It's 60+ degrees in San Francisco. Yesterday i wore sandals and used Christmas money to buy a hippie tunic. I feel at the edge of change. Maybe dressing differently (what? no more black and more black?) I suddenly, after decades of Birkenstock-wearing, want to buy a pair of those hip, cool, and trendy boots. for crying out loud, I lost 12 pounds and bought a pair of skinny pants (well, sort of skinny....let's not get carried away).
How do we know when it's time for change. I just GOT here. I love what I'm doing. It is the right place for me now. The right focus for my life in this time.
Then, other things start flying by. The Dean of Students of a ministry school in the area speaks to me about the need for healing ministry with their students. My church leaders announce a missions trip to thailand - people are needed to do healing prayer and counseling with children and adult survivors of sex trafficking. I learn that someone I want to mentor me is planning a ministry trip to Uganda. I want to go!
The possibility of more change is intriguing. And, it leaves me feeling unsettled and a bit anxious. Like I said, I just got here. I love what I'm doing. I know this is the right place for this time in my life. so, why am I feeling at the edge of change?
I remember hearing stories from exchange students and friends who moved to new locations. they often said. "About 3 months in I hit a wall. Felt tired. Easily frustrated. Wanted to go home."
Then, about 6 months in, they started to dream in the new language. Began to wake up knowing they were in their new home - not the old one. Change.
I sense that kind of change. A deeper settling. A clearer focus. Something new. Something's happening.
What I suddenly see is the change that's approaching isn't greater insight about what I'm doing. It isn't a different focus or something new I'm supposed to DO. it isn't even something else that interests me or strikes my fancy. it's change in ME. Something new and deeper happening inside.
Prior to coming to San Francisco I spent a lot of time and energy in self-discovery. Who was I, after decades of taking care of everyone else but myself? What were my real gifts? I had spent many years doing what needed to be done and putting the individual (me) aside for the good of the group (church, family, ministry, team....whatever). This wasn't terrible or wrong. It also wasn't always healthy or balanced.
So, the decision to come to San Francisco and invest in Because Justice matters was a decision to explore and invest in who I am. Where my real gifts and interests lie. What really makes my bells ring and brings me closer to the heart of Father God.
During the year prior to this change, our Madison, Wisconsin leadership team did Strength Finders. We journeyed through the DISC test and read "LEMON Leadership." I saw that I had been taught, for all my Christian life, that my "job" was to fix my weaknesses. I focused on weakness-fixing. I was barely aware of my strengths. Oh, I had taken some Christian-y "gifts" testing (often gender biased and role-oriented.....I didn't find them particularly helpful, to be honest). I wasn't confident in understanding my own strengths.
I learned things like "A wounded 'D' (Directive, dominant according to DISC descriptions) often functions as an 'S' (steadiness, service)." That helped me understand some of my history and life decisions Interesting... Did I choose service and steadiness because my directive, dominant woman-self wasn't welcome in the Christian community? Is that true? Hmmm. What does that say about my "steady, serving" self? Was that real or just a way to cope and please people??????
I discovered my Individualization strength (seeing people as individuals, valuing diversity, disliking stereotyping, bias, and lumping people into groups based on arbitrary distinctions like gender or age or whatever). This helped me understand why justice is so important to me. Why I reject and dislike certain political perspectives. Why I react so strongly when people presume to "speak for" others....assuming they know what others think, need, or experience. Men who presume to speak for women. White people who presume to know what Black people experience. Straight people to presume to explain what it's like to be gay.
I learned that TalentGifts x Investment = Strength. I learned that I am a natural networker, connector, communicator and leader. All this helped me to figure out a bit of the question "Who am I?" and "What should I be doing?"
In 2010 I finished a masters program in mental health counseling. Then, in 2012, I was ordained for ministry. My pastor, Paul - the apostle who ordained me for ministry- said I have spiritual gifts of pastoring, healing, teaching. But my heart and calling is that of an evangelist. That helped me. I've spent the past year growing in understanding that.
So I'm back to Talent/gifts x Investment = Strength.
I wonder whether the change that seems to be on the wind is change I need to foster. Strength Finder authors wrote that greatest growth comes when we build upon our strengths rather than fix our weaknesses. What would that even look like?
What would it look like for me to consciously choose situations and experiences that would invest my talent/gifts to increase strengths? If healing, teaching and pastoral care are among my gifts, how might I consciously invest in them? How would that develop and increase my Strengths?
So...this collides with years of doing good things because they simply needed to be done. Taking a job coordinating children's ministry because no one truly called to children's ministry was found. Doing the very best job I could working as a therapist with families because I needed a job that would complete my required hours for licensing as a therapist - all the while knowing my heart wasn't in it and my calling was to bring wounded women to Jesus for healing and wholeness. Sacrificing career to be home full-time with my kids.
I don't regret those choices. Yet, what would it look like to change those life-long patterns...not eliminate them, but change them. Let them mature and expand to include investment in my gifts/talents in order to grow and develop my strengths? To begin to say "I'm doing X....that's good. It needs to happen and I can do it. AND I need to do Y also....because that's where my gifts and talents lie. That's my spiritual calling."
What does this mean? I have an evangelist's heart to see every man, woman, and child know Jesus and be transformed by His great, beautiful, healing love. I long to see people healed...broken bodies, minds, and spirits made Whole. To see justice done in our communities and, especially, by people who say they follow Jesus. God has been showing me that His view of justice isn't like ours. He "does justice" with ever-greater acts of ever-more-radical LOVE.
How would I "grow" that strength? How would I consciously give space to that calling and emerging "self"? How would I invest? What would that look like?
Change is in the air. I've decided to find and wear more of the ethnic, "hippie" clothes I used to love and stopped wearing for some reason. I've set aside some money for those hip, cool, and trendy boots. Changed my hairstyle a bit, too. I'm inquiring about that missions trip to Thailand and trying to connect with the amazing woman who leads the healing teams to Uganda and elsewhere. And, I'm deepening my roots here, with BJM in the Tenderloin. Asking Dad for more relationships with more women. To show me where I can serve and support what's happening here. Looking for balance. Investing.
Waiting to see what Father God is going to do.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Seeking, Finding and Receiving: Jesus in the Tenderloin
Warm and beautiful in San Francisco. Not snowing in Tahoe. Christmas is coming and this girl is ready!
I've been waiting until I could post an "it's Christmas and things are wonderful" blog post. But things kept getting in the way.
Every day I see, first hand, a little of how difficult Christmas is for people without homes and distant from family. M - has no family and, it seems, may have lost one child to death and some others when she became so depressed she couldn't function and Child Protective Services got involved. yesterday she hugged me (a rare gift from her) and asked what I was going to do for christmas. I said I was going to be with my daughters. "That's good," she said. "Tell them I love them."
K has been on the streets since age 10. That's TEN for those of you who think you misread. She once said, "I had them all fooled....I was going to school and church and nobody knew [that she was homeless]." K's parents were addicts. She was molested in a foster home and escaped by running away.
Thursday, we had Art for the Heart. K played favorite songs - I Can Only Imagine and Amazing Grace on a laptop. We read the Christmas story aloud. Drank hot cider and prayed blessings over each other. Afterward, K walked back to the YWAM base with me. Juggling backpacks and a warm coat, we talked about how to know if someone is trustworthy. She decided a recent "new guy in town" didn't make the trustworthiness grade. Good insight! We laughed. She hugged me and said, "See you after Christmas. Have fun with your daughters."
In that moment I wanted to be K's mother. To replace the mom who couldn't love or keep her safe. To make her part of my family. Yet, I know I can't fix K. I don't have enough love to fill the empty hole left by all the people who were supposed to love and protect her - and didn't. I don't know what to do with that longing. Except to trust God to be the Father she never had. And the mother. And to trust God to use my small, imperfect love in K's life.
Friday I sat down with MG, a woman who has just recently started to show up at Nail Day. She told me a rambling, often repeated story of traveling here by Greyhound from Miami. Of family strung out along the East coast. Of decisions to come to California....arriving in San Francisco and wondering where were the "guys with muscles and sunglasses...palm trees and surfers" she'd expected.
"You want San Diego!" I said. "Well, I got San Francisco," she replied. "So I guess I gotta stay 'til I decide to go back to Miami."
We talked about family. Missing those far away. She spoke of estrangement and having lost contact with siblings altogether.
MG wished me a Merry Christmas. Said she'd be sure to come to Nail Day in January. Her plans? Just lay low on Christmas...maybe Glide (a local ministry that serves meals every day, 365 days a year) will have something...I don't know." She said she was going to dance at a club on New Years Eve. I'm afraid I don't expect this to be something I'd wish for her....I'm not sure what to say. But, she lets me pray for her and I bumble through....
