The Price of Cheap: What's in the Name?

It all started when I flipped over a package of bread in the grocery store.

My husband has always been for "going organic" at our house.  He just figured it's way better for you.  I saw his point, but could never overcome the fact that organic things are EXPENSIVE.  Expensive is not a comfortable word in my vocabulary.  I wouldn't call myself cheap.  In fact I have what some people may call expensive taste, but I refuse to pay a lot of money for anything.  My theory is that the less that I spend on myself the more good I'm able to do for others.  And when I spend money on myself I feel....well...selfish.

But all that was about to change.

I told Scott I just couldn't justify the expense of jumping on the organic bandwagon when other people in the world were starving because they had nothing to eat.  Besides, just because our family didn't eat organic didn't mean we weren't what I considered healthy.  I cooked at home each night, we ate whole grains and enjoyed loads of fruits and vegetables.

But one day at Publix I happened to scan the backside of a package of whole wheat bread I was about to put into my shopping cart.  The first ingredient was flour.  The second was HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP.  That got me thinking.  I put the bread back and went home determined to get to the bottom of this making better food choices thing.

Now, this is not a blog concerned with physical health.  I'm not about to tell you what you should or should not consume.  This is a blog dedicated to the poor and needy.  So what does high fructose corn syrup have to do with them?  PLENTY.  And we'll get there eventually.

In my determination to figure out exactly what my family was ingesting I started reading things...and watching things.  One of the things I watched was "Food Inc.," a fascinating documentary about the hidden ugliness in the food industry.  I was expecting some of the information about the poor treatment of animals, poor inspection rates, government corruption, etc.  But I was floored by much of the information disclosed on how people are intentionally exploited and oppressed in order to bring cheap food to our tables.  People such as elderly American farmers and undocumented workers from Mexico.  And I started understanding how food subsidies here in the United States damage the poor in developing countries as well.

I do NOT like it when we abuse the environment.

I do NOT like it when we abuse animals.


But I REALLY do NOT like it when we abuse people for our own selfish gain.

Halfway through the film there is an arrest scene where illegal workers who have been used for cheap labor are then betrayed by the very company that hired them.  The union representative said this:

"We want to pay the cheapest price for our food.  We don't understand that that comes at a price.  These workers, they've been here for ten, fifteen years processing your bacon, your holiday ham and now they're getting picked up like their criminals.  And these companies are making billions of dollars."

MY bacon.  MY holiday ham.  I realized that in my noble efforts to NOT spend money so that I could help the poor, the little money I was spending was contributing to a less than ethical system that actually keeps the poor oppressed and lines the pockets of their oppresers.


Whoa.  I had some serious reevaluating to do.

As an independent farmer in Food Inc. goes to say, "Is cheapness everything?  Who wants to buy the cheapest car?  We're willing to subsidize the food industry to create the mystique of cheap food when actually its very expensive food.  When you add up the environmental costs, the societal costs, the health costs.  The industrial food is not honest food.  It's not produced honestly.  It's not priced honestly.  It's not processed honestly.  There is nothing honest about that food."
 
Americans like cheap.  We like things to be cheap because when things are cheap we can afford to buy more things.  Americans like more.  More is more.  But do we ever stop to ask ourselves WHY something is so cheap?

Nothing is really cheap.  There will always be a hidden cost.  You may not have to pay it as the consumer, but in too many cases someone, somewhere paid the for the price of cheap price tag.  Maybe it is the planet, an animal, an undocumented worker, a minor in a sweatshop, an underpaid employee, a local shop owner.......Getting something too cheap costs somebody.

The question is, are we willing to give up our everyday low prices so that God's creation and our neighbors are no longer paying for them?   What does it look like?  How can we do it?  These are some of the things we're going to talk about next...

New Season, New Series

Today is the first day of autumn.  You'd never guess that here in Birmingham, AL where temperatures continue to soar into the nineties!  Yet even though it still feels like summer, I felt that in honor of a new season I'd go ahead and launch a new series here at Ranched on Jesus!

Over the past few months I've been on a journey of discovery and transformation.  My "job" is to work for the welfare of children who are abandoned, oppressed and underprivileged.  But through a series of providential events this spring I began to realize that some of my every day actions and habits were actually hurting the people I wanted to help the most.  Without much thought I was actively contributing to systems of human oppression, abuse and neglect.  I am speaking specifically in regard to what I buy and where I buy it. 


I am passionate about supporting causes to end illegal child labor in developing nations.   But when I choose to purchase inexpensive candy bars from particular companies I could actually be contributing to a system that uses child slave labor to cheaply harvest cocoa beans.  Can you see where I'm going with this?

As I began to search for answers I found out more than I expected.  I have since been faced with the practical implications for our family.  Do I just throw my hands up in the air declaring it is futile?  Or do I work to help the poor in EVERY way possible, even when it requires an inconvenient step out of ignorance and into compassion?

I want to share some of my ongoing wrestling and wondering with you.  So over the course of this new series we're going to push ourselves to think about the way the poor are impacted by the things we buy and use every day.  I'm SUPER excited about it.  I'll probably tell you to do some things you'd never expect me to say.  I'm sure I'll  also stir up some (hopefully friendly) debate.  There's a lot to chew on here.  There are no easy answers or formulas.  My goal for this series isn't to tell us exactly what to do, but to show us the options so that as Christians we can make our "doing unto others" even more thorough. 


