Did you ever have a book give you a swift kick in the rear?
I’m only two chapters into The Working Poor and my rear already feels profoundly bruised. Tonight I am ashamed of myself for fretting over some of the silly things I do—like trying to figure out what sort of feminist I am, not using the “good china” enough, and griping over unwanted rose bushes. What the hell is wrong with me? Have I lost all perspective? It wasn’t so long ago that I was one of the working poor, albeit by choice and without children, and that seems to be the significant difference. If you’ve only got yourself to support, you can be dirt poor and it hardly matters.
What has come clear to me in the little reading I’ve just done is that the poor are such easy prey; the vultures just swoop in via late fees and penalties, exorbitant interest rates and unscrupulous employers. Help for them will never come from businesses just deciding to play fair. I think it will come, (and surely does come), from faith-based organizations (whether faith in God, or faith in humanity) educating the poor to avoid the pitfalls of poverty and teaching them how to invest in themselves.
I suppose some of the fretting I do is not silly; wondering what to do with the rest of my life, once Kipp is in school full-time, is not silly; wondering how to become involved in an organization that helps the working poor—whether or not I ever return to those ranks—is not silly either.
One group I respect, particulary for their work on immigrant rights, is the American Friends Service Committee. Their nearest regional office seems to be in Des Moines, Iowa. Red Wing is a much smaller town, but with its growing immigrant population, it could sure use a similar resource.
I have been a one-woman (backed by husband) “American Friend”, mainly helping one immigrant family here in town go from living in a slum to owning their own home (over the course of two years). I’m not quite sure why I think I could be more effective if I belonged to an organization. I could probably help more people on a smaller scale, but couldn’t afford to become so personally involved, couldn’t break rules, couldn’t follow my instincts. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just better to be a private individual.
The idea keeps niggling at me, though. If one’s calling in life turns out to be what one is repeatedly asked to do, then really, I don’t know why I wonder so hard sometimes.
11:04:21 PM 
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