Seeking, Finding and Receiving: Jesus in the Tenderloin

Warm and beautiful in San Francisco. Not snowing in Tahoe. Christmas is coming and this girl is ready!
I've been waiting until I could post an "it's Christmas and things are wonderful" blog post.  But things kept getting in the way. 

Every day I see, first hand, a little of how difficult Christmas is for people without homes and distant from family.  M -  has no family and, it seems, may have lost one child to death and some others when she became so depressed she couldn't function and Child Protective Services got involved.  yesterday she hugged me (a rare gift from her) and asked what I was going to do for christmas.  I said I was going to be with my daughters.  "That's good," she said. "Tell them I love them."

K has been on the streets since age 10. That's TEN for those of you who think you misread.  She once said, "I had them all fooled....I was going to school and church and nobody knew [that she was homeless]."  K's parents were addicts. She was molested in a foster home and escaped by running away.

Thursday, we had Art for the Heart. K played favorite songs - I Can Only Imagine and Amazing Grace on a laptop.  We read the Christmas story aloud.  Drank hot cider and prayed blessings over each other.  Afterward, K walked back to the YWAM base with me. Juggling backpacks and a warm coat, we talked about how to know if someone is trustworthy.  She decided a recent "new guy in town" didn't make the trustworthiness grade.  Good insight! We laughed.  She hugged me and said, "See you after Christmas. Have fun with your daughters."

In that moment I wanted to be K's mother. To replace the mom who couldn't love or keep her safe. To make her part of my family.  Yet, I know I can't fix K.  I don't have enough love to fill the empty hole left by all the people who were supposed to love and protect her - and didn't.  I don't know what to do with that longing. Except to trust God to be the Father she never had. And the mother. And to trust God to use my small, imperfect love in K's life.

Friday I sat down with MG, a woman who has just recently started to show up at Nail Day.  She told me a rambling, often repeated story of traveling here by Greyhound from Miami. Of family strung out along the East coast.  Of decisions to come to California....arriving in San Francisco and wondering where were the "guys with muscles and sunglasses...palm trees and surfers" she'd expected.

"You want San Diego!" I said. "Well, I got San Francisco," she replied. "So I guess I gotta stay 'til I decide to go back to Miami."

We talked about family. Missing those far away. She spoke of estrangement and having lost contact with siblings altogether.  
MG wished me a Merry Christmas.  Said she'd be sure to come to Nail Day in January.  Her plans? Just lay low on Christmas...maybe Glide (a local ministry that serves meals every day, 365 days a year) will have something...I don't know."  She said she was going to dance at a club on New Years Eve. I'm afraid I don't expect this to be something I'd wish for her....I'm not sure what to say. But, she lets me pray for her and  I bumble through....

So, Christmas comes. We move through advent...waiting for what hasn't yet arrived. Waiting for what we hope for and some things we know will come.  Our hope isn't in systems or people. It isn't even in good people who try hard. To place our hope in humans would be to heap a burden on their shoulders they can't carry.  Instead, Our hope is in God. In His provision and the steadiness of His love. 

This Christmas, I'm receiving kindness from people who have little.  I'm receiving blessings and the gift of personal stories from people who will spend Christmas alone or eat dinner at one of the many ministries, churches and programs offering meals for people without homes.

I've received Jesus in unexpected ways. He sent the BJM staff to a corner where we found a woman under the influence of drugs, barely dressed, and vulnerable to anyone who might use or abuse her. Instead, Father sent us to tie a shawl around her, pray for her, and call the Homeless Outreach team.  He sent us to the corner just as a man came seeking a police officer. "There's a woman passed out between cars," he said. "I'm afraid she's going to get run over."

Father sent us....and then some kind but firm police officers.  This addict evidently has fallen asleep on a manhole cover in the parking lane of a nearby street before.  The cover is warm.  Fragments of Crack cocaine might be found along the curb.  She crawls there and passes out.

So Father sent us.  To find Him.  And, in each situation, we received Him. 

Mother Teresa used to speak of "Jesus in a most distressing disguise."  She was right.  The people on the streets are Jesus - coming to meet us.  Sometimes Jesus is in the heart of someone in pain. Someone in need. And, we GET to be here. To find Him. And receive Him.

We have the privilege of seeing "the least of these" - of whom Jesus said, "when you love - or give, or care for, or feed, or wrap your scarf around.....you do it to me."  

Jesus has given himself to me. In the form of kindness. In the words of precious people who give generously out of their few resources.  In the love of woman who don't appear to have anything together. Yet, they get it together to show love and kindness to me.