So stop by each Thursday this fall for a new installment in the series "The Price of Cheap."

Two Kinds of Tired

I've said it before, these Uganda trip separations get easier each time.  But that doesn't make them easy.  No, they're not easy at all.  Being separated from a spouse just isn't easy.  In my case when Scott's away both my home AND work responsibilities double.

This time around it feels as though they have quadrupled.  September is always an intense month of preparation and planning over at the Pearl Ministries office.  Compound this with the fact that we just welcomed two wonderful new interns on board AND we're launching the craft aspect of the ministry as a legit business.  (Stay tuned for more details on that front.)  Things have been in high gear.

Part of me appreciates this.  I'd much rather be pushing myself to meet deadlines than trying desperately to fill up space.  But somewhere along the line I forgot how hectic September was because I ALSO scheduled a few additional abnormal activities in my life intended to keep me occupied while Scott was overseas.  A rare and appreciated visit from two dear but distant college friends.  A 5 day trip with my mom and sister to visit my grandmother in FL.  A plan to consign ALL of the leftover children's items from the Carriage Lane yard sale for Ranch on Jesus.  And then a visit from my mom and sister (who's expecting her first child) to shop said consignment sale.

The last few days have been a marathon.  Rushing to meet a deadline just so I can progress toward the next one.  There was a lot of sleep deprivation.  There were some tears-both from me and Vivian (who is keeping me under close watch to make sure I don't fly off to Africa too.)   Monday night at 3 in the morning as I sat surrounded by wire hangers, safety pins and mounds of children's apparel, I felt my body wilt.  I just couldn't do it anymore.  It was too tired. 

I comforted myself by looking forward to Saturday.  My calendar was open for the entire weekend.  I'd finally have a couple of days to take it (moderately) easy.  But a funny thing happened to me this afternoon.  After an intense morning of shopping with my mom and sister, their silver minivan pulled into the distance and the empty space finally arrived.  I had no pressing plans.  I was alone.  I was alone with nothing to do and I hated it.

There are two kinds of tired.  There is the kind of doing too much and sleeping too little.  Then there is the kind that comes from emptiness.  I like the first kind better.


At three in the afternoon that second kind of tired wound around my legs and into my chest and settled like a bag of rocks inside my rib cage.  Any immediate anticipation had vanished.   No near goal in sight.  Sitting on the couch eating pretzels with Vivian I pictured a long muddy tunnel with Wednesday afternoon sitting at the end in shadows.  Five days of trudging.

"We need daddy to eat with us," V says.  Five long, long, long, long days.  

This empty kind of tired aches.  It makes the ordinary feel purposeless, or at worst, impossible.  It no longer seemed necessary to go down to the basement to retrieve those dry towels. Putting the tupperware away was a challenge too large to mount.  You drag from one little milestone to the next attempting nothing extraordinary just so that the tunnel will feel shorter.  But thinking about the tunnel only makes the minutes between dinner and bedtime seem like years.  You want to fill it joyfully.  You want make it meaningful.  But lonesomeness is heavy and keeps you moving slow.  

I muster a brave face and mock an enthusiasm for my child.  But inside I am  frustrated that it only took us 12 minutes to eat dinner and one minute to read "Bedtime Blessings."  Life never moves like this when Scott is home, but he isn't home and all I can think about is when he'll be home. 

The end of the day is hardest.  It crawls. This is the time when he is usually with us.  Dinner. Vivian's bath.  Books.  Songs.  The void is more obvious then.  These responsibilities are now totally mine.  Part of me wants to rush them.  But I push myself to read one more book than my flesh wants to and sing two extra songs.  

And just when I feel the most lonesome Vivian suddenly asks me to sing a song she never requests.  It goes like this:

And when I am alone,
Oh, and when I am alone,
When I am alone,
Give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus.
Give me Jesus.
You can have all this world.
Give me Jesus.

Back at the Butterbean

A year ago I wrote this blogpost about my internal tantrum over a rained out festival.  Well this weekend we were at the SAME festival over in Pinson, AL under (I am pleased to say) very different circumstances.

Scott was with us.  The sun was shining.  And everyone's spirits seemed to be up.  My parents once again drove over to lend a hand as we'd sent our other staff to an enormous event over in Atlanta, GA.  It was a lot of hard work and my deepest thanks go out to my folks who give so joyfully of their time and energy. 

We sold upwards of $1,300 in crafts and this comes as a HUGE blessing at the end of summer which seems to be a consistently dry season for all non-profits.

And although Vivian and I loved having daddy with us, we'll have to say good bye again soon.  Scott's taking off again tomorrow for a 17 day stint in Uganda.  Lead up to this particular trip has been rushed and jam packed with activity.  Scott's looking forward to being in Uganda, but doesn't feel quite ready yet.  Unfortunately the plane won't wait, so please be praying that he'll be able to find some internal peace and rest in his last 24 hours at home.  Pray also that we'll do a good job of holding down the fort while he's across the ocean.  There is A LOT going on in the Pearl office these days and he'll be greatly missed.