So, Christmas comes. We move through advent...waiting for what hasn't yet arrived. Waiting for what we hope for and some things we know will come. Our hope isn't in systems or people. It isn't even in good people who try hard. To place our hope in humans would be to heap a burden on their shoulders they can't carry. Instead, Our hope is in God. In His provision and the steadiness of His love.
This Christmas, I'm receiving kindness from people who have little. I'm receiving blessings and the gift of personal stories from people who will spend Christmas alone or eat dinner at one of the many ministries, churches and programs offering meals for people without homes.
I've received Jesus in unexpected ways. He sent the BJM staff to a corner where we found a woman under the influence of drugs, barely dressed, and vulnerable to anyone who might use or abuse her. Instead, Father sent us to tie a shawl around her, pray for her, and call the Homeless Outreach team. He sent us to the corner just as a man came seeking a police officer. "There's a woman passed out between cars," he said. "I'm afraid she's going to get run over."
Father sent us....and then some kind but firm police officers. This addict evidently has fallen asleep on a manhole cover in the parking lane of a nearby street before. The cover is warm. Fragments of Crack cocaine might be found along the curb. She crawls there and passes out.
So Father sent us. To find Him. And, in each situation, we received Him.
Mother Teresa used to speak of "Jesus in a most distressing disguise." She was right. The people on the streets are Jesus - coming to meet us. Sometimes Jesus is in the heart of someone in pain. Someone in need. And, we GET to be here. To find Him. And receive Him.
We have the privilege of seeing "the least of these" - of whom Jesus said, "when you love - or give, or care for, or feed, or wrap your scarf around.....you do it to me."
Jesus has given himself to me. In the form of kindness. In the words of precious people who give generously out of their few resources. In the love of woman who don't appear to have anything together. Yet, they get it together to show love and kindness to me.
Tomorrow I leave for Lake Tahoe where I get to hang out with Becky, Alex and Alex's family (also Ean Kemp!!! One of my adopted sons who is now doing cool stuff in L.A.). Christmas eve I'll take the bus and train to Davis where Beth and Casey will pick me up. Christmas day with Casey's mom, aunt and her wonderful partner Joey, sister Alyssa and Grandma Marjorie. We'll eat and play table games. Open gifts and tell stories. We'll laugh. There will be moments of missing Rich, Casey's funny, kind, father-heart step father who died this past May.
and I will receive Jesus. there, too Jesus disguised as family. Jesus disguised as people who have welcomed me into their family circles with generosity and love.
I am fortunate beyond words.
My wish for all of you is to find Jesus in your Christmas. to see Him waiting for you in a family member. Looking through the eyes of the Salvation Army bell ringer or a homeless man asking for money. To hear His voice in the kind words of others - or your own kind words to others. Jesus is waiting.
Blessing and love. Merry Christmas.
I've been waiting until I could post an "it's Christmas and things are wonderful" blog post. But things kept getting in the way.
Every day I see, first hand, a little of how difficult Christmas is for people without homes and distant from family. M - has no family and, it seems, may have lost one child to death and some others when she became so depressed she couldn't function and Child Protective Services got involved. yesterday she hugged me (a rare gift from her) and asked what I was going to do for christmas. I said I was going to be with my daughters. "That's good," she said. "Tell them I love them."
K has been on the streets since age 10. That's TEN for those of you who think you misread. She once said, "I had them all fooled....I was going to school and church and nobody knew [that she was homeless]." K's parents were addicts. She was molested in a foster home and escaped by running away.
Thursday, we had Art for the Heart. K played favorite songs - I Can Only Imagine and Amazing Grace on a laptop. We read the Christmas story aloud. Drank hot cider and prayed blessings over each other. Afterward, K walked back to the YWAM base with me. Juggling backpacks and a warm coat, we talked about how to know if someone is trustworthy. She decided a recent "new guy in town" didn't make the trustworthiness grade. Good insight! We laughed. She hugged me and said, "See you after Christmas. Have fun with your daughters."
In that moment I wanted to be K's mother. To replace the mom who couldn't love or keep her safe. To make her part of my family. Yet, I know I can't fix K. I don't have enough love to fill the empty hole left by all the people who were supposed to love and protect her - and didn't. I don't know what to do with that longing. Except to trust God to be the Father she never had. And the mother. And to trust God to use my small, imperfect love in K's life.
Friday I sat down with MG, a woman who has just recently started to show up at Nail Day. She told me a rambling, often repeated story of traveling here by Greyhound from Miami. Of family strung out along the East coast. Of decisions to come to California....arriving in San Francisco and wondering where were the "guys with muscles and sunglasses...palm trees and surfers" she'd expected.
"You want San Diego!" I said. "Well, I got San Francisco," she replied. "So I guess I gotta stay 'til I decide to go back to Miami."
We talked about family. Missing those far away. She spoke of estrangement and having lost contact with siblings altogether.
MG wished me a Merry Christmas. Said she'd be sure to come to Nail Day in January. Her plans? Just lay low on Christmas...maybe Glide (a local ministry that serves meals every day, 365 days a year) will have something...I don't know." She said she was going to dance at a club on New Years Eve. I'm afraid I don't expect this to be something I'd wish for her....I'm not sure what to say. But, she lets me pray for her and I bumble through....
So, Christmas comes. We move through advent...waiting for what hasn't yet arrived. Waiting for what we hope for and some things we know will come. Our hope isn't in systems or people. It isn't even in good people who try hard. To place our hope in humans would be to heap a burden on their shoulders they can't carry. Instead, Our hope is in God. In His provision and the steadiness of His love.
This Christmas, I'm receiving kindness from people who have little. I'm receiving blessings and the gift of personal stories from people who will spend Christmas alone or eat dinner at one of the many ministries, churches and programs offering meals for people without homes.
I've received Jesus in unexpected ways. He sent the BJM staff to a corner where we found a woman under the influence of drugs, barely dressed, and vulnerable to anyone who might use or abuse her. Instead, Father sent us to tie a shawl around her, pray for her, and call the Homeless Outreach team. He sent us to the corner just as a man came seeking a police officer. "There's a woman passed out between cars," he said. "I'm afraid she's going to get run over."
Father sent us....and then some kind but firm police officers. This addict evidently has fallen asleep on a manhole cover in the parking lane of a nearby street before. The cover is warm. Fragments of Crack cocaine might be found along the curb. She crawls there and passes out.
So Father sent us. To find Him. And, in each situation, we received Him.
Mother Teresa used to speak of "Jesus in a most distressing disguise." She was right. The people on the streets are Jesus - coming to meet us. Sometimes Jesus is in the heart of someone in pain. Someone in need. And, we GET to be here. To find Him. And receive Him.
We have the privilege of seeing "the least of these" - of whom Jesus said, "when you love - or give, or care for, or feed, or wrap your scarf around.....you do it to me."
Jesus has given himself to me. In the form of kindness. In the words of precious people who give generously out of their few resources. In the love of woman who don't appear to have anything together. Yet, they get it together to show love and kindness to me.
Tomorrow I leave for Lake Tahoe where I get to hang out with Becky, Alex and Alex's family (also Ean Kemp!!! One of my adopted sons who is now doing cool stuff in L.A.). Christmas eve I'll take the bus and train to Davis where Beth and Casey will pick me up. Christmas day with Casey's mom, aunt and her wonderful partner Joey, sister Alyssa and Grandma Marjorie. We'll eat and play table games. Open gifts and tell stories. We'll laugh. There will be moments of missing Rich, Casey's funny, kind, father-heart step father who died this past May.
and I will receive Jesus. there, too Jesus disguised as family. Jesus disguised as people who have welcomed me into their family circles with generosity and love.
I am fortunate beyond words.
My wish for all of you is to find Jesus in your Christmas. to see Him waiting for you in a family member. Looking through the eyes of the Salvation Army bell ringer or a homeless man asking for money. To hear His voice in the kind words of others - or your own kind words to others. Jesus is waiting.
Blessing and love. Merry Christmas.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Living in the School of I Can't....Continued....
will all of you freezing in the midwest or New York or Washington or??? hate me if I whine that it's cold in San Francisco?
The temp hovers around 40 at night. I watched the folks across the street or in front of the YWAM base move around all day on the concrete, following "warm spots" where the sun shines. Then, one night rained, and I woke in the middle of the night thinking "hypothermia." A few people who are especially vulnerable crowded into my mind and prayers. I lay awake worrying and praying. I fixed on images like hot soup and blankets and cried out to God to help women I'll call Anna and Wanda, Adrienne and Danae.
