Becoming an Advocate

I have discovered that there's one qualification for being a good advocate: having a big mouth.


That's it.


I found myself thrust into the role earlier today all by being my usual big-mouthed self.


The circumstances weren't unusual. I was at a local homeless coalition meeting where the Chief of Police was discussing recent reports regarding the local force's interactions with the homeless.


Having grown up with a Chief of Police father, I am predisposed to believe the officer's side over the homeless rumblings. After all, just yesterday I heard a homeless girl make the claim to her landlord that I'd ripped her utility check up when I had, in fact, paid it directly to the utility company myself.


But some of the rumors came from higher sources. Everyone had been talking about it for weeks. People were still whispering amongst themselves at the tables. But no-one said a word.


I waited a minute during the first few seconds of uncomfortable silence once the floor was opened for questions.


Then I stood.


I prefaced my questions with a tribute to my father, and also my son, now an officer himself. I have the utmost respect for law enforcement.


But there were questions and I wanted to get to the bottom of them.


I was somewhat satisfied with the answers, though it became obvious that there were some issues  higher up in the city's administration. At least now there's a public record denying some of the more troubling allegations.


What surprised me most was what happened after the meeting.


I was asked to attend a meeting in a nearby town to address the alleged mistreatment between the mayor and the homeless population.


I didn't know anything about the situation and said so.


Yes, but your expertise would be beneficial, I heard. More than once.


It took about two seconds to realize that expertise was the politically correct way to say big fat mouth.


I had a busy afternoon and I really didn't want to advocate for something I knew nothing about. Nonetheless I was flattered. I'd fallen in love with the idea of lobbying during my Poli-Sci class in college. Back then my expertise was limited to the most absorbent disposable diapers and least irritating laundry detergent for sensitive baby skin. So I was excited to be able to advocate for something a little less Redneck Woman and a little more We are the World.


I didn't know what to do. I headed toward my first post-meeting appointment and did what every southern girl is taught to do.


I called my mama.


Weighing out a list of pros and cons, I listed my main concern. I don't want to hinder my ministry by being an outspoken advocate. I don't want to be the one called in to raise cain when a town is under fire, an advocate more to advance my own name than the cause. We have a few people roaming around our country doing just that.


But I also couldn't understand why those who'd been so vocal before the meeting clammed up like sardines when they had the chance to speak. I can't be that person who leaves a place saying, I wish I'd said... I don't believe in beating around the bush. I don't believe in manipulation. I think you should say what you mean and mean what you say.


My mom gave her valuable advice. The clock left me with fewer options. I was still thirty miles away when the meeting began and I was a bit relieved. I may be outspoken but I don't like to speak on matters I know nothing about. Yes, I know about homelessness. But I know nothing about the situation in this town.


Therefore the best advice came not from my mom but from the Good Book. "But let your communication be, yea, yea; nay, nay; for whatsoever is more than that cometh of evil."        (Matthew 5:37)