The World is Making me Crazy....but Love Looks Like Soap and a Toothbrush

The political mess in our country is making me CRAZY. One of God's calls on my life is to care about and work for justice. And, I feel worried and afraid.

I worry about the future for my friends who live with addiction and mental illness. For the refugee children being held by the INS in Texas. For elderly and families who need food stamps.

I worry because there was yet another shooting on a college campus. One more unarmed, young, Black man shot by police. Today, I read that the newly elected Speaker of the House in Nevada (a journalist of sorts with 13 years of columns to demonstrate his personal and political opinions quite clearly) actually used the words "simple minded darkies" to describe African American Democrats and stated that "Negroes" in America were not sufficiently grateful to Whites for "ending slavery."

I cry out to God because the Church seems largely either silent or in agreement. Help me, Jesus! I don't know what to do.

And, as always, the political becomes the personal. It must. Trickle down economics doesn't work, but trickle down values do.  Unfortunately.  A missionary and gifted worship leader writes that he has a rare eye disease and will go blind without expensive medication. If the Affordable Care Act is repealed, he will be uninsured and uninsurable.

My friend Lilada - a truly stellar leader who is helping Black women find healing across the nation - is called the "N" word on the street in progressive Madison, Wisconsin.

Then, I hear that R. - a lovely, creative and brilliant young woman who loves Jesus - is told by a fellow church member who knows she is a lesbian in a long-term committed relationship that "I'd rather find my son dead in the bottom of the swimming pool than have him be gay."  Really. I'm not making this stuff up here!

Friends, I can love people in the Tenderloin. I can open my heart to women who are sober, kind and engaging one day and drunk and irrational the next. I can feel sorrow at the trauma and abuse that created the scary and emotionally broken men I see every day on these streets.  But I can't find any sane, emotionally level ground on which to stand when I look at the news and the actions and mind-sets of many political and religious leaders and of so many fellow Christians.

I want to care about what Jesus cares about - He confronted mindsets and actions that threatened and degraded women, powerful people who ignored the needs of the poor,  and religious and political leaders whose actions demonstrated racism and abuse of power. 

 It takes more energy for me to hear and process what Lilada or R.experienced than it does to spend a week in the Tenderloin. I feel powerless and exhausted. I want to feel sane and grounded. At peace. Hopeful.

I've decided to take a sabbatical from all things political until Father God tells me differently.

And, I'm going to ask all my be-loveds to consider a simple act of love in honor of my sabbatical from craziness!

This random act of kindness will, if nothing else, offer a concrete, person-to-person way to care about something Jesus cares about. Thanks to my friend Patricia, for this idea!

I invite you to host a "blessing bag" party in your house. Or small group. Or "ladies who lunch" bunch.  

How? ask people to bring hygiene and personal items and assemble bags for women or homeless vets or those panhandlers that irritate folks downtown.   Then, give them away!  Take them to your community's shelter. Call a meal program and see if you can give them away at dinner. Connect with a local ministry or rescue mission or the Salvation Army women's shelter. Make hot-pots full of hot cocoa, grab some friends and styrofoam cups, and go give them away yourself.  You know where to go...sure you do!

A San Francisco woman did this for her WEDDING SHOWER!!! No kidding...it was fabulous....Love has to look like something - and sometimes it looks like soap and a tooth brush!

Details! (suddenly I feel like lots of exclamation points are required!) !

We give out many hygiene kits every week here at Because Justice Matters in San Francisco (www.becausejusticematters.org).We've learned a few things like:

 Small sizes of items are important because many people who are homeless don't have much space and must carry every single thing with them. 

Think: 

* necessity (shampoo, soap, tooth brush and paste and tampons for women's kits...small containers of body wash are easier to keep than soap...once bar soap is wet, it's a MESS for someone who has to carry everything around....if you include bar soap, put it in a little ziploc sandwich bag to contain future wet-soap mess...) 

* body care (lotion, lip balm, hand cream) 

*weather (warm socks, sunscreen, lotions for chapped skin)

* clothing needs (underwear for women, warm socks or gloves/hat), 

*safety (a small emergency whistle, condoms, bandaids and antibiotic ointment....a little card with local phone numbers of the 24 hour domestic violence hot line, emergency help for homeless hot line) 

*food (a soft granola bar....remember many homeless people have lost teeth...a coupon for food at McDonald's or ? A little packet of hot cider or cocoa mix)

* and "you have value and we see you that way" items (nicely scented body lotion, tinted lip balm for women, make-up in a little bag at Christmas, a pair of inexpensive earrings or tiny bottle of perfume....a simple non-preachy note). 

Not ALL these things, of course, but this gives you ideas.  Purchase freezer or heavier weight ziploc bags because they don't self-destruct in someone's backpack. the cute little holiday gift bags look nice but fall apart. 

Please don't give money. Here in SF, crack costs less than $1.  

Some people bristle at the idea of including condoms. A condom could save someone's life. 

 And finally: Thanks to every one who decides to do this! Thank you thank you thank you. Please let me know what you do....it will make my heart beat faster and help me feel sane and grounded again!

 Love to you all!

 

Contrast of Love

I haven't posted much recently because my daughters - 2 of my 3 beautiful ones - had babies in July and August and somehow, my whole life turned upside-down.
Sometimes I am so undone by how beautiful and adorable and smiley and cuddly the babies are.
Those are my best times.  These girls - Blair and Maxime - are daily signs of life and hope.

But, today even the babies couldn't break through a sense of sadness as I walked in the Tenderloin and met up with people I love.

Much of this day, Saturday, I hung out in my room, enjoying the quiet and trying to get some writing done. About 6 I headed out for a walk and a burger. At 8 I trekked back to the YWAM base and home. And, felt overwhelmed with sorrow.

A drunk man, smelling of cheap liquor, stumbled across the intersection at Ellis and Mason. He politely apologized to me and staggered on.  As I got closer to our building, I saw Little Bit, Nancy and a new TL resident, Gretchen, huddled near a doorway.

“Hi mama,” Little Bit said. I greeted them and felt my heart sink.  They were all high. Little Bit uses and sells crack and, by sheer force of personality, maintains some order on her few yards of concrete territory. I didn’t have the energy to stay and talk. I wanted to cry because they are all high and I was so hopeful that getting an SRO (single room occupancy apartment) might help Little Bit to stop using.  It hasn't.

Then, I almost stumble upon Da-Rume, a lankly, articulate, fascinating soul who is sometimes male, sometimes female and sometimes transgender. Da-Rume calls me “Beauty” and always says, “I love you. How lovely to see you tonight.”  Sometimes he/she recites big, beautiful chunks of scripture. Or the lyrics to songs. Or even Shakespeare - on a good day.

Today I said “I missed you. I haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks.”  Da-Rume smiled. I remembered the day I saw him/her standing between lanes of oncoming cars, singing in what may have been Italian (or nonsense….not sure) and directing traffic as if the vehicles were players in some mobile symphony.

I was truly happy to see Da-Rume. He/she is one of my favorite street people. And, I know tomorrow morning the sidewalk where Da-Rume sleeps will be a chaotic pile of refuse, food, papers, and trash. Da-Rume will spend the night smoking crack. Chaos and crack go hand-in-hand.

So, I feel overwhelmed. And sad. My grand daughters have and will have every advantage their loving parents can possibly give them. They are loved like none other. Beth and Casey and Becky and Alex have transformed from cool, fun, successful examples of our best-and-brightest into parents who are in love with their daughters beyond all reason or limit. 

 this is the way it's supposed to be.  This is the way every single child is supposed to be welcomed into the world.

But the TL is filled with people who received so little. Sometimes nothing. Often born into homes marked by poverty or violence or abandonment.  it isn't fair. it isn't right. it isn't the heart of God-not for a single moment. Tonight the streets return me to one thing I know - that I don't have any solution. I have love. I have Jesus. I have a cup of coffee or a hug to give.

So, tonight I am crying out to Jesus to come and save. Come and heal. Do a miracle in this neighborhood.  I want Him to come and make everything better. And, I want Him to, somehow, make love less painful and risk-filled.

Holy spirit said, "What if justice isn't people taking responsibility or getting what they deserve. What if it's ever increasing levels of love?

Trauma is the Big, Bad Monster Under Everybody's Bed....

 This is an article I wrote for the Because Justice Matters newsletter.
With everything that has been in the news this week - bombs, suicide, another young, unarmed, Black man shot by police, refugee children still in limbo at our borders, ISIS and Boka Haram murdering in Iraq and Nigeria...and a young, gay man who called himself Feather was beaten to death right here in the Castro neighborhood of San Francisco.

I thought this might be important to say:

Trauma surrounds us. We experience it in our own lives and it attacks us vicariously through the news, our own friends and family, and daily life on the streets here in the Tenderloin.

Trauma is an attack on a woman’s soul and spirit that says you are never wanted. Never safe. Never loved. Be afraid. Trust no one.
Trauma says, "You don’t belong anywhere".

Trauma is an experience where a person’s life or well-being is threatened. They feel unsafe and powerless to find safety and live in constant fear. On an emotional level, they have been unprotected and abandoned. Their spirits are crushed when no one helps or cares.

A few months ago, the BJM team found a woman wearing only a camisole walking on Ellis Street. She didn’t know where her clothing was or whether she had been assaulted.  We were able to connect with San Francisco’s Homeless Outreach Team to at least get clothing for her.  But, clothing didn’t begin to touch her deep hole of unmet needs.