Wednesday, W hauled her two shopping carts into the women's center. Someone had stolen the blue painters' tarp she uses to cover her things. The cardboard she uses to shield herself from the cold concrete had been left behind in a sodden pile somewhere. She had wrapped herself in clothes and a dirty piece of cloth.
Her body was cold to the touch and trembling. But, as is the case with many women who have survived ongoing, violent trauma, her body and mind are disconnected. The cold and trembling didn't register at all. W. smiled and chatted. "Not too bad," she said. 'I found a restaurant where they let me sit for a couple of hours. But they stole my tarp." The sweater she often wore was also nowhere to be seen. Her arms and hands were filthy. We gathered her into the women's center and concern showed on every face.
W continued to chat as we peeled layers of wet clothing away and helped her put on a thick, hooded sweatshirt, warm socks, and thermal leggings. We wrapped her in a blanket. In minutes, she fell asleep....sitting up.
She slept through much of Breaking Free - a dvd bible study some women have been doing since fall. She woke to drink some hot tea and dozed off again.
When the study was over, she woke to drink some more tea. "Can we go with you to the shelter next door?" we asked. "It's getting colder and looks like more rain tonight." W. changed the subject.
"Please. We're concerned about you," we said. "Just for tonight. Just to keep out of the rain...."
She shook her head and began a convoluted story about some sick friend whom she had "promised to check in on."
In the end, W. said No. She wouldn't be sleeping inside that night. It was both painful to hear and hard to understand.
W. lives with mental illness. She is sometimes clear=minded and creative. Sometimes paranoid or grandious. It's not clear whether her stories of competitive ice skating or pursuing professional dance are lies, fantasy or long-past truth of a life before drugs, poverty and homelessness. W says she has "lived outside" for nearly a decade. She doesn't like the word "homeless." We believe her when she speaks of emotional and physical abuse and about losing children to drugs and foster care. We listen to her creative ideas about cooking and her dream of feeding homeless people healthy, delicious food. We are filled with love and frustration. Worry and respect.
How do we love her well? We can't fix her. We can't solve the complexity of her mental illness and trauma-based paranoia. We can't force her to sleep inside on a cold, rainy night.
Yesterday, two therapist-friends from Illinois and California respectively visited the BJM staff, spending the morning with us at The Well. They spoke about calling out, affirming, naming, and declaring God's love over a person's spirit. My heart beat faster. Counseling is helpful stuff....it helps people think more clearly, choose more wisely, and understand, experience, and manage real, honest and life-giving emotions. Yeah! But Margaret and Kara spoke about the spirit. Each individual's spirit. And how our spirits were made to be filled with and alive in God's love.
W's ability to think, choose and feel is damaged by mental illness and years of trauma and abuse. But, the deeper hurt lies is her spirit - her identity, worth and true self. Her spirit has been crushed and wounded. Her spirit has gone into hiding, like a frightened child slipping under the bed, hoping to escape chaos and violence. Her spirit has separated from her body and disconnected from her soul - her mind, will, and emotions. Perhaps her spirit is sleeping or unable to hear, see or speak. Perhaps she has forgotten that she even has a spirit and lives only in the raw emotions, thoughts, and choices of each moment.
So, on Monday when W. pulls her carts into the Nail Day Christmas party, my eyes and heart will be on her spirit. On her identity. The true, beautiful, beloved self that God himself breathed into her at conception. When she became a living being. Beloved and worthy of love.
I can't fix her. Only God can heal her wounded spirit.
So, I will call to her spirit. Affirm and bless her spirit. I'm asking Father God to give me words to say that will slip under the protective wall she hides behind and touch her true self - her spirit - with love.
Would you join me? Would you declare over W. that "God loves you. God is calling you home. To himself. Wake, beautiful spirit. Rise up. Open your eyes. It is safe to come home. Father God is in the house, and it's safe to come home."
The temp hovers around 40 at night. I watched the folks across the street or in front of the YWAM base move around all day on the concrete, following "warm spots" where the sun shines. Then, one night rained, and I woke in the middle of the night thinking "hypothermia." A few people who are especially vulnerable crowded into my mind and prayers. I lay awake worrying and praying. I fixed on images like hot soup and blankets and cried out to God to help women I'll call Anna and Wanda, Adrienne and Danae.
Wednesday, W hauled her two shopping carts into the women's center. Someone had stolen the blue painters' tarp she uses to cover her things. The cardboard she uses to shield herself from the cold concrete had been left behind in a sodden pile somewhere. She had wrapped herself in clothes and a dirty piece of cloth.
Her body was cold to the touch and trembling. But, as is the case with many women who have survived ongoing, violent trauma, her body and mind are disconnected. The cold and trembling didn't register at all. W. smiled and chatted. "Not too bad," she said. 'I found a restaurant where they let me sit for a couple of hours. But they stole my tarp." The sweater she often wore was also nowhere to be seen. Her arms and hands were filthy. We gathered her into the women's center and concern showed on every face.
W continued to chat as we peeled layers of wet clothing away and helped her put on a thick, hooded sweatshirt, warm socks, and thermal leggings. We wrapped her in a blanket. In minutes, she fell asleep....sitting up.
She slept through much of Breaking Free - a dvd bible study some women have been doing since fall. She woke to drink some hot tea and dozed off again.
When the study was over, she woke to drink some more tea. "Can we go with you to the shelter next door?" we asked. "It's getting colder and looks like more rain tonight." W. changed the subject.
"Please. We're concerned about you," we said. "Just for tonight. Just to keep out of the rain...."
She shook her head and began a convoluted story about some sick friend whom she had "promised to check in on."
In the end, W. said No. She wouldn't be sleeping inside that night. It was both painful to hear and hard to understand.
W. lives with mental illness. She is sometimes clear=minded and creative. Sometimes paranoid or grandious. It's not clear whether her stories of competitive ice skating or pursuing professional dance are lies, fantasy or long-past truth of a life before drugs, poverty and homelessness. W says she has "lived outside" for nearly a decade. She doesn't like the word "homeless." We believe her when she speaks of emotional and physical abuse and about losing children to drugs and foster care. We listen to her creative ideas about cooking and her dream of feeding homeless people healthy, delicious food. We are filled with love and frustration. Worry and respect.
How do we love her well? We can't fix her. We can't solve the complexity of her mental illness and trauma-based paranoia. We can't force her to sleep inside on a cold, rainy night.
Yesterday, two therapist-friends from Illinois and California respectively visited the BJM staff, spending the morning with us at The Well. They spoke about calling out, affirming, naming, and declaring God's love over a person's spirit. My heart beat faster. Counseling is helpful stuff....it helps people think more clearly, choose more wisely, and understand, experience, and manage real, honest and life-giving emotions. Yeah! But Margaret and Kara spoke about the spirit. Each individual's spirit. And how our spirits were made to be filled with and alive in God's love.
W's ability to think, choose and feel is damaged by mental illness and years of trauma and abuse. But, the deeper hurt lies is her spirit - her identity, worth and true self. Her spirit has been crushed and wounded. Her spirit has gone into hiding, like a frightened child slipping under the bed, hoping to escape chaos and violence. Her spirit has separated from her body and disconnected from her soul - her mind, will, and emotions. Perhaps her spirit is sleeping or unable to hear, see or speak. Perhaps she has forgotten that she even has a spirit and lives only in the raw emotions, thoughts, and choices of each moment.
So, on Monday when W. pulls her carts into the Nail Day Christmas party, my eyes and heart will be on her spirit. On her identity. The true, beautiful, beloved self that God himself breathed into her at conception. When she became a living being. Beloved and worthy of love.
I can't fix her. Only God can heal her wounded spirit.
So, I will call to her spirit. Affirm and bless her spirit. I'm asking Father God to give me words to say that will slip under the protective wall she hides behind and touch her true self - her spirit - with love.
Would you join me? Would you declare over W. that "God loves you. God is calling you home. To himself. Wake, beautiful spirit. Rise up. Open your eyes. It is safe to come home. Father God is in the house, and it's safe to come home."
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Home-making
this weekend I put together a chair and ottoman from ikea. The pictures-only directions didn't help me much. There was muttering, outcries, and a couple of less-than-presentable terms used. In the end, I did what I didn't think the directions were saying and finally got the parts attached to the right other parts - facing the right directions. Now, Im sitting in this comfy chair with my feet up.
