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."