This fragile woman lives with both mental illness and addiction. One day she came to The Well. As we come to know tiny threads of her story, we see that trauma has shaped her life and left her shattered and hurt.

Daisy was raised by violent, abusive parents who forced their very young children to memorize Bible verses and fast for days on end. Her parents said Jesus demanded obedience.  She remembers beatings and stealing bread for herself and her siblings. Bruises and unhealed wounds went unnoticed by neighbors.  Teachers later said they “thought something was off” but did nothing.. Today, Daisy’s trauma lies close to the surface of her mind and emotions. A reminder of abuse can lead to explosive, pain-filled anger. Recently, she came to Nail Day in fragile, emotionally distraught condition. She cried and trembled saying, “I want to die. I can’t live with this pain one more day.”
Among the greatest challenges to Because Justice Matters ministry is responding to traumatized women and the thinking, choices, and behaviors resulting from trauma.
The most powerful tool we have to heal and restore traumatized hearts is the Presence and love of Jesus. As women experience the kindness and acceptance of our Father God, they feel less alone and afraid.
As women experience the absolute, loving acceptance of Jesus, lies of rejection and shame lose their power.
God’s Presence becomes real in relationship with us and with Father God. Healing will happen when we are willing to represent and re-present love and acceptance in our relationships with women in the Tenderloin.
Recently, BJM staff attended a healing conference where a speaker commented, “Sometimes, people must belong before they believe.”
We create places where women can belong. Where they can tell their stories and be believed and accepted. Where they can be free to express emotion and explore feelings and thoughts.
We know Jesus can heal the wounds and lies left by trauma in the lives and hearts of the Tenderloin women. The safe, always-present love of our Father God can replace the fear and trembling of trauma with rest and peace.
We have God’s tools to heal trauma. Belonging. Relationship. Love. Acceptance. Jesus Himself. And, when love replaces fear: Believing.
These tools have become central to everything we do at Because Justice Matters. Nail Day is about acceptance. A woman may not have showered for days or weeks. She may be shaky and thinking about her next fix. She may sell her body or drugs on the street. But, she is welcome. Accepted and loved.
In our groups – Bible Study, Community Group where we’re learning to hear God’s voice, or our healing art group, Art for the Heart, relationship is a focus. We extend an offer of relationship to every woman who comes. And, relationships of friendship and trust form between the women. Belonging.
Trauma is an attack on a woman’s soul and spirit that says you are never wanted. Never safe. Never loved. Be afraid. Trust no one.
Trauma says, You don’t belong anywhere.
At Because Justice Matters, relationship, love and acceptance say: You belong here! We want you. Jesus wants you.

On the Morning After Nail Day....Or, "When I finally loved myself enough, I ordered pizza with the works!"

What a week.  It's Tuesday - which might tell ya'll something!
I've been thinking about so much it feels like my head is going to explode.

First - only $200,000 more needed to meet our July 25th "get a mortgage" date.  We must prove to our landlords and their finance people that we can actually obtain a mortgage to buy our building.
We've received just shy or $1,000,000 ..... and $200K to go.

Before I write - would you consider joining us by making a financial contribution today.  Like right now?  I would LOVE to see $1000 come in from my beloveds...that's just 50 people giving $20 each (cool, isn't it?)  or 20 people giving $50 each. 

Now...Nail Day was yesterday and I'm still reeling.  We haven't had such a challenging day since ..... I can't remember when.  If there was a wilder Nail Day, I've probably blocked it out.

As we approach the purchase of the building, things are getting increasingly challenging.  I'm not surprised....and correlation isn't necessarily causation (meaning just because the events happen togther doesn't necessarily mean one causes the other).  But, we're living it nonetheless.

So, Nail Day.  We always have worship and prayer as a staff on Monday morning before this important outreach.  We've been seeing larger groups lately - 35-40 women.  Some weeks our valiant volunteer wrangler, Lisa, isn't sure on Monday morning whether we'll have enough volunteers to pull things off if 40 women show up!  But, wrangle she does....and somehow God finds the right people or someone shows up unexpectedly....or a staff person steps in to help. 

At a healing conference at Bethel Church in Redding, our staff learned that the word "Peace" Jesus spoke to calm the sea literally translates as "that peace that destroys chaos."  Lemme tell ya....we were speaking "shalom" all afternoon.  

Some women living with severe mental illness were openly distraught and agitated. We had to speak with one of our precious jewels, M, at the door saying, "We love you. And you cannot scream in here. No screaming or we'll have to ask you to leave."    Another beloved one, D. was assaulted (we think) and has been angry and talking violent nonsense since last week.  In the door she strides saying, "I was 19 and they took the baby out of me. I should have had the right to have a baby but they did it. They killed her at the abortion clinic."  Then, she took a seat, accepted a cup of coffee and cookies and sat silent for the next half hour.

Shalom!..... Jesus!

The atmosphere was charged and it felt as if the room were tilting at a precarious angle.  Too loud.  My so-loved K arrived like a middle school "class clown" working the room. Look at me!  See my new hat with the cool sequins. Please tell me you like it. Please notice I'm here....

When I had to say, "Sweetie, D and M are in bad shape today. I can't talk with you now.  Things are pretty fragile today for some reason, K. understood. Yet, I saw disappointment in her eyes.  K loves Jesus.  She protects and helps everyone.  I've seen her "clown" to dispel erupting violence.  Yet, she, too wants that undivided attention that says I see you. You are important!   Gotta take a "field trip" - just the two of us - to Super Duper burger soon.  I love this girl!

Three women took staff aside to say, "I"m not doing very well. I need help."  One kept telling and re-telling the story of being yelled at and wanting to "punch somebody."  Another said, "I need a hug. I want to die again...help me... this never ends."   A third took gentle, kind Lisa aside and confided that flashbacks of past violence were becoming overwhelming.  Crushing and terrifying.

And meanwhile...Nail Day rumbled on...

This week we'd made some plans ahead of time.  I agreed to speak with a woman who has been coming for nearly a year. As she feels more comfortable she has been telling more and more of her story - past and present - to young interns and volunteers. The problem is - the details of her sexually and physically violent past and her current journey into sexual chaos was described by one of the more mature volunteers as "far more dark and twisted than I could imagine."

Having a safe, accepting place (and people) to tell your story is a precious, healing, powerful gift.  To tell the truth and be believed.  Imagine how someone trapped in confusion and chaos feels when someone standing on the rock of Jesus invites them to crawl out of the shark-waters and sit beside them...and just listens without judgment or shaming.  (Thank you, Juli Tesmer, for this powerful image!)

We don't judge. We aren't at Nail Day as counselors. We listen, love, accept and pray.  Jesus comes. He listens and loves.

However, this woman's stories passed the boundary of "WAY too much information" and speeded toward the cliff of "shock and awe" that violated others minds and spirits.  Sometimes when I hear stories of dark perversion or demonic, self-abuse, I need to hand what I hear over to Jesus moment-by-moment.  I joke about pouring bleach onto my brain sometimes....  For a 20 year old intern raised in a Christian home who has never even had a serious boyfriend....well, you get the picture.  Help me, Jesus!

I prayed.  Father, how do I approach her? What can I say that won't condemn and shame?  

The only nudge from Father I had was to "invite" rather than "confront."  I mulled over Danny Silk's wisdom about punishment....that Jesus took the punishment for our wrongdoing.  That punishing doesn't produce change.  But, love and "inviting people to become who they were made to be" does.

I kept having to remind myself to breathe!  What do you say to someone who has pretty much violated any socially-accepted boundary about what's okay to share and what's not?   Help me, Jesus (again)!

Right away, she said "Am I in trouble?"    I said, "I don't believe in trouble. I want to ask for your help."

God didn't leave me hanging. Somehow, words formed and came out of my mouth....to communicate BOTH that I value this woman's courage to speak truthfully about her life and experiences. And, to invite her to help me protect the younger staff, interns and volunteers from information that "could" be "too much too soon" for them. 

This woman lives with pain and confusion every minute of every day.  Yet, she was able to put aside her own pain and need to be heard when she understood that "the kids" were being overwhelmed by her story.

I said, "Sometimes, the kids ask questions because they care about you, but the answers to those questions are more than they are able to understand or process.....Would you help me by protecting them from information they aren't ready to hear?"

She nodded. "I can do that."

Now, I suspect this won't be our last conversation on this sensitive topic. But, now I sense I have an ally.  And, she feels valued, not condemned.  I may need some more "brain bleaching" before it's all said and done. But, God is doing something in and with this woman's life.  And in my life, too.

Love really is more powerful than punishment!  People really DO change when someone believes in them more than when someone punishes them!  It really IS God's kindness that brings us to repentance and change!  (Who would have thought! What a radical idea!)

So, as Nail Day ended, V. was angry because I couldn't talk with her. A. wanted to let us all know she had changed her name (again). L wandered in, desperate to use the bathroom, and my precious S  promised me, once again, that she wouldn't harm herself...that I would see her alive tomorrow.  She accepted one last hug for the road.  

Finally, one beautiful, gentle woman quietly asked us to call 911....she was feeling so fragile and volatile that she feared she would hurt herself or someone else.  She needed the safety of the psych ward at San Francisco General.   Still, I felt fury and pain as the officers (appropriately and necessarily...but... )  handcuffed this beloved woman and led her to the police car.  Some of our women called out to her, "You're gonna be all right.  We care about you."