I ordered a twin mattress, bookshelf, and a second chair. Once the mattress arrived, I got rid of the full-sized bed that took up (no kidding) half my little room. Rolled out the beautiful wool rug I brought from madison. Some special items - beautiful cobalt blue glass balls in a bowl. An art tile of a woman with auburn hair. An earth-toned tray with beveled glass center. All these things now reside in my little space.
It is becoming a home. A safe place of r & r for me. A welcoming, warm place where my daughter Beth visited. We ate sushi and talked. Home.
I am so grateful for this place. I know God brought me here and I don't take it for granted that I have this space.
This month one of the women who comes to Nail Day every single week was in trouble. She was afraid she might harm herself and checked into a hospital. BJM staff were the people she listed as "emergency contacts" - she had no one else. BJM is her family. Her address? a shelter for women in the Tenderloin. This is one meaning of the word "homeless"....to be truly without a home. Someone else's address used as a temporary fill-in-the-blank for social services or medical providers.
Another woman showed up recently in San Francisco. She is paranoid, often roams from topic to topic in conversation, and seems "stuck" in painful memories of the past. Those memories are a kind of "home" for her. She returns to them when she feels afraid. She hopes that their resolution might stop the emotional pain. She comes to the women's center on Tuesday and Wednesday. To nail day every Monday. Because Justice Matters and the women's center has become a sanctuary for her. A home, of sorts.
Because Justice Matters isn't a "big result" program. Our numbers aren't large. Our impact is small and personal. It is all about relationships. One-on-one. Small groups seated around a table. 5 or 6 cups and a pot of hot coffee.
I want to learn how to open my heart to help create a home for women. To make space and time in my life for relationships that really mean something. That offer safety. Knowing and being known.
Relationships. Family. Home.
I ordered a twin mattress, bookshelf, and a second chair. Once the mattress arrived, I got rid of the full-sized bed that took up (no kidding) half my little room. Rolled out the beautiful wool rug I brought from madison. Some special items - beautiful cobalt blue glass balls in a bowl. An art tile of a woman with auburn hair. An earth-toned tray with beveled glass center. All these things now reside in my little space.
It is becoming a home. A safe place of r & r for me. A welcoming, warm place where my daughter Beth visited. We ate sushi and talked. Home.
I am so grateful for this place. I know God brought me here and I don't take it for granted that I have this space.
This month one of the women who comes to Nail Day every single week was in trouble. She was afraid she might harm herself and checked into a hospital. BJM staff were the people she listed as "emergency contacts" - she had no one else. BJM is her family. Her address? a shelter for women in the Tenderloin. This is one meaning of the word "homeless"....to be truly without a home. Someone else's address used as a temporary fill-in-the-blank for social services or medical providers.
Another woman showed up recently in San Francisco. She is paranoid, often roams from topic to topic in conversation, and seems "stuck" in painful memories of the past. Those memories are a kind of "home" for her. She returns to them when she feels afraid. She hopes that their resolution might stop the emotional pain. She comes to the women's center on Tuesday and Wednesday. To nail day every Monday. Because Justice Matters and the women's center has become a sanctuary for her. A home, of sorts.
Because Justice Matters isn't a "big result" program. Our numbers aren't large. Our impact is small and personal. It is all about relationships. One-on-one. Small groups seated around a table. 5 or 6 cups and a pot of hot coffee.
I want to learn how to open my heart to help create a home for women. To make space and time in my life for relationships that really mean something. That offer safety. Knowing and being known.
Relationships. Family. Home.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
wake my spirit!
What a week! Last week I was in Redding attending the international Sozo Summit, racing to spend a morning talking with Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry students about BJM and ministry in the Tenderloin. Then, more summit stuff and home to finish the week.
This week has been a front row seat to the amazing courage, dignity, and God-hunger of the women who come to BJM. A week when I feel honored to even be in the room!
The women who come to The Well are hungry to know God. 5 women came to our Wednesday bible study about domestic violence. Thursday 3 more came to a group called Breaking Free.
to hear these women share honestly about issues in their lives instead of hide those struggles to look good to others.
A isn't at all sure about Jesus. God....sort of. But Jesus? The jury is still out. Yet, I heard A pray for another woman with such compassion and gentleness and TRUST in God. A gathered faith from every corner of the heart to say "God, here's my friend. She needs a miracle. You are the only one we can trust."
I feel like Im in the school of "I can't' much of the time. Where, if God doesn't show up and keep His promises, I am helpless to make any difference. I often feel as if I'm closing my eyes and saying, "God, I'm trusting you here...." The women I'm supposed to be "helping" then are the ones who affirm that God can be counted on. That nothing is too hard for him.
Early in the week, J feared she might harm herself. She did exactly the right thing - and BJM received a call saying she was safe but pretty fragile.
When LIndsay and Lisa went to visit J wanted prayer. She wanted God to help with nightmares and PTSD flashbacks. And, this courageous little person willingly forgave someone who hurt and harmed her terribly. The person responsible for those flashbacks and nightmares. God spoke so gently and with so much love right into the hurt and harm. Right into her wounded heart.
Another person has learned to listen to God in every situation. Week after week over coffee, S. has been practicing the discipline of saying, "Father, what do you say?.....What do you want me to know?" Choosing God's ways in small things and large. Choosing.....and changing.
An opportunity came suddenly to S. A sudden move now seemed possible. After waiting a long time to leave the Tenderloin for "something better....anything better...a healthy place full of healthy people..." S. really wanted to go. YWAM friends asked...are you going back to old patterns of impulsive decision making? But, S has changed SO much in the past year. S said, "I can do this. I've grown a lot. I'm not the person I was."
That is absolutely true. Yet, S was encouraged to "ask Dad" before making this major life decision.
Today I got a call. S. was at the door of the women's center. Could I talk a minute?
S.'s eyes filled with tears. S. spoke about the dream of leaving the Tenderloin and making a new life "someplace with clean streets and healthy people." The opportunity to relocate seemed perfect.
But, during the previous night, S said, "I saw Jesus. He took me into a little room and closed the door. He said, "We need to talk."
Jesus said, "Not now." He told S. that God could bless regardless of S's decision, but leaving now wasn't God's first choice.
S. confessed to feeling angry with God. Deeply sad. Afraid the dream might never happen.
And, I was filled with admiration and JOY as S said, "I am staying. I want God's best. I still feel angry and sad and disappointed. But I want God more."
S is becoming more and more like Jesus - who "only did what He saw His Father in heaven doing." J is becoming more like Jesus - forgiving even when the wrongdoer never apologized or even recognized the pain and harm they'd caused. Choosing to say, I forgive. A. keeps moving closer and closer to this beautiful, infinitely kind Jesus whose love and words are so challenging and off the charts. I believe her heart wants what her heart wants - And, in spite of all the avoiding and re-framing and trying to keep from loving Him, His love keeps drawing her back. Soon and very soon!
so. What a week in the TL. Outside the women's center, there was an awful fight that left pools of blood on the sidewalk. The long lines of elderly folks waiting for the Thursday food pantry are annoying the neighbors and creating a safety hazard. The police are annoyed. Rats got into the basement maintenance room. Yesterday, a disheveled man looked up from the sidewalk and smiled at me - just as he licked his skin (poor man's alcohol swab) and jabbed a needle into his arm. I saw a young woman standing next to her pimp. she rocked a stroller holding a sweet, round-faced baby named Rain . Jesus, come and save! You are our only hope!
And, meanwhile, A was praying with compassion. J was forgiving terrible wrongs. And S was choosing God even when every emotion was pain and loss.
LIke I said. This was a week of courage and beauty in the Tenderloin. I'm honored just being in the room!
This week has been a front row seat to the amazing courage, dignity, and God-hunger of the women who come to BJM. A week when I feel honored to even be in the room!
The women who come to The Well are hungry to know God. 5 women came to our Wednesday bible study about domestic violence. Thursday 3 more came to a group called Breaking Free.
to hear these women share honestly about issues in their lives instead of hide those struggles to look good to others.
A isn't at all sure about Jesus. God....sort of. But Jesus? The jury is still out. Yet, I heard A pray for another woman with such compassion and gentleness and TRUST in God. A gathered faith from every corner of the heart to say "God, here's my friend. She needs a miracle. You are the only one we can trust."
I feel like Im in the school of "I can't' much of the time. Where, if God doesn't show up and keep His promises, I am helpless to make any difference. I often feel as if I'm closing my eyes and saying, "God, I'm trusting you here...." The women I'm supposed to be "helping" then are the ones who affirm that God can be counted on. That nothing is too hard for him.
Early in the week, J feared she might harm herself. She did exactly the right thing - and BJM received a call saying she was safe but pretty fragile.