Tomorrow I leave for Lake Tahoe where I get to hang out with Becky, Alex and Alex's family (also Ean Kemp!!!  One of my adopted sons who is now doing cool stuff in L.A.).  Christmas eve I'll take the bus and train to Davis where Beth and Casey will pick me up. Christmas day with Casey's mom, aunt and her wonderful partner Joey, sister Alyssa and Grandma Marjorie.   We'll eat and play table games. Open gifts and tell stories.  We'll laugh. There will be moments of missing Rich, Casey's funny, kind, father-heart step father who died this past May.

and I will receive Jesus. there, too  Jesus disguised as family. Jesus disguised as people who have welcomed me into their family circles with generosity and love. 

I am fortunate beyond words.   

My wish for all of you is to find Jesus in your Christmas. to see Him waiting for you in a family member. Looking through the eyes of the Salvation Army bell ringer or a homeless man asking for money. To hear His voice in the kind words of others - or your own kind words to others.  Jesus is waiting. 

Blessing and love.   Merry Christmas.

Living in the School of I Can't....Continued....

will all of you freezing in the midwest or New York or Washington or???  hate me if I whine that it's cold in San Francisco?

The temp hovers around 40 at night.  I watched the folks across the street or in front of the YWAM base move around all day on the concrete, following "warm spots" where the sun shines. Then, one night  rained, and I woke in the middle of the night thinking "hypothermia."  A few people who are especially vulnerable crowded into my mind and prayers.  I lay awake worrying and praying.  I fixed on images like hot soup and blankets and cried out to God to help women I'll call Anna and Wanda, Adrienne and Danae. 

Wednesday, W hauled her two shopping carts into the women's center. Someone had stolen the blue painters' tarp she uses to cover her things.  The cardboard she uses to shield herself from the cold concrete had been left behind in a sodden pile somewhere.  She had wrapped herself in clothes and a dirty piece of cloth.

Her body was cold to the touch and trembling.  But, as is the case with many women who have survived ongoing, violent trauma, her body and mind are disconnected. The cold and trembling didn't register at all. W. smiled and chatted. "Not too bad," she said. 'I found a restaurant where they let me sit for a couple of hours. But they stole my tarp."  The sweater she often wore was also nowhere to be seen.  Her arms and hands were filthy. We gathered her into the women's center and concern showed on every face.

W continued to chat as we peeled layers of wet clothing away and helped her put on a thick, hooded sweatshirt, warm socks, and thermal leggings.  We wrapped her in a blanket.  In minutes, she fell asleep....sitting up. 

She slept through much of Breaking Free - a dvd bible study some women have been doing since fall.  She woke to drink some hot tea and dozed off again.

When the study was over, she woke to drink some more tea.  "Can we go with you to the shelter next door?" we asked. "It's getting colder and looks like more rain tonight."  W. changed the subject.
"Please. We're concerned about you," we said. "Just for tonight. Just to keep out of the rain...."
She shook her head and began a convoluted story about some sick friend whom she had "promised to check in on."

In the end, W. said No.  She wouldn't be sleeping inside that night.  It was both painful to hear and hard to understand.

W. lives with mental illness. She is sometimes clear=minded and creative. Sometimes paranoid or grandious. It's not clear whether her stories of competitive ice skating or pursuing professional dance are lies, fantasy or long-past truth of a life before drugs, poverty and homelessness.  W says she has "lived outside" for nearly a decade. She doesn't like the word "homeless."  We believe her when she speaks of emotional and physical abuse and about losing children to drugs and foster care.  We listen to her creative ideas about cooking and her dream of feeding homeless people healthy, delicious food. We are filled with love and frustration. Worry and respect.

How do we love her well?  We can't fix her. We can't solve the complexity of her mental illness and trauma-based paranoia.  We can't force her to sleep inside on a cold, rainy night.

Yesterday, two therapist-friends from Illinois and California respectively visited the BJM staff, spending the morning with us at The Well.  They spoke about calling out, affirming, naming, and declaring God's love over a person's spirit.  My heart beat faster.  Counseling is helpful stuff....it helps people think more clearly, choose more wisely, and understand, experience, and manage real, honest and life-giving emotions.  Yeah!   But Margaret and Kara spoke about the spirit.  Each individual's spirit.  And how our spirits were made to be filled with and alive in God's love.

W's ability to think, choose and feel is damaged by mental illness and years of trauma and abuse.  But,  the deeper hurt lies is her spirit - her identity, worth and true self.  Her spirit has been crushed and wounded.  Her spirit has gone into hiding, like a frightened child slipping under the bed, hoping to escape chaos and violence.  Her spirit has separated from her body and disconnected from her soul - her mind, will, and emotions.  Perhaps her spirit is sleeping or unable to hear, see or speak.  Perhaps she has forgotten that she even has a spirit and lives only in the raw emotions, thoughts, and choices of each moment. 

So, on Monday when W. pulls her carts into the Nail Day Christmas party, my eyes and heart will be on her spirit.  On her identity.  The true, beautiful, beloved self that God himself breathed into her at conception.  When she became a living being. Beloved and worthy of love.  

I can't fix her.  Only God can heal her wounded spirit.