We debriefed, prayed, and collapsed as the last volunteer left the Ellis Room.  Often we joke about needing "wine, chocolate and sleep" after Nail Day.  Yesterday, I wanted pizza....carbs, fat, salt and lots of it.  Delivered to my door. With soda to drink.  Cold with lots of ice. Probably Coke.... help me Jesus!

So my friend Rianne and I ordered thin-and-crispy crust with the works.  Delivery. We sat in my little room and laughed and talked.  My heart started beating at a steady rate again...

Nail Day was over.  Jesus is still here in the Tenderloin.  The rest of the week is still waiting to unfold.

Love others as you love yourself. Never thought about it this way before...

It's been a while since I posted on my blog. The whole "buy our building" adventure has been exciting, exhausting, and challenging.  YWAM San Francisco battled through to get our offer accepted by the landlord to purchase the property.  However, pressure from developers who have cash to offer has resulted in a real Mt. Everest challenge:  If we can't prove we can get a mortgage by July 25, the landlord will accept the developers' cash offer.  That means we must come up with 30% down payment because the only lender that will give us a mortgage in that short time requires 30%.  
This means we must raise $400,000 in the next 3 weeks!
Of course the developers know this.  Of course, they assume since they have money, they can press us into a time-crunch corner and we won't be able to complete the purchase. 
They have finances.  We have faith.  They have money and lots of it.  We have Jesus.

So, please join us praying for a miracle....a small one in God. $400K by July 25th!  Like I said, they just have money. WE have Jesus.

NOW...to the reason for this blog post:   

A friend called in crisis the other morning.  Tough times.

In the midst of the back-and-forth I commented, "God says to love others as we love ourselves....so if we aren't loving ourselves, we're not loving others either."  I used the old therapist illustration of putting your oxygen mask on first in an airplane....so you won't pass out from lack of oxygen and not be able to help your child or neighbor or whomever put their oxygen mask on...

suddenly I had one of those "flash photo" moments when I saw a new thing. Clearly.  It was such a new idea that I almost wanted to hold my head really still....like any movement would somehow shake the idea out of my head and I wouldn't be able to catch it again.

Yeah...well maybe I'm the only person who has those "stop..don't breathe...I don't want to lose this thought" moments.   Maybe it's just a touch of adult ADHD combined with a brain that sometimes races on ahead of my actual capacity to remember stuff!

I realized that "Love others AS you love yourself" can have two beautifully different meanings.  Two windows through which we can see and Do love.  We are to love others in the same way as we love ourselves.  And, at the same time....while....we love ourselves, we will love others.

first, We are to love others in the same way we love ourselves.  If we are stingy and critical and withholding kindness to ourselves we're in trouble there.  If Jesus lives in us, our hearts want to love others in the same way He loves.  Generous.  Affirming and accepting. Radically lavishing kindness

We want to love that way.  So, Jesus says, in essence, "If you want to love others, you need to love yourself the same way. " 

Now, some of us have heard judgmental-type sermons saying "Because we're all so self-centered and selfish that, of course we love ourselves, Jesus is saying, "If you want to be generous and forgiving and kind to yourself, you have to treat other people that way first"......Nope.... 

He really is saying "I want you to love yourself and to love others in the same way."

BUT, in the middle of the conversation with my friend, the flashbulb flashed in my brain.  Wait...

"AS you love yourself" can mean two different things.  One, "in the same way."  the second is
"while or at the same time."

I started thinking...."What if at the moment I am loving myself....while I am treating myself with kindness or gentle acceptance or generous affirmation I will automatically being loving toward others?"   What if loving others is a natural, spontaneous, outgrowth of loving myself?

If I love myself I "build up, not tear down"....(Ephesians 4:29).  When I treat myself like Jesus treats me....I am built up.  When I am stingy, critical, self-punishing, unkind to MYSELF, I tear myself down.

When I start focusing on "building up" my strengths instead of "fixing" my weaknesses.  When I love myself.....

Then, what comes out of me toward others? 

What if loving myself will automatically make me more loving toward others?

Now, I immediately heard this religious voice in my head. that "healthy skepticism" that used to live full-time (and rent-free) in my mind. And now still makes periodic visits until I kick it out again.
that voice said, "All this loving yourself stuff sounds like an excuse to be self-serving and selfish.  After all, aren't we supposed to "count others as more important than yourself?"

Then I remembered my pastor Paul saying "it's all about relationship." And Danny Silk saying "religion wants rules. Love wants relationship."      

Can I be self-serving and selfish?  Of course?    If you never are, please let me know...I'll come and follow you around to figure out how you do it!

BUT, I am in a love relationship with Jesus.  HE is alive and loving and doing good stuff in me.

That skeptic voice would have me believe that my tendency to be selfish is stronger than the power of His love to make my heart soft. That my weakness is stronger than His power to love me until I want to be like Him instead of selfish and self-serving!

So....every morning I walk down the stairs from my room at the YWAM building.  In the span of windows above one of our entry doors, I see the line of homeless people waiting for breakfast at GLIDE church. I see some of our women - tired from a long night on the streets - standing in line.

I'm deciding to remind myself, as I walk down those stairs each morning:
"I want to love others in the same way I love myself." 
     
 And "While I am loving myself, I will actually love others in the process."

For a number of years I've been trying to learn to love myself.  I'm getting better at it. that religious skeptic voice no longer lives full-time in my head. 

 But now, I'm doing an experiment with self-love.  Speaking affirming words about myself.   Accepting myself with grace instead of judgement.  Encouraging myself.  Speaking words that build myself up instead of tear myself down.

It's an experiment to see how this changes the ways I love others! 

Working the Late Shift

I can't understand what I haven't experienced.  I can't know people I haven't met.  And even then, knowing is a long, long way from meeting!

In the past  couple of months God has been introducing me to women in prostitution.  Meaning, I go for a walk, and BANG...there she is.  One afternoon, I was walking to Market Street and M. comes up to me with tears in her eyes. "Mama," she says, "I'm too old for this. I've gotta stop. It's quick money, but it's killing me."

I pray for her. Hold her while she cries. "I can't go anyplace. They be askin' me to do them. Right there on the street."

I pray some more. She finally decides to go to a women-only shelter in Berkeley - a BART train ride away from the men who know here by name.  "If you ask them, they can help you," I say. I hope it's true....

Or, Monday I'm walking to Chinatown and two beautiful, 20-something women are trekking up the hill just behind me.  We're out of the Tenderloin. The clean streets and beautiful old buildings of Nob Hill surround us.  Suddenly, it's as if an amplifier has been attached to them.  City noises are all around, yet, there, hiking up Mason Street to the "summit" of California, I heard every single word.

"I make more money on that side of the street," said one of the women, "but I'm working every minute. All night.  I'm &*#)!( ed up and sleep the whole day then."

Her friend replied, "Yeah, but the money. It's worth it."

Somehow, I didn't think these two were driving cab all night.

In Chinatown, I joined about 20 other people for a walking tour led by a San Francisco history buff who volunteers with CityWalk, city-wide walking tours of nearly every neighborhood in this great place.  I love them!

About an hour into the tour, the leader stops in front of one of the oldest Buddhist temples in North america. "This is a spiritual place. They don't mind tours, but ask that we bow at the altar and make an offering for the temple."

Yeah...no.  Not doing that one.  So I stay outside.  Nearby, sprawled on the sidewalk, is a woman who clearly has had a rough go of it.  She looks somewhere between 30 and 50.  Barefoot.  Sores on her legs. Scarf from injection sites on her arms. Around her neck and shoulders she's wrapped something that might once have been fur.  But, it looks like the "furs" spent time in a dumpster or alley. They are filthy.  She's wearing a bra and panties. Pieces of cloth tied around her waist.  Her hair appears to have exploded into a nest of frizz - all held together by a black scarf.

She says her name is Butterfly.   "Money?"  No, dear heart, I don't give money to anyone.....It's the answer I give to every single person who asks here in San Francisco.  I know crack can be purchased for a dollar.  Five dollars will get you a cheap, short-lived high on heroin.  fifty cents will get you the dregs from another junkie's crack pipe.

Could I buy her something to drink?  Normally, I would do this. But today, my fellow tour walkers are beginning to file out of the temple.  I won't have time.

"I'm sorry, Butterfly. My group will be leaving in a second.  Can I at least pray for you?"

"Yeah. Say whatever words you want. I don't care."

I pray for her safety. I ask Jesus to show himself to her in dreams tonight.  To send a huge, strong, warrior angel to watch over her while she works.  To keep her safe.  I tell her that God loves her. That she is beautiful in his eyes and in his heart.  That He cares about how hard things have been. 

"He sees you. He really does. You're not invisible to him," I whisper.

I don't ask to hug her. She's been using and isn't clear about what she wants and doesn't want.  I pat her hand.  She squeezes my arm.

"Thanks, baby," she says.

 I recently learned that a smart, creative, fascinating woman who loves Jesus and is serious about her recovery sometimes "goes back to work" at the end of the month when money is gone.  Without embarrassment she disclosed a past that included work in a brothel where she "made bank" until drug use began to shut down her body and she nearly died.
Another special soul, "Little" spends her days and most nights near the YWAM base. I'm not sure when or if she really sleeps.  I knew she was making money somehow - sometimes saw cash passed to her.  I felt as if a giant hand were choking my gut.  To be baldly honest, when I learned that she is selling crack, I felt shaky and relieved, "Oh thank you, Jesus."   She wasn't selling her body.  At least she was "only" being damaged and crushed by dealing - and sometimes using.  At least she isn't being violated every day by men - yet.