When LIndsay and Lisa went to visit J wanted prayer. She wanted God to help with nightmares and PTSD flashbacks. And, this courageous little person willingly forgave someone who hurt and harmed her terribly. The person responsible for those flashbacks and nightmares. God spoke so gently and with so much love right into the hurt and harm. Right into her wounded heart.
Another person has learned to listen to God in every situation. Week after week over coffee, S. has been practicing the discipline of saying, "Father, what do you say?.....What do you want me to know?" Choosing God's ways in small things and large. Choosing.....and changing.
An opportunity came suddenly to S. A sudden move now seemed possible. After waiting a long time to leave the Tenderloin for "something better....anything better...a healthy place full of healthy people..." S. really wanted to go. YWAM friends asked...are you going back to old patterns of impulsive decision making? But, S has changed SO much in the past year. S said, "I can do this. I've grown a lot. I'm not the person I was."
That is absolutely true. Yet, S was encouraged to "ask Dad" before making this major life decision.
Today I got a call. S. was at the door of the women's center. Could I talk a minute?
S.'s eyes filled with tears. S. spoke about the dream of leaving the Tenderloin and making a new life "someplace with clean streets and healthy people." The opportunity to relocate seemed perfect.
But, during the previous night, S said, "I saw Jesus. He took me into a little room and closed the door. He said, "We need to talk."
Jesus said, "Not now." He told S. that God could bless regardless of S's decision, but leaving now wasn't God's first choice.
S. confessed to feeling angry with God. Deeply sad. Afraid the dream might never happen.
And, I was filled with admiration and JOY as S said, "I am staying. I want God's best. I still feel angry and sad and disappointed. But I want God more."
S is becoming more and more like Jesus - who "only did what He saw His Father in heaven doing." J is becoming more like Jesus - forgiving even when the wrongdoer never apologized or even recognized the pain and harm they'd caused. Choosing to say, I forgive. A. keeps moving closer and closer to this beautiful, infinitely kind Jesus whose love and words are so challenging and off the charts. I believe her heart wants what her heart wants - And, in spite of all the avoiding and re-framing and trying to keep from loving Him, His love keeps drawing her back. Soon and very soon!
so. What a week in the TL. Outside the women's center, there was an awful fight that left pools of blood on the sidewalk. The long lines of elderly folks waiting for the Thursday food pantry are annoying the neighbors and creating a safety hazard. The police are annoyed. Rats got into the basement maintenance room. Yesterday, a disheveled man looked up from the sidewalk and smiled at me - just as he licked his skin (poor man's alcohol swab) and jabbed a needle into his arm. I saw a young woman standing next to her pimp. she rocked a stroller holding a sweet, round-faced baby named Rain . Jesus, come and save! You are our only hope!
And, meanwhile, A was praying with compassion. J was forgiving terrible wrongs. And S was choosing God even when every emotion was pain and loss.
LIke I said. This was a week of courage and beauty in the Tenderloin. I'm honored just being in the room!
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Send in the Flaggers
Deb heard about the women's center from our mutual beloved Michelle Trehey. This amazing Wisconsin warrior had never met me, never been to San Francisco - but she single-handedly sewed about 12 beautiful, iridescent and fire-colored worship flags for the women of The Well (our BJM women's center has a name!) to use. I brought them, in their beautiful carrying case, across the country in my trusty-but-crammed toyota (along with another 8 "timbrels" she also made - rings that hold lengths of brightly-colored ribbon or tinsel...when you wave them, they're like shining rainbows!).
Wednesday, they arrived "home" to the BJM women's center. Our staff women unpacked them. Ooooohs and Aaaahs everywhere. "Gold....what does the color gold mean?" (purification, abundance)
Then, someone said, "This one looks like fire! We want fire! Let me have the fire one!" Everyone began to wave flags. Blue symbolizes revelation. Red, redemption and both orange and red are fire colors. (God's heart is ON FIRE for the Tenderloin!) Green....new life, growth, creation....White for purity and being washed clean and made whole. Purple is royalty. I can't remember what silver symbolizes...except that it's shiny and beautiful!
Lindsay took her flag out on the sidewalk. I joined her as children from the local school walked by on the way to the playground. The big kids laughed and passed under the flags like a parade. "Flags...wave them at me!!!" they yelled. The little guys were scared and moved closer to their teachers. So, we said, "They're just pretty flags. We won't wave them at you. You can just look." So, we waved tham toward the street and the little guys passed by...not exactly convinced, but not frightened either.
Why flags, you might wonder? WHAT are they doing waving flags at people? (and what does this have to do with God and the Tenderloin???)
Today at church, a guest speaker spoke about leading a team of worship folks into a garbage dump in Romania where violence is an every-day, everywhere occurrence. He referred to battles in the Old Testament. When God sent Joshua to conquer a city called Jericho, he was told to send the worshipers and musicians first, followed by the warriors.
"Let's see," the speaker said. "They've got AK-47s and bullets and we've got harmonicas, tamborines and a bunch of dancers waving flags." Yep. The battle for the garbage dump was ushered in by dancers waving flags! (now, all we need are harmonicas and tamborines....).
Worship establishes the atmosphere. It says, "This is who we are. Our beautiful God owns this place - not the drug dealers on every corner or the pimps or the massage parlor owners. Our God. The God who loves. He has already conquered these streets. And, He is so unafraid of evil that he sends us - the flag-wavers - to lead the troops.
I was thinking of all of you reading this. You might be fortunate enough to be part of a flag-waving, dancing, worshiping church. You may want to go out a find one out of sheer curiosity (or because you wonder if I'm running on all pistons out here or what....). You may be perfectly happy without the whole flag business. But, know this. When you worship our beautiful Jesus, your heart is like a banner. Like a flag waving in front of the world. Your heart-flag declares one thing we know is always true - here in the Tenderloin or at City Church where Deb and Michelle wave their own flags :).....or wherever you are.....that God IS. That God loves. That He has already won the battle and everything - the cities and the streets and every small town. Every human being is carried in His heart.
So, tomorrow, I'm going to pass out flyers for Nail Day (YEAH....my first Nail Day back in SF!). And, I'm going to be praying as I go...."How beautiful your street is, God.....How beautiful your daughters are, Father. How blue your sky is. How amazing your people are.....How much you love the 'other' dancers in the strip clubs....." And, I'll be waving my heart-flag everywhere.
PS: Yep, we'll definitely take those flags to the street! I'll let you know how it goes!
Wednesday, they arrived "home" to the BJM women's center. Our staff women unpacked them. Ooooohs and Aaaahs everywhere. "Gold....what does the color gold mean?" (purification, abundance)
Then, someone said, "This one looks like fire! We want fire! Let me have the fire one!" Everyone began to wave flags. Blue symbolizes revelation. Red, redemption and both orange and red are fire colors. (God's heart is ON FIRE for the Tenderloin!) Green....new life, growth, creation....White for purity and being washed clean and made whole. Purple is royalty. I can't remember what silver symbolizes...except that it's shiny and beautiful!
Lindsay took her flag out on the sidewalk. I joined her as children from the local school walked by on the way to the playground. The big kids laughed and passed under the flags like a parade. "Flags...wave them at me!!!" they yelled. The little guys were scared and moved closer to their teachers. So, we said, "They're just pretty flags. We won't wave them at you. You can just look." So, we waved tham toward the street and the little guys passed by...not exactly convinced, but not frightened either.
Why flags, you might wonder? WHAT are they doing waving flags at people? (and what does this have to do with God and the Tenderloin???)
Today at church, a guest speaker spoke about leading a team of worship folks into a garbage dump in Romania where violence is an every-day, everywhere occurrence. He referred to battles in the Old Testament. When God sent Joshua to conquer a city called Jericho, he was told to send the worshipers and musicians first, followed by the warriors.
"Let's see," the speaker said. "They've got AK-47s and bullets and we've got harmonicas, tamborines and a bunch of dancers waving flags." Yep. The battle for the garbage dump was ushered in by dancers waving flags! (now, all we need are harmonicas and tamborines....).
Worship establishes the atmosphere. It says, "This is who we are. Our beautiful God owns this place - not the drug dealers on every corner or the pimps or the massage parlor owners. Our God. The God who loves. He has already conquered these streets. And, He is so unafraid of evil that he sends us - the flag-wavers - to lead the troops.
