Fuller Center General

By Chris Johnson
Director of communications

I've finally counted all of the photos available for you to peruse and download from The Fuller Center's photo collection and -- using the brilliant math skills I acquired while taking Algebra II twice in high school -- have come up with the total there are to see.

You count the number of galleries, multiply by the subtotal of subcategories, exponentially quintupled proportionally to the power of seven, divide by pi, and you get the official total of Fuller Center photos: A LOT.

Having gone through this official total of “a lot” of Fuller Center photos, there are a few that stand out to me. The ones of cute kids smiling always make me pause. The scenery from places like Nepal and Peru makes me stare for a moment and wish I could go there soon. And there are even a few photos of myself that make me stop and say, “Gee whiz, I know I've got more hair than that!”

One of the more striking photos I've seen recently is the one accompanying this blog post. I received it earlier this week from the group One Small House, which built a duplex last week with the Grace Fuller Center in Haiti during a trip through our Global Builders program.

I've seen many photos from Haiti in recent years. I've seen crying children. I've seen earthquake destruction. I've seen trash in the streets. And, of course, I've seen the crowded tent cities and rows of pitiful shacks.

I've also seen photos of our work there. Smiling children. Green spaces and fertile hills outside the dirty city. A growing, self-sustaining community. Simple, decent duplexes. But this photo stopped me, and many others here, in my tracks for its striking colors and stunning beauty.

By Chris Johnson
Director of Communications

As I'm writing this, spring is in full bloom here in beautiful Americus, Ga., where it's a mostly sunny 82 degrees at the headquarters of The Fuller Center for Housing.

Yeah, yeah, I know the Ides of March doesn't quite mark the official beginning of spring, but it's unofficially marked all over the place around here. And that's OK with me. In fact, for years I've lobbied Congress to do away with winter and go to a calendar of two months of fall, five months of spring and five months of summer. But they don't listen to me. If they did, we'd also have a balanced budget thanks to my program that would encourage all Americans to just one day dig between their sofa cushions and donate everything they find to the government.

So I have to endure each winter, and I seriously believe I suffer from Seasonal Affectiveness Disorder, or what's more commonly referred to as the “winter blahs”. Of course, of all the disorders I probably have, it's likely way down the list.

It's not hard to see the signs of spring around here. The sun sets later. The days are warmer. Yellow pollen coats my black truck so much that it looks like a rolling Pittsburgh Steeler. I had to pick up my son from school today for the first time this school year because allergies have hit him hard. And everything is in bloom. It's been so nice here that even our artificial plants are blooming.

Early last week, sure signs of spring came in the form of spring breakers from Davidson College and Penn State University, who were working with a couple of covenant partners around here as alternative service breaks. Few things are as uplifting as seeing service-minded youths giving of themselves and having a good time in the process. They gave me new energy. (Read and see a video about those groups here.)

By Hailey Dady
Global Builders coordinator

Earlier this week, I arrived back in the States after a two-week stay in Peru. Since then I have been trying to put into words the joys and heartbreak that came along with the journey. Before I left the States, I knew the trip would open my eyes to a way of life much different than my own. I have traveled to many places and experienced much sorrow, but what I experienced in La Florida, Peru, has motivated me to do something. Whether that something is spreading the word of the community needs, sharing the stories of the families or raising money for home sponsorship, my mission will not end until every family has a place to call home. Until then, the tug and longing La Florida has on my heart will drive me to bring about God’s desire to provide for the basic needs of everyone.

Even with all the stories I've come back with, I could not move your heart the way seeing and experiences for yourself would. The only way to truly experience this is to see the sorrow in the mother’s eyes when she cannot provide for the basic needs of her children or the smile of the little child with worn-out clothes and shoes too small for their feet smile from ear to ear because they are going to have a house! A beautiful house made of bricks!

For many of these families, owning a home with solid walls never even crossed their minds as possible. They have spent their whole lives living among the dirt and sticks, which are pressed together to form four walls and, sometimes, a roof. They gather together whatever they can to provide a soft and warm place to sleep at night, but for many this is not much.

By Chris Johnson
Director of Communications

In World War II, my grandfather, Fred Dixon, lost both of his legs to Nazi machine gun fire in Tunisia 1943 while he was fighting as a member of the legendary Darby's Rangers. He carried one of his legs in his arms on his way to cover as he continued to return fire. He was quite the fighter.

That drive continued when he came home and helped raise war bonds in Washington, D.C. First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt wrote about him in her nationally syndicated “My Day” columns on Feb. 21, 1944, and Feb. 25, 1944. (Click the dates to read them.) He was optimistic then. But by the time I got to know him in the 1970s until he died in 1981, all the optimism had been drained from him. He was pessimistic, caustic and bitter because he felt like he gave a lot more for his country than his country gave for him. It was a daily struggle then, back when America wasn't nearly so accessible for those in wheelchairs. He loved kids and his grandkids, but he had little use for adults, especially bureaucrats and the people who held up his medical care with red tape.

That brings me to Fuller Center homeowner Thad Harris. His story is similar, though inversely. He once had feelings similar to what my grandfather experience late in his life. But Thad rose from that point to where he is now. Now, he exudes joy, optimism, determination, love and amazing generosity and selflessness.

Thad was confined to a wheelchair after he was paralyzed in an auto accident through no fault of his own. For years, he was depressed and felt hopeless. “Life was just one long day,” he told me last year. But everything changed when he became a Fuller Center homeowner. As he said, “The American Dream was here. It's here now, and for me!”

If generosity was a drug, Thad would be hopelessly addicted. I see Thad all the time these days, rolling through the headquarters in search of Americus-Sumter FCH director Alyssa Hostetler, trying to find out whom he can help next. One of those people he has helped is Deborah Clayton, who faces challenges of her own, yet is just as positive as Thad. No wonder they're friends.

By Chris Johnson
Director of communications

My son is one of Atlanta Braves star Jason Heyward's biggest fans. When he played youth league baseball, he wore the number 22, batted left-handed and played right field. Of course, Heyward plays right field because he's got speed and a rocket arm. My son played right field because that was the place he was least likely to get hit in the head while ignoring the game and watching airplanes fly by in Columbus, Ga.

When I found out the 2012 Millard Fuller Legacy Build was coming to Henry County, Ga., just south of Atlanta, I knew that Jason Heyward was from Henry County, so naturally we will try to get him and the Braves to throw a little support our way as we converge on the county in September to work mostly in the community of Blacksville, which is a mixture of dilapidated homes and decent homes around Henry County Middle School.

And if “J-Hey” (who is one of just two players in Major League history to homer in his first career at bat and again in his first at bat the next Opening Day) can lend us a little support, perhaps we can even get Hammerin' Hank Aaron, my all-time favorite sports hero, to do the same. I never had the joy of meeting The Hammer during my sportswriting career, so maybe my nonprofit career will get me there. And who better to give us some love in metro Atlanta than someone nicknamed The Hammer?

I visited Henry County on Friday to have lunch with Henry County Fuller Center President Shane Persaud, tour the community and attend a planning meeting for the 2012 Legacy Build. All I knew about Henry County before then was that it was some place I blew through it a million times on I-75 on my way to Atlanta, and it was Heyward's home. But just like any place you take the time to get to know a little better, there's much more to McDonough and Henry County.

I plan to learn more and more, but here's some of the interesting tidbits I've found so far: