Quote of the day: "I can't wait until Christmas when I have a man so we can walk around Chicago together and it will be so romantic." - Caroline
It was a beautiful day to be in the city. Blue skies, crisp, cold air and not too much wind. I like to look up and see a little patch of the atmosphere framed by imposing buildings of steel and stone and glass. #1. Tall buildings: reminders that the world is bigger than Taylor University.
But on the street corners, along with the sound of saxophone and drum beats you’ll hear “Please, ma’am. Can you buy me a sandwich?” “Can you spare a dollar?” “Spare change, sir?” Cardboard signs read, “Lost my job. Lost my home. Lost my hope.” “Help the homeless this Christmas.” It wrenches at my heart. “Things I Hate About the City.” #1. Wishing I could help and not being able. Yes, I can give my tithe or my donation to the Salvation Army, and I do. But when you hear intermingling shouts of “look at that cute coat!” and “spare a dollar, sir?” it’s overwhelming.
I used to go downtown every week during the summer and hang out for a few hours in Millennium Park with a frappuccino and a copy of Chesterton or McCullough. As I walked from Van Buren to the Starbucks on Michigan, I passed so many people who asked this randomly tender-hearted then-19-year-old for a few dollars. I never carried cash in the city (and it’s probably unwise to hand out money anyway), but I always wished desperately that I were a man so I could take them to lunch and hear their stories. There was actually one time I when I delightedly gave away a leftover ¾ of a pizza to a homeless man as I ran to catch my train, but the pleasure I had in sharing that was quickly crushed at the sight of two more homeless people on the next corner. What could I give them?
We walked to Daley Plaza where the Christkindle Market was set up, filling the air with the intermingling smells of cinnamon-roasted nuts, bratwurst, and spiced wine. No really, it was glorious. And very crowded. #2. Black people, Hispanic people, Asian people, and people of all kinds of ethnicities mixed together. I love how you can walk through Chicago and hear ten different languages spoken within the span of ten minutes. #2½. Different languages and different cultures, mingling without blurring, interacting without opposing.
We inevitably entered the world of Black Friday craziness. MACY’S. Scary. Red and silver glittery balls, pestering saleswomen forcing samples of perfume on you, SALE! 30% OFF signs on absolutely everything (making me think that maybe nothing’s really on sale and they just put up those signs to make you think you’re getting a deal. Hm.) But we skipped most of that and headed straight to the lower level where the Frangos are. #3. Frangos. Now, this is a uniquely Chicagoan thing, dating back probably fifty years. Frangos are the most wonderful minty chocolates you’ve ever had. As I told Caroline, nothing brings out my girliness like chocolate. I defy many female stereotypes: I hate chick flicks, I’m mostly rational and very UNemotional in most situations, and I don’t find much pleasure in shopping. But chocolate—man, it’s in my genes. I. Love. Chocolate. And Frangos beat all. Don’t ever ask me about Frangos or you’ll see a totally different, obsessive side of me—and it might scare you.
After we spent about a half hour smelling the chocolate and FINALLY bought some and ate a few [dozen] of them, we headed upstairs to see the famous State Street windows. State Street is one of the famous north-south streets in Chicago, lined with great restaurants, pricey department stores, and exquisite theaters. Personally, I think the best part of State Street is the entertainment that lives on the sidewalk. #4. Street performers are amazing. The best time to see street performers is in the summer, around the end of June when Taste starts up. On every corner of Michigan Avenue you’ll hear the sickest beats. Maybe I like it because it reminds me of Africa (where I dream of going) because the high school-aged black boys sit in the city sun with shirts off, glistening with sweat as they bang on over-turned buckets with vigor, enthusiasm, and great rhythm. (Okay, I have a thing for drummers. I can’t help it.) They make me very happy.
But on the street corners, along with the sound of saxophone and drum beats you’ll hear “Please, ma’am. Can you buy me a sandwich?” “Can you spare a dollar?” “Spare change, sir?” Cardboard signs read, “Lost my job. Lost my home. Lost my hope.” “Help the homeless this Christmas.” It wrenches at my heart. “Things I Hate About the City.” #1. Wishing I could help and not being able. Yes, I can give my tithe or my donation to the Salvation Army, and I do. But when you hear intermingling shouts of “look at that cute coat!” and “spare a dollar, sir?” it’s overwhelming.
I used to go downtown every week during the summer and hang out for a few hours in Millennium Park with a frappuccino and a copy of Chesterton or McCullough. As I walked from Van Buren to the Starbucks on Michigan, I passed so many people who asked this randomly tender-hearted then-19-year-old for a few dollars. I never carried cash in the city (and it’s probably unwise to hand out money anyway), but I always wished desperately that I were a man so I could take them to lunch and hear their stories. There was actually one time I when I delightedly gave away a leftover ¾ of a pizza to a homeless man as I ran to catch my train, but the pleasure I had in sharing that was quickly crushed at the sight of two more homeless people on the next corner. What could I give them?
God, make me ever mindful of your children who are struggling, hanging on for dear life and for a sense of personal dignity as consumers wander about with bags and bags of new things on every arm. Let me do everything out of love for you and concern for your people. Humble me with your blessings and give me a heart that breaks for those hurting around me. And thank you for the city—its glory and its grime and the paradox of blessing and calling.
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