I was thinking of all of you reading this. You might be fortunate enough to be part of a flag-waving, dancing, worshiping church. You may want to go out a find one out of sheer curiosity (or because you wonder if I'm running on all pistons out here or what....). You may be perfectly happy without the whole flag business. But, know this. When you worship our beautiful Jesus, your heart is like a banner. Like a flag waving in front of the world. Your heart-flag declares one thing we know is always true - here in the Tenderloin or at City Church where Deb and Michelle wave their own flags :).....or wherever you are.....that God IS. That God loves. That He has already won the battle and everything - the cities and the streets and every small town. Every human being is carried in His heart.
So, tomorrow, I'm going to pass out flyers for Nail Day (YEAH....my first Nail Day back in SF!). And, I'm going to be praying as I go...."How beautiful your street is, God.....How beautiful your daughters are, Father. How blue your sky is. How amazing your people are.....How much you love the 'other' dancers in the strip clubs....." And, I'll be waving my heart-flag everywhere.
PS: Yep, we'll definitely take those flags to the street! I'll let you know how it goes!
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
California, Comin' Home
On the morning of the 15th, I got in my car....loaded to the gills with clothes, kitchen stuff, guitar, rug, vacuum, worship flags, art, more kitchen stuff, miscellaneous more stuff....ready to start my San Francisco "thelma and Louise" car trip.
Punched the cd player on. The night before I'd dug out an old Joni Mitchell cd...and that morning...the first song to play was "California, Comin' Home."
I laughed. A lot. I sang along. I loved this whole God adventure musical accompaniment.
During the 6 days on the road, I started each day singing California, Comin' Home. I honestly felt as if I were leaving home to GO home.
My strategy for lodging was to decide each night how far I wanted to drive the next day. Figure out what town/city is nearest and go to Trip Advisor to weed out the really ghastly places. My trigger words were "clean and cheap." One place wasn't really clean. Another wasn't exactly cheap. But, in general I stayed in smallish, retro motels in smallish, never-left-retro towns. Evanston, Wyoming has a lovely little strip motel run by a family. The mom said "if we ever don't need the motel to make money, I'd like to turn it into housing for single, pregnant teenagers....somebody has to help them out."
This beautiful woman was once a teen mom herself. She married her high school sweetheart (who still runs the motel with her). Now, she and her ginormous black and white cats welcome tired travelers. You can request "breakfast in a basket"....homemade muffins and coffee. Her heart is big and open!
Came in on Sunday night and stayed with Becky and Alex in their cute, little house in Pacifica (about 25 minutes south of San Francisco) you can see the ocean from their living room window. Met their new puppy, Sierra. Slept like a rock and spent Monday unpacking storage items from the car, playing with Sierra and generally vegging around.
Today, I headed into the city. My faithful GPS knew what to do, so I wove my way from highway to highway and found my self headed toward Ellis Street. Counting the blocks. My heart was beating and I actually said out loud "Almost there! Almost there." I thought - this is SO good!! I can't wait.
Of course, in my mind Joni Mitchell was singing, "California...California, comin' home...gonna see the folks I dig, I'd even kiss a Sunset pig...California, comin' home."
Drove up to the YWAM base. A kid from the Los Angeles "Skaters" Discipleship Training School stood on the sidewalk, holding his skateboard, and talking with some of the neighborhood guys. The Because Justice Matters women bowled me over with welcome hugs (these are the folks I dig....). Helped me unload. And unload. And unload.
Now, pretty much flattened at about 8 pm. Unpacked, settled, sorted, and organized for about 7 straight hours. I hurt all over and it looks like I gave away my silverware to somebody in Wisconsin....cause it isn't here!
but, here I am. My room has BEAUTIFUL wood flooring. I just made a cup of tea in my settled-in little kitchen and hung my "big bag" car top carrier in the shower to get the salt off tomorrow morning. Everything is good.
I am home. My heart is home. My body is chilling and ready to sleep. Joni Mitchell is singing somewhere in the gerbil wheel of my brain.
Punched the cd player on. The night before I'd dug out an old Joni Mitchell cd...and that morning...the first song to play was "California, Comin' Home."
I laughed. A lot. I sang along. I loved this whole God adventure musical accompaniment.
During the 6 days on the road, I started each day singing California, Comin' Home. I honestly felt as if I were leaving home to GO home.
My strategy for lodging was to decide each night how far I wanted to drive the next day. Figure out what town/city is nearest and go to Trip Advisor to weed out the really ghastly places. My trigger words were "clean and cheap." One place wasn't really clean. Another wasn't exactly cheap. But, in general I stayed in smallish, retro motels in smallish, never-left-retro towns. Evanston, Wyoming has a lovely little strip motel run by a family. The mom said "if we ever don't need the motel to make money, I'd like to turn it into housing for single, pregnant teenagers....somebody has to help them out."
This beautiful woman was once a teen mom herself. She married her high school sweetheart (who still runs the motel with her). Now, she and her ginormous black and white cats welcome tired travelers. You can request "breakfast in a basket"....homemade muffins and coffee. Her heart is big and open!
Came in on Sunday night and stayed with Becky and Alex in their cute, little house in Pacifica (about 25 minutes south of San Francisco) you can see the ocean from their living room window. Met their new puppy, Sierra. Slept like a rock and spent Monday unpacking storage items from the car, playing with Sierra and generally vegging around.
Today, I headed into the city. My faithful GPS knew what to do, so I wove my way from highway to highway and found my self headed toward Ellis Street. Counting the blocks. My heart was beating and I actually said out loud "Almost there! Almost there." I thought - this is SO good!! I can't wait.
Of course, in my mind Joni Mitchell was singing, "California...California, comin' home...gonna see the folks I dig, I'd even kiss a Sunset pig...California, comin' home."
Drove up to the YWAM base. A kid from the Los Angeles "Skaters" Discipleship Training School stood on the sidewalk, holding his skateboard, and talking with some of the neighborhood guys. The Because Justice Matters women bowled me over with welcome hugs (these are the folks I dig....). Helped me unload. And unload. And unload.
Now, pretty much flattened at about 8 pm. Unpacked, settled, sorted, and organized for about 7 straight hours. I hurt all over and it looks like I gave away my silverware to somebody in Wisconsin....cause it isn't here!
but, here I am. My room has BEAUTIFUL wood flooring. I just made a cup of tea in my settled-in little kitchen and hung my "big bag" car top carrier in the shower to get the salt off tomorrow morning. Everything is good.
I am home. My heart is home. My body is chilling and ready to sleep. Joni Mitchell is singing somewhere in the gerbil wheel of my brain.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
STUFF!
now, it's about stuff. Lots and lots of stuff. Stuff I need and stuff I don't. Stuff somebody else can use and stuff nobody wants - not even me!
I thought I'd pared things down when I moved to my apartment in 2011. Last Friday the POD people rumbled up to the parking lot of a consignment furniture store here in Madison. My friends helping me drag stuff to the shop, to their various trucks, van and cars. Some sold, some given and some kept. Now, I have a boxes and boxes in another friend's garage. Making sub-piles....give to somebody special, donate, mail, and "will it fit in the Camry?" I mailed 13 boxes of books (THIRTEEN???? what do I think I am, the public library?) Another 3 donated and all my old books and materials from my "past life" as a storyteller are now happily living at a couple of area schools.
All this is rearranging my head significantly. Can I feel sad about the lovely home I created in my first-ever living alone apartment AND feel free and happy to see things falling away? I sit for long minutes thinking "Can I fit these coffee mugs in the car?" and "Do I really need 15 coffee mugs?" Which to leave behind? Which sweet memories to take? (Whoops....16 mugs...a new friend just gave me one of her hand-thrown beauties so I'd remember her and her big heart while I'm in SF).
It is like dividing up pieces of my life. Christmas decorations from years of celebration with my family. Pots and pans used to cook meals for friends I love. Dishes I picked myself and the wealth of mugs....all memories of hours and hours of laughter and talk with be-loved people My good old college graduation present to myself guitar invites me to worship and sing. Worship flags made specially for the women's center by loving hands here... Two Norwegian ski sweaters - one knit by my mom and another by my host mother in Norway. Both mothers gone now. Yes, I will keep the sweaters though I may never wear them.
Some things go so easily. Other things cling to my heart. My memory. I will probably try to take too many things to San Francisco. I have a single room and a shelf or two of storage space at Becky and Alex's in Pacifica. I don't need the 16 mugs. Or the hand-blown glass globe I bought at Madison's Art Fair on the Square one summer. But I will keep them. Perhaps they are waiting for another time. Another "letting go" to find other homes. Or, they will make this journey with me.