So, what does prostitution look like here?  Attractive young women who could be college students on Nob Hill. Another woman - tired a still attractive after years of living "fast" and "easy money".. She lost her children to Child Protective Services and desperately wants to stop. Yet, how?  What will she do?  Work as a barista at Starbucks?  Tend bar at some dive in Oakland?   "Easy money" is killing her.

Butterfly sprawled on the sidewalk.  The fact that she is still alive seems miraculous.   "Little" walking a pirate's plank with dealing on one side, the threat of her own drug use on the other.  Sharks circle in the water.  One false step and she'll end up selling her body for crack.

On Saturday night the BJM team went into the Tenderloin for street outreach late one night.  We don't do this often - not often enough for my heart.  But, it's challenging.  In a few hours I met Star - she might be 20....maybe.  A beautiful, round face. Skin the color of a Latte. Dimples.  Oh, Jesus....Chelsea - who took my little card with contact information for La casa - the area Domestic Violence women's shelter - yet would not go there that night.  Taylor stood on the curb, waving and peering into passing vehicles. She wanted prayer.  "But I can't take long. I'm working. I don't wanna be late...it gets real dangerous late."

Women standing every 3 or 4 feet along Leavenworth new the New Century strip club.  Young men filed in the doors.  It was so obvious that many of the women were high.  They waited for those young men to exit the club...maybe they'd be ready to buy then.

Many let us pray.  Many smiled when we offered little gift bags with nail polish, make=up and sweet-smelling hand lotion inside.  Tucked in, also, was a tiny flyer about Nail Day and a card with emergency information ....La Casa. Homeless Outreach Team. Crisis line phone numbers.

It will be a year this week that i arrived in San Francisco expecting to spend a summer volunteering with BJM.  Now, I know I'm here until God sends me else where.

Some have asked "what's next?"  I don't know.  Right now I'm hip deep in healing groups, prayer ministry, one-on-one mentoring, mothering and a passel of trans-gender "ducklings" I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing with - except loving and more loving. But, my heart is starting to stir. Not sure what it will look like or when, but DAD seems to be giving me opportunities to know "working" girls in the neighborhood.  he seems to be pointing the water cannon of my heart toward these women.  He's educating my heart and showing me how much he loves these beautiful, hurting be-loveds.

Not sure what it means.  But, they are  all so beautiful. so so beautiful.

One Year in San Francisco. What's different? Mostly Me!

Mid-May.  In a few weeks, it will be one year since I flew into SFO, planning to spend the summer as a volunteer intern with Because Justice Matters.  I expected to have a great time with wonderful people. I expected to enjoy BJM and to find meaning in the work they do. 
I didn't expect to fall in love.

But I did.  I fell in love with the tenderloin.  With the women who live on its streets. With unexpectedly beautiful, kind people.  My pastor, Paul, said I would see shining goodness approaching me on the street.  I fell in love with that goodness. I fell in love with the shining - which catches me by surprise over and over.

The Tenderloin has changed me. My first friend was - and still is - a kind old former hippie who joyfully said, "Who would have thought I'd end up an old queen in the Tenderloin?"  We hang out at un Cafecito, our favorite coffee shop, to talk and laugh and spout opinions on all sorts of world problems. Ahhh....someone else with as many opinions as I have!

 P is bright - speaks French fluently and, I just learned, used to be an ESL teacher. She's told me bits and pieces of her story. A few months ago, I was feeling kinda crazy and not sure how to handle strange-but-potentially-touchy family event.  I headed over to un Cafecito and found P.   She held my hand and gave me kleenex and some good advice.

Recently, we had an hilariouslly good time. She asked me "how do you know if a dress is too short?" My comment that "if you raise you hands above your head and everyone can see London" produced howls of laughter. for us both.  We talked about whether knees should go into hiding after a woman reaches "a certain age" and she explained to me that, when one guy recently said, "Nice legs, girl" to me he meant it as a compliment - not an inappropriate weirdness.  She helped me arrive at a funny-ha-ha (not funny peculiar) understanding of the gap between what men seem to do or say and what they actually intend.  Evidently "working it baby" is a compliment in the Tenderloin - who knew? Not me!

We laughed. She said, "I know how guys think. Trust me, I really do understand these things." And reminded me, "You're in San Francisco, now...the air is different here!"

Just the other day, P stepped in to help one of my precious stones, K, think through her opinions and emotions about applying for General Assistance. P understood both the system and K's fear of it with sensitivity and wisdom.  P. said, "Please don't sleep out in the rain. Here's my number. You could crash for a night at my place."

Knowing P has changed me.  Our friendship has challenged thoughts I never would have admitted, but nonetheless, exist in my mind about friendship and "ministry."  The idea that "I minister to" some people and become friends with others. 

I would have said, NO I don't believe that.  Yet, when "the other" lives in the Tenderloin. Or has had a really, rough past. Or where our differences slide into the no-man's land of class and social status.  Maybe I find someone with a similar heart for justice and a huge love for Jesus like mine, yet our lives seem to be light years apart. P and I are similar in many ways.  But what about someone else who was a drug addict when I was a college student or spent time in prison while I was busy raising kids in a lovely home in a beautiful neighborhood?  Will I reach across the seeming gaps to really, honestly be FRIENDS with others?  Not "loving on" (a term I dislike so much I may have to blog about she sheer mass of this dislike!) but simply loving.  Be-friending. And being friended back.

So, I wonder, what would my beloved blog-readers think of my also be-loved friend P?  I think you'd love her humor and deep thoughts about the world and people.  You'd be challenged by her determination to always, always choose love - even when criticism masked as truth-speaking or "being honest" seems more real and maybe even more effective.  You'd laugh with (or maybe at?) us when things get crazy at Nail Day and she whispers to me, "the children are acting up again...we may have to send them to the corner."

One of the many reasons my friendship with P has changed me is that, when P says "I really know how guys think" she's not kidding around. Because she used to be one. A guy, I mean. 

P is transgender. Her struggle with identity and haunting sense that "he" was really a woman began about 30 years ago. When few people acknowledged such thoughts or struggles.  When painful confusion about gender identity was met with "you must be gay....or.... something."

It's painful to think of my friend trying to figure this out alone. Mostly without help or compassionate, supportive community.  The absence of support (and the presence of judgement) in Christian circles drove her away from Jesus for a time. But, she returned, because she wanted Jesus more than she wanted to avoid Christians.

So I want to share about my friend. And to tell how her determination to be honest and real - to be her real self, as much as she understands herself  - has changed me.

I'm not Holy Spirit. It's my job to love and be loved, not to decide what people should do and not do.   Or be and not be.  I have light years to go in my understanding of the diverse, often confusing ways we see attraction and love and identity "working" in human beings.

Some people have said, "Why do you say 'she' - if someone is born a male, they're male. that's it."  Others have asked if I've been drinking the San Francisco kool-aid and slipped into the abyss of liberal-dom. Still others have commented, "but you're called to ministry with women. Women."

And yet, I find myself surrounded by and loving transgender people who consider themselves - and wished to be considered as - women.

I asked God about this. He said, "Transgender people are....what?" I thought....what? is this a trick question?  I don't know...hurting? Confused? Rejected? Then Holy spirit said, "People. They are people. And, what did I ask you to do with people?"  I felt a huge wave of relief. LOVE.  I'm supposed to love people. Just love them.  Whew...I can do that. I don't have to have answers, I  do have to have love.

So, I may write more about this journey. About the power of love, pronouns, and respect for people where they are. And about friendship in unexpected - and joyful - places.

Small Things - Great Love

80 degrees in the Tenderloin!  yee Hah!  We're acting like true San Franciscans.  People are initially thrilled. WARM!  Sunny.  Sky the color of, well, blue sky.  Then, the whining starts.  I've figured out that any temperature above 70 and below 60 triggers a blizzard of complaints. 

the BJM women decided to avoid whining and head for the ocean.  Beach. Gorgeous waves complete with surfers, dogs running on the sand, and little kids hopping, digging, laughing, and shrieking when the cold water hit their toes.  A good chunk of the worthy citizens of SF, it seems, had declared holiday and were happily skipping out on work.   I say, "Bring it on!"

A few hours at the beach with BJM's beautiful Lisa Kalenberg (a fellow midwesterner from Minnesota) and L and M - two women who have been the most faithful Community Group members. 

We had so much fun.  it was another small, shining goodness in a week of goodness.

Nail Day was smallish - and surprisingly beautiful.  A few times, conflict or agitation began - and just as suddenly faded.  M was anxious and yelling at people none of the rest of us could see. In the past, that might have meant triggering for the whole room, anger, fear, and folks looking anxiously around, asking "Are you going to kick her out?"

This time, a staff member quietly took a seat near M.  "Could I look at some magazines with you?"  M nodded.  As the minutes passed, she became less agitated.  Others saw her being loved and treated with gentleness. 

later in the week, my precious stone K and I were having breakfast burritos at my fav coffee shop when A. came up.  "Can I join this conversation?"   A was able to speak with such kindness - and first hand, rubber-meets-the-road experience about the struggle to break out of homelessness and find stable housing.  She gave advice that I couldn't - because I have never walked that road.  A little interaction.  Big encouragement for me (and for K, I hope)

At BJM, we just finished 12 weeks of "Brave Communication" (during which every single one of us had at least one week of "well....I wasn't brave...and i didn't communicate very well but...."  Then, the whole group would encourage, listen, commiserate, and say things like, "Well, if you had a do-over, what would you say this time?"

