. Before we start opening gifts, we sit down and eat breakfast together. While we eat, we open two presents from God. In one, is the baby Jesus from our nativity scene. In the other, is a cross that’s made from wood from Bethlehem. Each of the boys opens one of the gifts and we talk about the gift of Jesus and His gift of grace.

Then, we each give a gift that we’ve prepared ahead of time that we want to give to Jesus that next year. The youngest goes first. This is the Inchaustegui list for Christmas 2011!

Elijah: a ball. “Because Jesus loves me and wants to play with me.”

Xander: a drawing representing his imagination. “Because He gave it to me so I want to give it back to Him.”

Anthony: a Hulk action figure. “I give Jesus my anger and tendency to lose my temper.”

Me: a paper symbolizing my writing. “I give Jesus my time, ideas and focus to write and to risk sharing it with others.”

I love talking about what each of us are giving Jesus and why. I am always inspired by what my kids choose. Elijah reminded me that Jesus loves me and wants to play more with me, too. Xander reminded me that He also gave me an imagination for me to create things of beauty and truth. We learn about each other and are able to support and encourage each other in the bringing of our gifts to the One whose birth we are celebrating.

I’m not the best at saving stuff or writing things down. (Hopefully, my kids won’t think they’ve been neglected because they don’t have baby books.) But I am saving our cards and gifts to Jesus through the years, packed away with our Christmas decorations. This is one tradition I think we want to keep!

“It’s the Mayan Club, Mom, but it’s the people that make it a church.”

This comment came out of the blue from Xander a few weeks ago as we were driving up to church. When we moved to LA five years ago, he was a year and a half. He has grown up going to church on Sunday nights at the Mayan. It might have seemed crazy, and not altogether safe at times, to take our kids to the club but I knew that they were getting experiences that would shape their worldview in a way that I thought was pretty important.

Because of our time at the Mayan, Xander has witnessed the power of the arts to communicate truth. He’s watched incredible dancers and artists tell stories through their crafts, asking questions, understanding that there is more to what they are doing than just dancing or painting. He had the opportunity to invite others to participate in a backpack drive, learning that we can do so much more together than we can do on our own. He has learned that not everyone dresses or looks the same and that everyone, no matter what, is a valuable person, loved by God. He has been loved on by so many of our friends at the Mayan as people have watched the boys so Anthony and I could serve with Celebrate Recovery, understanding the value of community as we all live life together.

I am so grateful for the way our time at the Mayan has shaped our kids. Xander had his first big boy potty experience there. It’s where Elijah learned to climb stairs. I’ve had to avoid fully explaining the naughty pictures down in the green room and that lamp by the back bar of the topless lady that is conveniently the exact height of a two year old. They have been “conversation starters” for me with so many people, usually who are there by themselves, maybe not having anyone else to talk to. I could have done without the several times we have lost one of them in the sea of people in downtown LA or Xander almost running out in front of a bus. But other than that, it’s been incredible for our family.

Last night was the last time my boys will be in that building for a very (very!) long time. Driving home, I was a bit nostalgic and crying. We talked about why we wouldn’t be going back there and what we are looking forward to in the future. We talked about how it’s not the building that makes a church or the people that make a building a church. The people ARE the church. We talked about what the church is and who we are to be as the church. Xander started saying all the places we could BE the church: We could be a homeless church, Mom, and be on the street, not even IN a building!

We talked about how being the church means loving one another and that by us being the church, people will know who God is and how much he loves them.

Xander’s final questions of the night: 1. Who were the first people to know God loved them? 2. Who was the person who started the church?

Such fun and important conversations continue! Thank you, Mosaic, for these five years in a place that have shaped my sons in beautiful ways. I am forever grateful.

Growing up in a musical family, taking piano lessons was an understood rite of passage. Beginning in kindergarten and going all the way through my senior year of high school, every week, one day after school, I would have a half-hour lesson. Most of the time, I really liked learning how to play. There was, however, a huge turning point for me at about 6th grade.

Around this stage, the music began to get more challenging and I was really having to work if I wanted to get better. I could keep playing the “kids” stuff or I could push through, learn some new skills and a whole new world of material I could play would be opened up to me.

Both my piano teacher and my parents knew this to be true, knowing how much I would enjoy what was on the other side of this developmental hill. So, they did what good coaches do…they encouraged and pushed me to work hard and press through. Not having something come easily for me was a new and pretty uncomfortable experience. I hated it. And besides that, I wasn’t quite sure that I wanted to press through. Why? Wasn’t where I was at good enough?

I began to get really frustrated and discouraged and felt like the encouragement was pressure. Since I have a natural tendency to want to please people and often really care about what people think about me, I pushed through with the motivation of pleasing my piano teacher or my parents.

Even though I was getting to play more challenging and fun pieces, I still wasn’t enjoying playing because I was doing it to please someone else and not because I wanted it. I brought up wanting to quit taking piano all together, thinking that would solve my problem. Yet, I still really enjoyed playing and honestly did want to intentionally get better. I just wanted it to be for me and because I wanted to play, not because someone else wanted it for me.

I remember processing through all of this as a twelve year old, making the conscious acknowledgment that I did like playing the piano and that I did want to improve. I began to own my reason for playing. I did not want to do piano competitions or perform. I loved playing because it was an escape for me. I loved making beautiful music, expressing my emotions through the songs I played. I would go into our music room for hours, playing and thinking through what was going on in my life. Later, I was able to play in all sorts of places, doing accompaniment for kids’ choirs and being on worship teams. I enjoyed being able to use my talents to serve others.

This was a significant turning point for me. I began to enjoy playing again and pushed through that developmental hump, opening myself up to so much more that I could play and do. Playing the piano was incredibly helpful for me, going through my teenage years. As an adult, I miss having that outlet probably more than I’m even aware of.

All of this was brought to mind as I’ve been processing through my reason to blog. I haven’t posted in a while and I get encouraged to do so by others pretty often. One of my best friends has recently asked me some pretty powerful questions as to why I don’t blog, as I was sharing with them some of the things I was reading and learning. Usually, people encourage me to blog after I share something like that, knowing that the things I’m thinking about and processing through might be helpful to a larger audience. Yet, I’ve been afraid of blogging for a lot of the same reasons I wanted to quit piano: fear of not being perfect, fear of what people will think, and feeling pressure to please and perform. I’ve been “quitting” on this for some time now. How could I have been wiser at twelve than I am at 33? That young woman has been pretty convicting to me lately!

So, here’s the processing now. I need to write for me. Because I enjoy it and it’s a healthy outlet for me. In the same way that my playing and practicing changed when I stopped pressuring myself to be perfect, I can write simply because I enjoy writing. What is perfection in that anyway?

And the truth is, the more I write, the better I will get and the more I will enjoy it. And the more I will be able to serve and help others. If I would have stopped playing in 6th grade, I would have missed out on a lot of opportunities that came later for me that were really rewarding. The same is probably true with this. I will never know what might be missed because I didn’t take the risk to get over this new developmental hump for me.

So, here’s to a new risk. Writing because I want to and I like it. Posting it in a blog because I enjoy sharing what I’m learning and processing through. I really do hope that it is actually helpful for someone. But more importantly, it’s helpful for me. I’m ready now to enjoy the journey!