I thought I'd pared things down when I moved to my apartment in 2011. Last Friday the POD people rumbled up to the parking lot of a consignment furniture store here in Madison. My friends helping me drag stuff to the shop, to their various trucks, van and cars. Some sold, some given and some kept. Now, I have a boxes and boxes in another friend's garage. Making sub-piles....give to somebody special, donate, mail, and "will it fit in the Camry?" I mailed 13 boxes of books (THIRTEEN???? what do I think I am, the public library?) Another 3 donated and all my old books and materials from my "past life" as a storyteller are now happily living at a couple of area schools.
All this is rearranging my head significantly. Can I feel sad about the lovely home I created in my first-ever living alone apartment AND feel free and happy to see things falling away? I sit for long minutes thinking "Can I fit these coffee mugs in the car?" and "Do I really need 15 coffee mugs?" Which to leave behind? Which sweet memories to take? (Whoops....16 mugs...a new friend just gave me one of her hand-thrown beauties so I'd remember her and her big heart while I'm in SF).
It is like dividing up pieces of my life. Christmas decorations from years of celebration with my family. Pots and pans used to cook meals for friends I love. Dishes I picked myself and the wealth of mugs....all memories of hours and hours of laughter and talk with be-loved people My good old college graduation present to myself guitar invites me to worship and sing. Worship flags made specially for the women's center by loving hands here... Two Norwegian ski sweaters - one knit by my mom and another by my host mother in Norway. Both mothers gone now. Yes, I will keep the sweaters though I may never wear them.
Some things go so easily. Other things cling to my heart. My memory. I will probably try to take too many things to San Francisco. I have a single room and a shelf or two of storage space at Becky and Alex's in Pacifica. I don't need the 16 mugs. Or the hand-blown glass globe I bought at Madison's Art Fair on the Square one summer. But I will keep them. Perhaps they are waiting for another time. Another "letting go" to find other homes. Or, they will make this journey with me.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
good bye is a hard word to say!
Having many one-on-one times over coffee, cupcakes, lunch, brunch and whatever else women think to do. Saying good-bye over and over to people I love. Friends. Colleagues. Clients. People who have come to "live" in every room in my relational house.
Grateful for friends. For the privilege of knowing so many women who should have books written about them. Last night, got to introduce two friends to each other - one, a gifted "D/C" on the DISC inventory. Successful executive. bringer-of-order-into-chaos. The other, an S/I on the same inventory is a bringer-of-life-and-joy into every situation. Like one of those folks who carries the Olympic torch from city to city, she carries HOPE and worship wherever she goes. Both women are single moms. Both raising beautiful, smart, creative children alone. Both are witnesses to me of the power of finding and being who you are. Of walking away from abuse into LIFE.
This was just the end of a single day of being amazed by the women I know. Talking with my friend-and-sister MaryBeth about an ever-expanding vision for using art to help people heal. Hearing my friend Donna talk about the book she's researching, writing, and illustrating. My beloved Lorita as she loves and enjoys two grandchildren who have autism challenges every single day! Then, updates from one friend who is creating a stunningly beautiful wedding venue out of her parents' old barn and another who is integrating healing prayer and "brain spotting" to help trauma survivors recover and replace painful memories with JOY.
Finally, hearing from the Because Justice Matters roaring lions (yep, they might look like beautiful, young, vibrant women....but really they are roaring lions in disguise)....that they sold 100 tickets to the women's center/BJM October 4th fundraiser in a single afternoon!
I want to rent a billboard that says "Hey, sisters. Take a LOOK at your friends. Just bask in the wonder of the women on your smart phone speed dial! Tell them how wonderful they are. How they have blessed and loved and helped to shape your heart and vision. Say thank you. Say "I love you!"
and to quote one of my favorite fictional characters, Chet-the-Jet, hero and point of view character of the not-exactly-cerebral but make-me-laugh Chet and Bernie mysteries...."Just when you think [your friend] can't be more amazing, [they] amaze you again!"
Grateful for friends. For the privilege of knowing so many women who should have books written about them. Last night, got to introduce two friends to each other - one, a gifted "D/C" on the DISC inventory. Successful executive. bringer-of-order-into-chaos. The other, an S/I on the same inventory is a bringer-of-life-and-joy into every situation. Like one of those folks who carries the Olympic torch from city to city, she carries HOPE and worship wherever she goes. Both women are single moms. Both raising beautiful, smart, creative children alone. Both are witnesses to me of the power of finding and being who you are. Of walking away from abuse into LIFE.
This was just the end of a single day of being amazed by the women I know. Talking with my friend-and-sister MaryBeth about an ever-expanding vision for using art to help people heal. Hearing my friend Donna talk about the book she's researching, writing, and illustrating. My beloved Lorita as she loves and enjoys two grandchildren who have autism challenges every single day! Then, updates from one friend who is creating a stunningly beautiful wedding venue out of her parents' old barn and another who is integrating healing prayer and "brain spotting" to help trauma survivors recover and replace painful memories with JOY.
Finally, hearing from the Because Justice Matters roaring lions (yep, they might look like beautiful, young, vibrant women....but really they are roaring lions in disguise)....that they sold 100 tickets to the women's center/BJM October 4th fundraiser in a single afternoon!
I want to rent a billboard that says "Hey, sisters. Take a LOOK at your friends. Just bask in the wonder of the women on your smart phone speed dial! Tell them how wonderful they are. How they have blessed and loved and helped to shape your heart and vision. Say thank you. Say "I love you!"
and to quote one of my favorite fictional characters, Chet-the-Jet, hero and point of view character of the not-exactly-cerebral but make-me-laugh Chet and Bernie mysteries...."Just when you think [your friend] can't be more amazing, [they] amaze you again!"
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Some people have asked how I feel about selling my furniture and moving to a single room in San Francisco. God is doing stuff, ya'll. The journey continues...
My friend Jen from YWAM San Francisco (and, in the past, a YWAM-er in Madison) said, "When you decide to do something you believe God wants but seems too big or too hard or....then you get to see God do miracles."
And, the wise and much beloved Bill Johnson (ibethel.org in case you are a newcomer to this amazing man and Bethel Church in Redding, CA) said, (in the words I sort of remember), "If you do what you can do, then you get what a human being can do. But, if you set your sights on the impossible, then you get what God can do."
This week wasn't impossible, but it sure has been sweet and filled with what God can do.
I'm going to return to the YWAM base in San Francisco. My personal living quarters there is a room with a small bath and kitchenette. Years ago, this building housed an SRO (single room occupancy) hotel for poor folks. Now, it houses YWAMers of all ages. Those YWAMers have sacrificed space (they all share rooms) so I can have my own room. I don't take that for granted!
Some people might look at the YWAM base as kind of dumpy. I think of it as "simple...well, maybe dumpy... and filled with amazing people and God." And, I don't ever want to forget that, outside that door, people sleep on concrete and under bridges and in cardboard boxes.
And, I know that I feel more peaceful and healthy when I'm in quiet, physically "nurturing" surroundings. Order. Peace. Beauty. All are important to me. So, where's the balance?
This is a particularly important question as I sell the furniture I bought to furnish my apartment. The first place I ever decorated (from scratch) for me. To meet my needs and create a safe, beautiful, nurturing environment. Now, storing the stuff makes no financial sense. I can take a few things, ship some, store a few precious items like my mom's china or a piece of art at a friend's home...but the rest must go. (any Madison-area peeps looking for some good quality, not-garage sale furniture? let me know)
So, what does stuff mean? What should be sold and the money used to do great stuff (like buy better hearing aids or get furniture in SF) ? What should I joyfully give away (so...if your unemployed friend needs a bed and you have one...what's the question here?). Thinking. Remembering Heidi Baker touching her head and saying "Smaller...." Then her heart and saying, "Bigger..." Smaller....bigger....smaller...bigger....
So, back to SF and the great moving adventure:
The carpeting in my room there is pretty bad (read: awful, moldy, weird and made my allergies stand up and scream). I knew it wasn't good for my health to be in the space. I also knew that YWAM had no money for upgrading the building (which they rent), so I asked the YWAM "management team" if I could pay to pull up the carpeting and replace it with laminate. "Sure." Great! I was happy...
Just as I left, the BJM director said she'd received an email from someone with extra wood flooring who wanted to know if they could donate it to the women's center. She hadn't replied yet - but had planned to say the flooring was already installed there and their kind offer wasn't needed. She said...who knows....maybe they'll donate it to YWAM specifically for your room!
Who knows? I didn't... because I returned to Madison the next day and haven't thought a lot about the whole thing.
But this past week I was looking at my budget. like "Okay, new hearing aids..$$$$, road trip costs $$...car insurance $...chiropractor for whatever I did to my shoulder and jaw $$....now...how much will the floor thing cost in SF?"