We practiced saying things like "I feel ___________ when _____________ happens.  I want ___________ ."
Or, "I apologize for saying ________. My words were unkind.  I hope you can forgive me."
Or even, "I accept your apology. I recognize you are trying to make things right.  I want to forgive you, but I need some time."

It was a great group.  At the end, we took a couple of weeks for fun. Watched Calendar Girls (the requirement was a movie about brave women that would make us laugh).  Then our beach day bonanza.

What I'm thinking about lately is "small things with great love"   Mother Teresa is said to have taught that we don't have to do great things, but, instead, should seek to do small things with great love.

This week has been filled with "small things with great love."    A small act of caring that helped M crawl out of the pit of anxiety and trauma.  A kind word spoken without expectation....by one friend to another.  An afternoon hanging at the beach doing mostly nothin'.....and enjoying every minute of it.

Small things. Great love.

Sex Trafficking in the Tenderloin. And....God didn't say K is a leader for nothin' !

This week, we had a front row seat to one face of sex trafficking in the Tenderloin.

The vast majority of women in the TL are "older" - somewhere between 30 and 80.  Some 30 year-olds look 50.  Hard lives have etched the years onto their bodies and souls.

Young women in the TL seem to represent a few distinct populations:  immigrant women from families working hard to get out of the neighborhood as soon as they can; young addicts deep in their addiction - in real danger of death by overdose or violence; lonely transgender runaways and transplants looking for "someone like me"; and former foster kids who aged out of the system and find themselves without home, family or marketable skills.

after all...kids enter the foster care system because their parents are guilty of neglect so great that even this broken, underfunded system finds them incapable of safely caring for them.
Then, at age 18, the state basically says, "Well, you're 18 now.  So long. Good luck."  One expert called foster care a "feeder system for sex trafficking in America."

So - back to this week at BJM.

G, a beautiful young woman, has been coming to Nail Day with friends for the past couple of months.   She has deep brown eyes and a sharp sense of humor

This Monday she and a new friend seemed to fly into the room. They were laughing and smiling. They announced, "We're leaving on Monday. We're getting out of here."

The story unfolded - told to the volunteer painting G's nails. To Lindsay, the director of The Well. And, to me. 

G pointed to her friend. "Her boyfriend is taking us to [another state about 1,500 miles away]. We're going to live on a ranch. It's really big....we'll have our own rooms."

G laughed. "There are going to be horses. HORSES! And cows and animals."  She giggled and said she wanted to baby calf of her own, "I'll keep it in my room."

all of us - the volunteer, Lindsay and myself - asked similar probing questions. 
"So, how long have you known this boyfriend?"  (Couple of weeks)
"Have you met his family?"  (Nope..."but he said he inherited the ranch from his grandparents...Isn't that cool!  A ranch!!")
"Where is this ranch?"   (Out in the country. We're going to fly to A [city] and he'll pick us up.")
What will you do if you don't like it there?  (No problem...He says he'll just buy us a plane ticket and we can come back.")
 "What will you do for work?"  (He said we can get jobs if we want to, or we can just help out at the ranch."   G's friend announced, "I'm not going to work at first. I need time to get to know him."....She told the volunteer she was going to marry him.)

In short, a young man they had known about 2 weeks was promising these homeless, family-less young women a place to live. Food. Employment.  Maybe even marriage.

All they needed to do to cash in on this paradise of promises is to move to a place where they know no one. Have no support. No transportation. No money. And live in an isolated ranch miles from the nearest city.

Many of you who read this blog have heard the term "sex trafficking."  Sometimes people think of children sold as sex slaves in Thailand or orphans in Moldova or other former soviet block nations sold or kidnapped. Latin American or Asian immigrant women enticed to the U.S. with promises of work.

But here, less than half a mile from the wealth of the financial district in America's most expensive city,  sex trafficking is happening to some of our most vulnerable children - girls and young women who have aged out of the foster care system and now struggle to feed, clothe and provide for themselves.

So...as the young women enthusiastically described their promised dream on that far-away ranch, the volunteer, Lindsay and myself said things like, "This is sketchy."

"I'm worried about this. You don't know this guy. You could be in danger."

"I'm afraid you might get there and things won't work out like you expect.  I'm afraid you won't be able to get help or get away."

The volunteer bluntly said, "This is bad. This is how sex trafficking happens."

I said, "This isn't good. Let's talk about this...."

We were all met with shrugs and eye rolls. Their expressions reminded me of teenagers giving their moms looks that say "you are old and don't know anything....get out of my life."

G and her buddy slipped out the door before I had a chance to connect with them again.  Worried, I left messages at the shelter where G stays.  I texted another friend who might see her. And, sent an email to K - one of my especially "precious stones" who has been homeless since she fled an abusive home as a pre-teen.

"HELP" I wrote. This isn't good.  I described what was happening.  "Can you find G?" I asked.  "Will you try to convince her this is too risky?"

I asked K to meet me at The Well today "anytime between 1 and 4."

She showed up at 2.  "Just got the email and I ran from the library to here." She said. "This isn't good...."

We talked about G and the situation.  K was agitated.  Worried.  She seemed to understand when I said, "G doesn't trust me.  She thinks of me as somebody's mom....Maybe she will listen to you."

K left a bit later, promising to find G and "convince her this is really dangerous."

I went home. Fixed dinner. Worried and prayed.
Then, an email came from K.  One word,

DONE.

Although I'll probably worry and pray some more before the night is through, I trust that K did as she promised....found G and talked honestly with her.  Maybe told her some of her own experiences.

You see, a year ago, K met someone who promised her work in sunny southern California.  A house to live in.   Food. A beautiful city far from the dirt and craziness of the Tenderloin.  K jumped at the chance.

And, K found herself trapped in a strange city without money or friends. Forced to go sell her body on the streets every day. Threatened with beatings and even death if she failed to earn enough money.

So, when K said, "This is bad. This is really bad."  she knew what she was talking about.  K escaped and made her way back to San Francico about a year ago.  Thin, sick, and terrified, she came first to the YWAM base. "Where else would I go?" she said.

She still looks over her shoulder to this day, seeking the faces of the people who trafficked her and held her against her will.

today, as I pray for G and wonder what's happening with her, I'm counting on K's calling from God as a leader. And as someone gifted to love unconditionally.  I'm counting on K's compassion and willingness to help others. 

Hoping G will listen to Ks' story. Trust K's honesty.  And decide to stay here - in the not-so-safe, not-so-pleasant Tenderloin.  where, at least, some people love and care about her.  Myself. Lisa. Lindsay. the Nail Day volunteer.  And K, of course.

The Givers Receive and Receivers Give.

End of the month.  Raining.  Nail Day - all on the 31st.
About an hour before Nail Day started I heard a HUGE thunder clap and BOOM.  Within minutes, the rain started. Not a gentle shower, but a pounding down rain.

I hear from long-time San Franciscans that most winters include a rainy season - where storms slip in and out of the week, often with sunshine and warm sun in between.

As we were getting ready for Nail Day (what a CA-RAZZZZEEEE time it was....50+ students from Bethel School of Ministry were getting ready to leave after a week-long visit serving YWAM, having fun in SF and loving LOTS of people).  Bags, pillows, more bags, random hoodies and backpacks were scattered everywhere. Our team of 12 or 13 volunteers and staff is trying to move tables, chairs, art supplies, coffee and snacks.  Setting up 10 nail stations with everything needed. Scooting back and forth between the kitchen and office and the huge, high-ceilinged Ellis Room where Nail Day happens.
Outside, it is pouring rain and the women are starting to gather.  Covered with umbrellas, jacket hoods, plastic bags and random pieces of cardboard, women waited patiently.  Suddenly, the Bethel students left - running through the rain to their waiting bus.  Various YWAM staff scattered upstairs, outside or back into the office and dining room.  We gathered in a circle to pray and assign jobs for the afternoon.

Then, the door opened. Women filed in, dripping and peeling off wet jackets. shaking umbrellas. Making sodden piles of stuff where, a few minutes before, the Bethel students' stuff had been.

Let the good times begin.  With the rain and cold, some women came and stayed the entire afternoon.  The art table was buzzing - everyone was making beautiful cards with affirming words on the inside.  A few pool players tried their hand at the tables.  Every nail station was full as women talked and chose their favorite colors. A few soaked and exhausted souls just curled up in chairs or put their heads down on a table and fell asleep. 

The coffee was hot and the cookies were BIG and chewy.  The entire afternoon was gentle. Peaceful.  Soft music gave a spa-like feel to the room. The buzz of conversations broken then and again by laughter.

I had found some cute little stamps at a craft store and went around stamping people's hands and speaking prophetic words about the beauty of their hearts or shining suns or smiles.

At the end, after all the women had left and cleanup was done, the volunteers gathered to share and encourage.  One beautiful woman, J. has been volunteering regularly since fall.  She is a gentle soul with particular gifts in listening closely to others and caring.

This was her last Nail Day.  When asked "What have you come away with from volunteering." She replied, "I was afraid of the transgender people when I first came. I didn't know what to expect.  But, I tell you the truth, I have never met such accepting people anywhere. Not at work or even in my church. I've never felt so accepted just as I am as I have been here by these women."

Song from Revive on sunday:
"You make me brave
You make me brave
You call me from the shore into the waves...
 No fear can hinder now that love has made a way.
You make me brave...."

