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.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
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 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.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
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."
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."
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