I wrote the BJM director, Ruthie, to ask whether that lovely person really did donate the flooring. And here's her reply, "Don't worry. Your flooring is being taken care of by us. You'll return to nice, new wood floors!"
Whoa! It's already done?!!! I don't have to do it? I was speechless. Then I laughed!
I feel loved and cared for! Honored and loved by the YWAM community there. I don't know who actually did the gross job of pulling up the moldy, dusty carpeting. I don't know who washed the years of filtered dust, mold and "stuff" from the sub flooring, hauled the wood upstairs, and did the labor of installing the floor. I'm imagining those wild, beautiful, Jesus-loving, visionary "kids" (as in I'm old enough to be the mom of about 90% of the YWAM San Francisco staff). What I don't have to imagine is the love.
The last thing I'm imagining is walking into that room, over and over and over. Seeing the lovely, clean wood floors...my beautiful small area rug with the deep, cobalt blue that matches the prophetic painting my friend Mary Ann did for me (gotta fit those two things in my car!) and a couple of comfy small "sit and talk" chairs. A little coffee table (cause you need coffee to talk, of course) and some of my beautiful art hanging and making things beautiful. I imagine thinking, "They did the floors just for me! Wow! God, you are so good....I feel so loved and taken care of."
My friend Jen from YWAM San Francisco (and, in the past, a YWAM-er in Madison) said, "When you decide to do something you believe God wants but seems too big or too hard or....then you get to see God do miracles."
And, the wise and much beloved Bill Johnson (ibethel.org in case you are a newcomer to this amazing man and Bethel Church in Redding, CA) said, (in the words I sort of remember), "If you do what you can do, then you get what a human being can do. But, if you set your sights on the impossible, then you get what God can do."
This week wasn't impossible, but it sure has been sweet and filled with what God can do.
I'm going to return to the YWAM base in San Francisco. My personal living quarters there is a room with a small bath and kitchenette. Years ago, this building housed an SRO (single room occupancy) hotel for poor folks. Now, it houses YWAMers of all ages. Those YWAMers have sacrificed space (they all share rooms) so I can have my own room. I don't take that for granted!
Some people might look at the YWAM base as kind of dumpy. I think of it as "simple...well, maybe dumpy... and filled with amazing people and God." And, I don't ever want to forget that, outside that door, people sleep on concrete and under bridges and in cardboard boxes.
And, I know that I feel more peaceful and healthy when I'm in quiet, physically "nurturing" surroundings. Order. Peace. Beauty. All are important to me. So, where's the balance?
This is a particularly important question as I sell the furniture I bought to furnish my apartment. The first place I ever decorated (from scratch) for me. To meet my needs and create a safe, beautiful, nurturing environment. Now, storing the stuff makes no financial sense. I can take a few things, ship some, store a few precious items like my mom's china or a piece of art at a friend's home...but the rest must go. (any Madison-area peeps looking for some good quality, not-garage sale furniture? let me know)
So, what does stuff mean? What should be sold and the money used to do great stuff (like buy better hearing aids or get furniture in SF) ? What should I joyfully give away (so...if your unemployed friend needs a bed and you have one...what's the question here?). Thinking. Remembering Heidi Baker touching her head and saying "Smaller...." Then her heart and saying, "Bigger..." Smaller....bigger....smaller...bigger....
So, back to SF and the great moving adventure:
The carpeting in my room there is pretty bad (read: awful, moldy, weird and made my allergies stand up and scream). I knew it wasn't good for my health to be in the space. I also knew that YWAM had no money for upgrading the building (which they rent), so I asked the YWAM "management team" if I could pay to pull up the carpeting and replace it with laminate. "Sure." Great! I was happy...
Just as I left, the BJM director said she'd received an email from someone with extra wood flooring who wanted to know if they could donate it to the women's center. She hadn't replied yet - but had planned to say the flooring was already installed there and their kind offer wasn't needed. She said...who knows....maybe they'll donate it to YWAM specifically for your room!
Who knows? I didn't... because I returned to Madison the next day and haven't thought a lot about the whole thing.
But this past week I was looking at my budget. like "Okay, new hearing aids..$$$$, road trip costs $$...car insurance $...chiropractor for whatever I did to my shoulder and jaw $$....now...how much will the floor thing cost in SF?"
I wrote the BJM director, Ruthie, to ask whether that lovely person really did donate the flooring. And here's her reply, "Don't worry. Your flooring is being taken care of by us. You'll return to nice, new wood floors!"
Whoa! It's already done?!!! I don't have to do it? I was speechless. Then I laughed!
I feel loved and cared for! Honored and loved by the YWAM community there. I don't know who actually did the gross job of pulling up the moldy, dusty carpeting. I don't know who washed the years of filtered dust, mold and "stuff" from the sub flooring, hauled the wood upstairs, and did the labor of installing the floor. I'm imagining those wild, beautiful, Jesus-loving, visionary "kids" (as in I'm old enough to be the mom of about 90% of the YWAM San Francisco staff). What I don't have to imagine is the love.
The last thing I'm imagining is walking into that room, over and over and over. Seeing the lovely, clean wood floors...my beautiful small area rug with the deep, cobalt blue that matches the prophetic painting my friend Mary Ann did for me (gotta fit those two things in my car!) and a couple of comfy small "sit and talk" chairs. A little coffee table (cause you need coffee to talk, of course) and some of my beautiful art hanging and making things beautiful. I imagine thinking, "They did the floors just for me! Wow! God, you are so good....I feel so loved and taken care of."
Friday, September 13, 2013
4 more weeks...SF is calling!
In just 4 more weeks I will load my stylin' 1999 Toyota and head for San Francisco! My weeks in Madison have been a beautiful window into love, friendship, kindness, and the gift of years spent in one place, investing heart and energy into relationships.
I will miss my friends and be-loveds in Madison. I will miss this oddball, compassionate, often silly, regularly offended city where justice and knowledge are valued treasures. The Saturday farmer's market. Concerts on the capitol square every week during the summer. Walks along the lakes. Hanging out on the UW Madison Terrace. This is a good place for kids to grow up. They learn to value diversity and to care about people who live "without". It's a great place to be a grown up...because you meet people who, somewhere along the line, learned those things, too.
I've planned 4 days in New York, seeing my shining star Ruthie and her Michael. Get to hear Ruth sing in a revue. Get to hang out with Michael before he leaves for a l-o-n-g contract with the 25th anniversary tour of Phantom of the Opera. Good food. Tickets to something grand in whatever theatre they pick. Fun. Love. Just being with my best beloveds.
Then, back to Madison.
I'm selling my furniture (if you're interested, let me know....it's good quality, soft contemporary. What I don't sell to friends will go to Another Home (consignment shop in Middleton) where they take a big chunk for their efforts.
Then, stuffing the car full of whatever...mailing some books ahead...looking this weekend at a used roof rack so I can install a basket and take a few more things.
A one-woman cross-country road trip sounds like an adventure on paper, but ask me about mid-Nebraska....I ought to be in a dissociative fugue by then. Plan to arrive in SF about 8-10 days later, ready to launch this next year. Ready to grow and learn every day. Ready to learn more about love than I can imagine! What a privilege to live my dream. God is good!
I will miss my friends and be-loveds in Madison. I will miss this oddball, compassionate, often silly, regularly offended city where justice and knowledge are valued treasures. The Saturday farmer's market. Concerts on the capitol square every week during the summer. Walks along the lakes. Hanging out on the UW Madison Terrace. This is a good place for kids to grow up. They learn to value diversity and to care about people who live "without". It's a great place to be a grown up...because you meet people who, somewhere along the line, learned those things, too.
I've planned 4 days in New York, seeing my shining star Ruthie and her Michael. Get to hear Ruth sing in a revue. Get to hang out with Michael before he leaves for a l-o-n-g contract with the 25th anniversary tour of Phantom of the Opera. Good food. Tickets to something grand in whatever theatre they pick. Fun. Love. Just being with my best beloveds.
Then, back to Madison.
I'm selling my furniture (if you're interested, let me know....it's good quality, soft contemporary. What I don't sell to friends will go to Another Home (consignment shop in Middleton) where they take a big chunk for their efforts.
Then, stuffing the car full of whatever...mailing some books ahead...looking this weekend at a used roof rack so I can install a basket and take a few more things.
A one-woman cross-country road trip sounds like an adventure on paper, but ask me about mid-Nebraska....I ought to be in a dissociative fugue by then. Plan to arrive in SF about 8-10 days later, ready to launch this next year. Ready to grow and learn every day. Ready to learn more about love than I can imagine! What a privilege to live my dream. God is good!
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