Wow....sobriety is damn hard!  So many of the women who come to BJM are active in addiction - drugs and alcohol.  Others are in recovery - for years or months or a few days.  Still others are engaged in a life-and-death battle today...right now.

Drugs and alcohol provide many women with the ability to cope with daily life in the Tenderloin.  When clinicians diagnose clients, one of the areas they explore is that of "life stressors."   Stressors are categorized - problems with lack of money, emotional and personal support, family problems, problems with housing and food, employment or health.

Daily life in the Tenderloin is like a case study in life stressors.  The one constant in just about everyone's life is "not enough."

The folks up at Bethel's Transformation Center in Redding, California have been working on a support group model for people living with drug and alcohol addiction. last time I saw Yvonne, I said, "Write faster!!!"

Been thinking about addiction. People here say they use drugs and alcohol to be numb.  To survive the cold nights or dangerous streets without feeling.

How inviting "numb" must be to anyone living in the Tenderloin.  Yet, I have spent my own time living "numb."    Thinking about the many ways Jesus has carried me during my life through "numb" into "feeling a little" and gradually into "being present and able to be myself."

Being present is scary and often painful.  Who wants to feel sadness and loss?  Not me!  Numbness doesn't seem so bad....a small price to pay for reprieve from pain.  Yet, that numbness steals joy.  And leaves us feeling empty and alone. Lures us with lies of control...."you can control this situation....you can feel again anytime you want....Being numb and checked-out is better than the alternative."


In healing prayer we often ask God, "Father, what lies am I believing?"   In the past, a lie I believed was "being numb is better than feeling."  And, "you're safer when you're numb."

some people believe God doesn't care. Or that He cares but, somehow, can't help.  Still others believe they deserve their pain because of the things they've done.  One woman said, "My liver's shot and I don't know if the doctors can help me. But, I drank for a lot of years. I guess I deserve it."

At BJM we often find ourselves having conversations about the nature of God.  Over and over we confront the lie that God wills bad things to happen. Many women have been told about a fickle, punishing God who "gives people" liver failure or depression or mental illness to punish or "teach me a lesson."  Over and over, we find ourselves saying. "God is Good.  GOOD.  Everything he does is good.  Sickness and depression and mental illness or addition aren't good. So, they aren't from God.  Period. End of story!"

One gift that happens at BJM is to create a place where women can feel again. A safe place where "numb" isn't the only way to avoid pain.  We open a spiritual space of acceptance and love - where someone trapped in addiction can find peace and safety.  Where someone who has retreated into themselves to escape from pain can rest. And slowly begin to peek out at life once again.

When God is waiting outside that door of numbness ....or when He will slip inside the closed door if a woman is willing... then it isn't so terrifying to think of trading numbness for life.  Of taking the risk of slowly, slowly S-l-o-w-ly learning who we are and stepping out to be our real selves.



Jesus carries us through.  He finds us lost in numbness and dissociation.  Lost in self-protection and fear.  He gently touches our hearts.  He offers to wait with us - for as long as it takes - until we want to move again. Breathe again.  Until we're ready to consider what feeling alive might be like again.

Sobriety IS hard. Yet, God knows that. And I believe Love can make a way.

this week Lisa, Lindsay and I declared Wednesday "Field Trip Day" and headed to the De Jung museum of art to see Georgia O'Keeffe's stunning exhibit from her days in upstate New York at lake George.

Three of the most lovely women from The Well came with us.  One is known in the Tenderloin as an artist - her work has been displayed in the community.  Another is a bundle of gentleness who loves to dress in jewel-tone colors and often wears the same color, head-to-toe.  The third, a sensitive woman who is more determined than most people I've ever known.

We wandered through the exhibit.  Chuckling over a few paintings that vaguely resembled something between bread dough and babies' bottoms.  Standing silent before giant versions of wild flowers or sunsets.  A sad pair of paintings of O'Keeffe's husband's photography studio painted after his death. One in bright sunlight - almost mirror-like. Another at evening.  Windows like empty eyes.
Brilliant, jewel-like paintings of fall leaves. Poppies, woodland jack-in-the-pulpits. A deep velvet purple morning glory.  So, so beautiful.  

Z commented that the photos of Georgia O'Keeffe appear sad. A bit removed from eye-to-eye contact.  Yet, her art is so personal. Detailed.  M loved the colors.  L, the artist, laughed and smiled her way through the entire exhibit.

Everyone voted the trip a success.  Banana bread picnic on the lawn in the warm sun.  Decided we should all get beach hats and make our next trip to see the ocean.

Three women from the TL - two have been homeless. One still is. Their lives a series of small, hard-won victories over mental illness, addiction, and family dysfunction.  Mingling with the crowds - well-dressed San Franciscans who love art and can easily afford the $25 tickets - I saw the same joy on their faces and ours. The same heart-touched reverence for beauty. 

We returned with laughter all around - and twinkling eyes.  It was good to remind each other of the beauty and life around us. 

Next trip to the ocean!  

Making Do in the TL

Next week I get to join the "mom's breakfast" group that's part of BJM's outreach to immigrant families in the Tenderloin. Carolina, the leader, asked me to come and talk about self care to a group of women who have little left after they work, parent, manage a household, and try to make too little stretch to become "enough."  They are often isolated. Often speak little or marginal English.

Recent cuts to food stamp programs hit some of the Tenderloin families. Many of the families in the neighborhood are immigrants. Mom and dad both work. Dads work more than one job. They "make do."

Everybody in the TL seems to be "making do."  Making not enough stretch to the end of the month.
Of course, people all over the map are stretched thin.  And, in the Tenderloin, thin is even, well, thinner.

Thinking about talking to these moms on the subject of self care has me thinking about how people in poverty care for themselves - or not.  What makes the difference between someone making it and not? What keeps one person going back to AA meetings to stay sober and the next person returns to the streets to drink, use drugs, and disappear into numbness.

Today, one of YWAM's  staff members, A. met the BJM staff for lunch and "Street Drugs 101"   He taught us about street drugs and drug use in the Tenderloin.  We asked him to help us understand what we were seeing every day on the streets.  And, to help us know when and how to ask for help from EMS or police.

A told the story of his own decades of addiction and drug use right here on these streets.  He remembered early YWAM staffers - mostly young kids - coming into the streets on Friday nights with hot chocolate.  He spoke of huddling in alleys "looking for a vein" and "there came angels. I thought they were angels. I was saved by Jesus and those angels - and hot cocoa."

A said something that spoke to my question about what makes the difference between finding one's way to sobriety and life or continuing the downward spiral into addiction and hopelessness.
A said, "They loved me when I was tweaking. they loved me when I got out of rehab and went back to using. They loved me.  And that kind of love changed me. it made me want to be clean. Love made me hope there really was a God who loved me."

The Dance of Homelessness: Z's Story

Friday afternoon.  I'm having a wonderful prayer and talk time with Z.  Z is intelligent and perceptive. She is doing such amazing work and I'm seeing her grow and change before my eyes. With her good grooming and ready smile, if you saw her waiting for the bus or coming out of The Well, you might think gosh, she doesn't look homeless... 

 Suddenly panic fills her eyes.  "What time is it?"  she blurts.   5:15.  Z runs for the door.  "I missed check-in at the shelter.  If they won't let me sign in late, I'll have to sleep on the street tonight.  PRAY!"

Two weeks ago, Z's 90 day bed at the shelter expired.  On Monday night, she slept there - in a safe place. She left her belongings in a small, locked cubicle during the day.  She received mail and was able to shower each morning.  She spent most of Tuesday night huddled in a blanket outside MSC South, one of the intake sites for San Francisco's shelters - hoping to be among the first in line when "numbers" for single-day, 2-3 day and 90 day beds would be distributed at 6 the next morning.

If you called the intake center, you'd be told "numbers are given out at 6.  Come a little before."  If you believed that, you'd be sleeping on the streets another night.

Instead, if you asked the street people, they would say. "Just before 6?  No way. Get there at 3:00.   Some folks sleep in line all night, just to be sure."

Please understand, this is not like sleeping outside your neighborhood Walmart on Black Friday because you want to be first in line for an X-Box for your kid.  MSC South is in a dirty, dangerous neighborhood.  Nearby, a "camp" under the expressway is home to long-term homeless people. Drugs and human beings are for sale.  At 3 am, drug dealers rule the corners and  addicts pass out on sidewalks, between cars and in alleys. Pimps and thieves and aggressive men are everywhere.  Women are especially vulnerable to violence and exploitation.   Frankly, the street in front of MSC South is just plain scary.  I don't like to walk there after 7 pm.  At 3 a.m.? Never...

But, Z needs a safe place to sleep.  So, she joins the line in front of MSC South.

Why doesn't Z get permanent housing? She isn't an addict - why doesn't she get a job, find a roommate and move into an apartment?  Why is a complicated dance...one with ever-changing music and inconsistent rules.

Z suffers from very severe PTSD.  She grew up in a cult. Sexual, physical and emotional abuse was her "normal."  She fled and has lived on and off the streets for nearly a decade. She lived on the street in San Francisco's Mission neighborhood.  She says "God made me invisible when I was homeless in the Mission.  I'd walk right by terrible things.  Terrible people.  And it was like they didn't even see me."

