Snowblower Justice

The first home that Beth and I purchased was a third floor condo that overlooked a neighborhood of single family homes. The condo was a little over 800 square feet and if we worked together, we could clean it top to bottom in about an hour. We had a lot of disposable time back then. Often we would mix up some cocktails, sit on the balcony and watch the single family home-owners work on their houses and yards. The people directly across the street from us were particularly meticulous. The landscaping was flawless--there wasn't a weed to be found in the lush green lawn. The two and a half car garage was always tidy. The wide, sweeping driveway was perfectly clean no matter the season with nary a leaf or grass clipping or errant snow flake.

One Sunday the neat freaks across the street put up a for sale sign and notice of an open house. Of course we had to investigate the inside of this perfectly tidy home. But we liked the house and what started as voyeuristic curiosity turned into a bid and negotiations and earnest money. Honestly we never once considered that it would be us who were constantly working to keep that house in tip top shape. We saw the opportunity for a big yard, a big garage and a multi-level house in which we could spread out.

In the first days of our first winter in the house I learned that the massive driveway could not be tamed with a mere snow shovel. I needed a snowblower and not just a little electric thing. No, I needed the big daddy of snowblowers. If I were a guy, people would have made all sorts of assumptions about physical inadequacies based on my snowblower.

Not long after we adopted Peyton we discovered that diversity in our neighborhood was largely based on which Catholic church you attended while growing up in the city. There were disagreements about who hosted the best fish fry or Friday night bingo. Most everyone had moved out to that suburb when their city neighborhoods started to change. The neighborhood suddenly felt too small and very wrong for our family.

So just before Peyton's first birthday we moved to another south suburb--one that is considerably more diverse in all the important ways. While our first house was built in a time when two cars in a family were the norm, our current house was built when one car was a luxury and two cars were downright opulent. My current driveway reflects this. Two cars can fit side-by-side but just barely and not if you want to open the car door.

After it snows it is now more than a little embarrassing to start up my massive snowblower. If there are only a couple of inches of snow, I just use the old fashioned shovel to clear the drive. When it really snows, like it did this week, I pull out the behemoth and clear the drive in about 7 minutes. To alleviate my bourgeois guilt about the size of my snowblower, I often walk around the neighborhood clearing sidewalks and driveways.

I start with my neighbors next door. They are two old sisters who are trying to stay in their home as long as possible. Each winter they tell me stories about how they hired snow removal companies and how they'd been ripped off. So they try to shovel themselves. They scoop a little bit of snow and then sit down for quite awhile. I clear their drive and sidewalks in a couple of minutes. I cross the street to the recently widowed older woman. I can't quite meet her standards. No matter what I do she comes behind me with her little shovel cleaning up anything my snowblower missed.

Sometimes I walk down a few houses and clear the drive and sidewalks of a single woman who is an elementary school principal. She leaves her house each weekday before 6 am and often doesn't get home until after 7 pm. After working those kind of hours I imagine it is a nice gift to come home to a cleared drive. She doesn't expect it. I'm not sure she even knows that it is me who does it. It's my gift of compassion.

In my ministry of clearing away snow I avoid those families who I deem to be unworthy. I do not clear the snow of the family with the teen-aged son. Their driveway is rarely cleared and their sidewalks never are. I make all sorts of assumptions about the sort of parents who don't have their kid clear snow or mow the lawn. He was in trouble with the police earlier this year. I secretly wonder if he would have avoided his bad life decisions if he had grown up shoveling snow. I don't shovel the snow of the construction worker who doesn't work during the winter. I did one time and he came to the door to thank me for allowing him to sit in his robe drinking coffee instead of shoveling the snow like his wife had asked. No, my snow removal services are only given to those who I judge to be worthy.

This week I had a lot of opportunity to use my snowblower and therefore a lot of time to think. This week I thought about gifts of mercy that I didn't earn. I thought about times when I was shown compassion when I didn't deserve it. That led me to think about the times when I felt unfairly judged. I thought about wrong assumptions that people have made about me. I remembered that those times were exhausting. I figured out that my gift of compassion loses something when it is only given to those who I feel have earned it. And as much as I shout about hating judgment, I find that I do it on a pretty regular basis.

Judgment isn't always bad. It's good judgment that keeps me from letting my kids ride on the carnival rides at street fairs. Good judgment kept me from ever having my hair cut into a mullet. But judging people's behavior, whether it is about something little like how they care for their drives or something big like how they parent, isn't showing grace and compassion. It is judgment that keeps me disconnected and distant from them. When I judge their character because they vote differently or worship differently or value different things, I get into dangerous territory that rarely leaves room for understanding or reconciliation.

Next week begins the season of Lent. In our church the focus is on giving up a behavior that keeps us from living fully into God's promises and asks us to take on something in our lives that more closely aligns with what what Jesus calls us be. A lot of times I wish our focus was on giving up barbeque chips or fried food. That would be easier. I consider Lent to be a time of spiritual closet cleaning for me. It is a time to look at those things I shouldn't be wearing anymore like that bright red suit jacket with the enormous shoulder pads and big shiny brass buttons. I think this year I will focus on giving up judgment about people's lives just because of some behaviors. Maybe it is time for me to give up judgment and take on mercy. Maybe it's time to get out my snowblower and take care of some other people.