Z is brave and honest and genuinely kind.  And, daily life is a challenge.  She is hyper-vigilant. Panics when she can't see the doorway or someone stops to stare into a window.  She often sits with her back to the wall. People and places that remind her of the cult or of abusive family members leave her shaking and terrified.  She "keeps the chaos away" by hundreds of carefully organized actions every day.  Check and re-check to make sure her cubicle is locked.  Carry every "essential" with her at all times.  Watch the street. Watch behind you. Watch. Watch. Watch.

Working a job, for Z, would be like climbing Mt. Everest. Without oxygen. Without proper equipment.  It is literally all she can do to manage her PTSD, panic, fear, and hyper-vigilance on a daily basis. 

As a licensed psychotherapist, I have asked "the questions" and heard Z's responses.  I am certain that she simply doesn't have the capacity now to cope with her mental illness, keep body and soul together, and hold down a job.  Not yet, anyway....  She needs help to find her feet and begin to stand on solid ground.

So, Z. is applying for Social Security Disability.  One "plus" is that, if she qualifies, she can then apply for subsidized housing.  Although it would still be months for an application to be processed, cleared and approved.  If her current 90 day bed "expires" before this, she will back - again - at MSC South.   This, too, is part of the dance of homelessness.

Some people criticize Social Security Disability as "entitlements."  I hear words like "responsibility" and "self help."  For Z, this is survival.  It is help to keep from drowning. A life ring to give her time and safety in which to heal and recover.

So, Z applied and waits.  With approval for a subsidized single room, Z would pay 1/3 of her SSDI income for housing.  The remaining  goes to food, clothing, transportation, phone, and taxes.   She would finally know where she'd be sleeping for more than 90 days at a time.  Never have to sleep in front of MSC South again. She could finally focus her energy on healing and recovery.  

Her goal? To deal with the PTSD and "find myself again."  To "be peaceful inside and able to be the person Jesus made me to be."  Then, she wants to get a job.  Maybe, someday, meet a man who loves Jesus and have a family.

But first....one step at a time. One day at a time, Z works on her healing.  She comes to BJM on Monday for Nail Day. There she is loved SO much. We are the lucky ones...just to know her!!  On Tuesday, she is part of our bible study. She is wise and full of insight. She trusts Jesus for everything. EVERY. Single. Thing. Wednesday, she joins 5 or 6 other women for "Community group" where we are learning healthy communication skills.  Thursday morning is "Art for the Heart" where she explores her emotions and learns to hear God's loving voice. We meet once a week, too.  God is moving.  So is Z!

 And, meanwhile, Z had the first of many evaluations for SSDI.  One of the BJM staff and a lovely woman from our bible study and Community group accompanied her.  Alone isn't good. Together is!

The dance continues....

Shelter. Sleep. Safety....Living without a Home

I've never worried about shelter when I sleep.  Or whether I would be safe in the night.  Ever.

For homeless women in the Tenderloin - and anywhere else in the world - the words shelter, sleep and safety are simply not connected.  

BJM staff have noticed how often women at Nail Day fall asleep during manicures.  Sitting at the manicure station.   Safe. Shelter. Sleep. Come together for a few minutes.

At The Well it happens all the time.  K sometimes asks to nap downstairs while staff are doing office work.  S once came to wrap in soft blankets and sleep for a couple of hours....the coughing of women in the shelter had kept her up most of the night. 

One beautiful woman came to Art for the Heart every thursday morning, with all her belongings carefully balanced and tied down in a shopping cart.  We knew she spent the nights under a bridge near the highway.    Sometimes I would wake in the middle of the night, driven to pray for her safety. Crying out to Jesus to help her.  Feeling helpless....she refused to sleep in any shelter .....even those solely for women.  Being in close physical proximity to others triggered deep-seated panic and paranoia.  Simply said, severe PTSD symptoms from decades of complex trauma kept her from being able to sleep in a room with 50 other women!  So, she shielded herself with cardboard and shopping carts under a bridge.

Every Thursday she haul her shopping cart onto the sidewalk and into the Well.  She would greet everyone - often bringing some fruit or other food she had been given or found to share. Everyone shared hugs and "how are yous".... Soon, I'd start to play worship music on my laptop and we'd settle in.   After a few sips of hot tea and nestled into a comfortable chair, this lovely soul would fall asleep.  Sitting up.   She'd sleep until the group headed to the art room to start the "art-heart exploration" for the day.

Repeatedly we invited her to come and rest.  "Would you like to come a couple of hours early to bible study and take a nice nap?" We'd ask.  "We're upstairs doing admin work and would be happy to bring down blankets and a soft pillow...no one else would be here.  You could rest."   We placed our two faithful "room dividers" in front of the windows for privacy.  We offered hot tea.  

And, she never came.  Why?   Did she feel unsafe, even behind a locked door in our beautiful BJM women's center?  Did she feel ashamed?  Too vulnerable?  We don't know.  Our much-loved friend disappeared over Christmas and we haven't seen her ....and don't know where she is.

So...back to the focus of this stream-of-consciousness posting:  shelter, sleep, safety... and the human longing, desire, and need for Home.

One of our BJM "regulars" has been without a consistent home for some years.  I'll call her Free - because that's what Jesus is doing in her!

Free was raised in a cult.  She escaped - but her soul - her mind, will, and emotions - had been severely wounded.  As a result, she ended up on the streets in San Franciso.  She lived in the "not-so-gentrified" areas of the city for a couple of years.  Dangerous is the first word that comes to mind even driving through that neighborhood today. 

"God protected me," she told me recently. "I was so naive.  Sometimes I think He made me invisible.  I'd just pass by terrible things and nobody even noticed me."   She even saw cult members - whom she feared might be searching for and/or harm her.  Again, "They didn't even see me."

At some point, Free lived in a large house with other people.  She describes this time as "physically safe but not emotionally safe."  She found medical care and says "God started to heal me [from the experiences in the cult.]"

Was this a "sex for housing" arrangement?  Would she have been a good judge of what "physically safe" might look like?  I don't know.  Studies consistently show that, while in settings of ongoing danger and chaos, women are often unable to effectively assess the actual danger of their situations.  They under-estimate the severity of physical injuries and frequently cannot clearly recall what happened after seeing or experiencing some violent interaction.

So...a couple of years passed.  Free kept getting better. Today,  Free is steadily working toward her goal of getting a job and returning to school.  She comes to our bible study, our Wednesday "Community" group where we're studying "brave communication," and is seeking healing of her heart at our Thursday Art group.

 To call her determined is an understatement. The word amazing doesn't say enough.   She should be wearing a survivor's version of a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star for valor!

And, Free lives daily with symptoms of PTSD.  She startles easily. She is afraid to sit anywhere if she can't see the doorway.  She is frightened of sitting in front of a window where she might be seen.  She always, always watches behind and around her body and possessions. Every minute.  Rest, even in the women's shelter, comes in pieces - interrupted by dreams and intrusive memories that jolt her abruptly from sleep.

If you're thinking "This must be exhausting..."  I'm thinking the same thing.


If you're wondering "how does anyone ever get sober, find housing, get a job or generally figure out life when every moment is spent coping and the self-protective reactions of trauma survival takes all their energy?"   I'm thinking the same thing.

Well, This is it for today.  But it isn't the end of Free's story.

Next posting, I want to share Free's experience trying to get a "90 Day" shelter bed.  A coveted, hard-to-come-by oasis of stability in the lives of homeless women.    Recently she told me what it took to navigate the emergency housing system and obtain a 90 day bed.

All I can say now is, her story destroys the myth of the "lazy" homeless who "don't want to work" or "choose to be homeless."     I don't know if I would have the resilience and determination required to do this. 

Will you hold Free in your heart today?  If you pray, would you shower down healing wholeness and HOPE over her?   Would you pray for W - the beauty who used to sleep through Art for the Heart and has disappeared?

AND P.S,  a not-so-off-topic side tangent:
Remember the room dividers we put up in front of the windows to give privacy to the women at The Well?  Just an aside....we need more of them! 

Police policies prohibit Tenderloin businesses from covering more than a small percentage of their window space. This is to help prevent "icky stuff" from happening.   Good idea....but doesn't work well for us.

The women feel exposed when people pass by the large, beautiful windows.  Sketchy guys stare inside.    I worry that predators and pedophiles will see the children during dance classes.   So, no blinds, but we can use temporary dividers.

Someone - maybe YOU - could order one or two of the woven "rattan" style dividers from World Market and have it sent to 357 Ellis Street, San Francisco 94102.    Tax deduction.  Would make me really happy.  Would make you happy too!

End of public service announcement.

Love to all

Julia

Desperation to Determination

Thinking....
God's promises are sure - certain - dependable - True.

If this is true, then we can trust what he promises.  If God says He will do something - He will do it.
Like healing. or giving hope to hopeless people.  Or responding when we cry for help.  Or saving lost ones. Being willing to forgive anything. Any far-away, shameful wandering.  forgiven.

Then, thinking about desperation and determination.

When my hope and trust are shaky, I am desperate.  That's not a terrible thing....to be desperate.  To desperately need God to show up and rescue.

On the other hand, when I am firmly grounded and stand in the certainty that God will keep his promises, then I can leave the painful place of "desperate" and become determined.

What does determined look like?

Determined to partner with God. To put my agreement with His promises.  To release and declare into the lives of people and situations what I know to be true.  That His promises are sure - certain - dependable - true.

to believe those promises and become expectant. Waiting and expecting those promises to be real and present.  Expecting God to keep those promises.  And living in that expectation.

That is determination. Hopeful determination.   And, although I'm willing and ready to be desperate for God, I want to be determined.  Standing on the promises He has given.  On every word He has spoken.  Determined to partner with God for promises fulfilled.

Breaking the Stronghold of Mental Illness

When I know God's heart about something, I don't need to beg God to do it. No "please, if it be your will" kind of prayers. No long prayers trying to convince God to do what He already WANTS to do!

Instead, I put my heart where His heart is.  I agree with what's in His heart.  I can declare His heart into my life and the lives of others.

I know that God's heart is for people to be healed and whole.  He wants human beings to be sane and healthy and in their right minds. 

So, D. is a woman coming to BJM who could not be described as either sane or in her right mind.  We've found her rambling and wandering in the neighborhood.  On a good day, she would sing random songs from the 70s or old rock and roll tunes. She carried a prayer card with a late 19th century picture of a nun on it and insisted it was a photo of me.  She obsessed about priests and worried about being kidnapped. One bad day, I found her huddled on the sidewalk, using a bit of metal to reflect sunlight toward passing cars.  She pulled me down beside her. "Stay here," she warned. "So you're safe.  I don't want them to see us.  They'll hurt you and put things inside of you."

The BJM staff have been praying for D.  Lately, we talked about the time Jesus healed a man who suffered from severe mental torment and was so violent that he was kept chained.   Jesus commanded the evil spirits tormenting his mind and spirit to leave.  he healed the man's mental illness.  Then, we're given a short, hope-infused description of the man: when Jesus returned, he was "clothed and in his right mind."

We know that mental illness is never the heart or will of God.  God doesn't "give" people mental illness.  No .  You may have heard some people say that God wills bad things to happen so that we'll get closer to him or so He can do some "great thing" through our suffering.

Not true.  God is absolutely good. he doesn't give us mental illness or cancer or alcoholism because he is Good.  Only Good.  He doesn't have evil to give.  Only good.  So, we know that God's heart is for D. to be whole and at peace.  It is not for D to live with mental illness, fear, and emotional torment.  NO.

We began to declare this into D's mind and heart.  Over her life.  "You are beloved of Jesus. We will see you clothed and in your right mind."    Over and over.  When we saw her on the street. At Nail Day.  When we prayed for her in the women's center.  Sometimes, when she was incoherent, I would speak these words aloud as she rambled.

We didn't stop with D....but have been declaring God's heart over many women who live with mental illness and who are tormented by past trauma, emotional pain, and the work of evil in their lives.

So, two weeks ago, D.showed up at nail day.  She was dressed neatly and talked more lucidly than we have ever seen.  By the end of that week, she was dressed nicely every day.  She reported to us that she had been approved for Social Security Disability income and had finally FINALLY been approved and moved into an SRO (Single Resident/room occupancy apartment) here in the Tenderloin.  This means she's no longer sleeping on the streets (Hallelujah!!!)

This week, she met us in the neighborhood with hugs and clear eyes.  She informed me with a laugh that "my picture of the nun...I know it isn't you...but her smile reminds me of you so I keep it."
Then, she knocked on the door of the women's center.  We invited her in.  D walked into the dance studio, slipped off her shoes, faced the mirrors and placed her hand on the barre.  She lifted her chin and gracefully moved her hands and feet through the basic positions of ballet.  First, Second, Third, Fourth, fifth.    She laughed and talked about the famous dancer, Barishnikov fleeing Russia and seeking asylum in the U.S.  She laughed and told stories about her childhood dance teacher.  She rambled a bit and was sometimes disconnected in her thinking, but for the most part, she was lucid and humorous and joyful.  And we were amazed.

here she stood before us - clothed and in her right mind.

How did this happen?  We don't know.  God has done what we asked. What we believed was in his heart for D.  What we declared over her for days and weeks.

Did God start a process of healing her mind?   Did our stand against the tormenting spirits begin to break the hold they have had on her for so long? Did the stress-relieving miracle of having a safe place to live give D enough emotional energy to remember to take medication every day?  Again, we don't know.  What we do know is, we have been believing and partnering with God for healing of broken minds and wounded spirits.  We have been staring mental illness in the eye and demanding "let them go."  We have been asking Father God for miracles and declaring them over and into people's lives.

And in walks D.  Clothed and in her right mind.  Making jokes.  Smiling.  Lucid.  

And we are amazed.  I can only say, "Thank you, Father God. Loving Dad. Thank you."

Love = More Love

Children Learn What they Live....one of those posters from the 70s or 80s that dared to claim that children watch the world around them and them repeat what they see.
I remember reading it and worrying about all the bad habits my kids were picking up.  Once, a bag of groceries burst and everything went rolling down the stairs.  I had been climbing the stairs to our second floor apartment with groceries, a 2 year old and a 3 month old in a snugli pack.  The result of the grocery collapse was annoyance and a single not-so-printable expletive.  My 2 year old repeated it perfectly - intonation, facial expression, head shake following.   Not once, but multiple times.  for days afterward
Whoops.
NO, I thought.  Clearly, she thought, Cool...that got a rise out of mom.

My daughter eventually forgot about the grocery expletive. Today, she is a poised woman who doesn't swear like a sailor.  I didn't ruin everything....

As I get to know more women here in the Tenderloin, I hear their stories.  Recurrent themes include foster care, physical, sexual and emotional abuse, domestic violence, abandonment, multiple generations of drug and alcohol addiction  and mental illness. 

We talk about basic relationship skills. How to say No. What are boundaries anyway?  Your body is yours - not his.  YOU are not for sale!  There is a God and He loves you....Yes, YOU.

Recently I gently explained to someone why wearing a hot pink micro mini skirt and a bikini top might give men the message that her body was "available."  I said, "You get to think about what you want. How you want to be treated. You get to decide."

 How would she know this?  No one had ever taught her anything. No one had parented her. In fact, her parents' abuse and neglect was so severe they should have been arrested and imprisoned. They weren't.

The older woman on the streets who had tried to protect and love her had all died...drugs, accidents, illness.  Every one.

"My grandma used to get wasted and start to throw things at everybody," said V - who startles easily and cries out in fear when anyone raises their voice or conflict occurs.

"I raised myself," K said. "Since I was 10."

S's grandmother had been mom, dad and everything else since S was 5. Before that, S's parents dragged themselves and their child from hotel to crack house to abandoned building as they stuck needles in their arms and lived for the next fix.   At 15, grandma died and S returned to mom and dad...both were sick and aged by years of drug abuse.  They all stayed in a single room until S ran away.

L's entire family were alcoholics. M's single mother held down multiple jobs to feed her children.  She loved her children - yet raged and was frightening. 

Z's loving parents never knew she was being molested for nearly a decade.  A's parents did know - because they earned money by trafficking their daughter to men.

It's no mystery how woman end up in the Tenderloin.  They are victims. Often, they are simply doing what they learned as children.  Or, doing what they see others do to survive.

And given their family backgrounds, they should be considered courageous survivors.  Yet, even in survival, woman often hurt and harm themselves because they were never taught to do differently.

What I see, every day, is Because Justice Matters staff loving. This is not a ministry of big numbers.  We don't operate the valuable and important services like shelters or medical clinics.  We honor and need those who do, but BJM's calling is different.

BJM is about relationships. Giving and loving. Forgiving and loving. Laughing, welcoming, serving, and loving. 

Love looks like something - Heidi Baker said.  And love looks like serving at Because Justice Matters.

Since I came, I've seen the staff make and serve coffee and tea. And clean up afterward. Prepare and present and clean up from art projects, bible studies, and Nail Day.  Visit sick women, Accompany grieving women to funerals or bedsides of sick relatives.  Find clothing. Hold smelly, trembling bodies.  Massage lotion into chapped, street-roughened hands.  Cover a shivering, scantily clothed woman with their own sweater or jacket.  I see BJM staff serve and serve and serve.

We don't serve because the women are helpless or because we feel sorry for them.  BJM staff serve because these woman deserve to be honored. To be treated as precious and special.  To be loved and served.   I often think of the many ways mothers serve their children or friends serve each other.  That's the kind of serving that happens here.  Love looks like something!

On Thursday, love happened.   Art for the Heart - a group using art and inner healing prayer to help women understand and find freedom from past hurts and heart-wounds. K always comes. That day, she brought a new friend.

Coffee mugs and a pot of hot coffee with "fixings" were ready when the women came.  The art table was prepared.  We listened to worship music - as we always do.    The women have learned the words to "You Are my Beautiful God" and other songs.

I read the story of Jesus and the storm.  How he was sleeping in the boat and everybody said, "Jesus, WAKE UP...don't you care we're going to drown here?"  Then, he commanded the storm to stop. Be Still!

We did an art project - painting the "color and feelings" of a stormy time in each person's life.  We shared and prayed.  Laughed and cried.  A good time.

I took one woman aside to talk further.  K rose from the table and began to put away all the art supplies.  Washed out every water cup used for painting.  Rinsed the brushes.

Then, K went into the living room and gathered up the coffee mugs.  Load by load, she climbed the stairs to the kitchen, carrying mugs, sugar and cream, the empty coffee pot.  I heard the sound of running water as K rinsed the mugs in the sink.

No one had said, "Would you help?"  No one had asked anyone to do anything except receive.  This was all K's idea.  Love looks like something - and love was happening!

K was doing what had been learned.  K was giving what she had received.   She was following after the people who had loved her.  K was serving. 

I don't know what K was thinking.  But I was thinking COOL!  Look at this!  Something is happening. Love is reproducing itself - bearing fruit.  More love.

Wow.