  So, I will call to her spirit. Affirm and bless her spirit.  I'm asking Father God to give me words to say that will slip under the protective wall she hides behind and touch her true self - her spirit - with love.

Would you join me?  Would you declare over W. that "God loves you.  God is calling you home. To himself.  Wake, beautiful spirit.  Rise up. Open your eyes.  It is safe to come home. Father God is in the house, and it's safe to come home."

Home-making

this weekend I put together a chair and ottoman from ikea.  The pictures-only directions didn't help me much.  There was muttering, outcries, and a couple of less-than-presentable terms used.  In the end, I did what I didn't think the directions were saying and finally got the parts attached to the right other parts - facing the right directions.  Now, Im sitting in this comfy chair with my feet up.

I ordered a twin mattress, bookshelf, and a second chair.  Once the mattress arrived, I got rid of the full-sized bed that took up (no kidding) half my little room.  Rolled out the beautiful wool rug I brought from madison.  Some special items - beautiful cobalt blue glass balls in a bowl.  An art tile of a woman with auburn hair. An earth-toned tray with beveled glass center.   All these things now reside in my little space.

It is becoming a home.  A safe place of r & r for me.  A welcoming, warm place where my daughter Beth visited. We ate sushi and talked.  Home.

I am so grateful for this place.  I know God brought me here and I don't take it for granted that I have this space.

This month one of the women who comes to Nail Day every single week was in trouble. She was afraid she might harm herself and checked into a hospital. BJM staff were the people she listed as "emergency contacts" - she had no one else.  BJM is her family.  Her address?  a shelter for women in the Tenderloin. This is one meaning of the word "homeless"....to be truly without a home. Someone else's address used as a temporary fill-in-the-blank for social services or medical providers.

Another woman showed up recently in San Francisco. She is paranoid, often roams from topic to topic in conversation, and seems "stuck" in painful memories of the past.   Those memories are a kind of "home" for her. She returns to them when she feels afraid. She hopes that their resolution might stop the emotional pain.  She comes to the women's center on Tuesday and Wednesday. To nail day every Monday.  Because Justice Matters and the women's center has become a sanctuary for her.  A home, of sorts.

Because Justice Matters isn't a "big result" program. Our numbers aren't large.  Our impact is small and personal.  It is all about relationships.  One-on-one.  Small groups seated around a table.  5 or 6 cups and a pot of hot coffee.

I want to learn how to open my heart to help create a home for women.  To make space and time in my life for relationships that really mean something. That offer safety. Knowing and being known.
Relationships. Family. Home. 

wake my spirit!

What a week! Last week I was in Redding attending the international Sozo Summit, racing to spend a morning talking with Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry students about BJM and ministry in the Tenderloin.  Then, more summit stuff and home to finish the week.

This week has been a front row seat to the amazing courage, dignity, and God-hunger of the women who come to BJM.  A week when I feel honored to even be in the room!

The women who come to The Well are hungry to know God.  5 women came to our Wednesday bible study about domestic violence.  Thursday 3 more came to a group called Breaking Free. 
to hear these women share honestly about issues in their lives instead of hide those struggles to look good to others. 

A isn't at all sure about Jesus.  God....sort of.  But Jesus?  The jury is still out.  Yet, I heard A pray for another woman with such compassion and gentleness and TRUST in God.   A gathered faith from every corner of the heart to say "God, here's my friend. She needs a miracle. You are the only one we can trust."

I feel like Im in the school of "I can't'  much of the time.  Where, if God doesn't show up and keep His promises, I am helpless to make any difference.  I often feel as if I'm closing my eyes and saying, "God, I'm trusting you here...."   The women I'm supposed to be "helping" then are the ones who affirm that God can be counted on.  That nothing is too hard for him.

Early in the week, J  feared she might harm herself.  She did exactly the right thing - and BJM received a call saying she was safe but pretty fragile.

When LIndsay and Lisa went to visit J wanted prayer.  She wanted God to help with nightmares and PTSD flashbacks.  And, this courageous little person willingly forgave someone who hurt and harmed her terribly.  The person responsible for those flashbacks and nightmares.  God spoke so gently and with so much love right into the hurt and harm.  Right into her wounded heart. 

Another person has learned to listen to God in every situation.  Week after week over coffee, S. has been practicing the discipline of saying, "Father, what do you say?.....What do you want me to know?"  Choosing God's ways in small things and large.  Choosing.....and changing.

An opportunity came suddenly to S.  A sudden move now seemed possible. After waiting a long time to leave the Tenderloin for "something better....anything better...a healthy place full of healthy people..."    S. really wanted to go.  YWAM friends asked...are you going back to old patterns of impulsive decision making?   But, S has changed SO much in the past year. S said, "I can do this. I've grown a lot. I'm not the person I was."

That is absolutely true.  Yet, S was encouraged to "ask Dad" before making this major life decision.
Today I got a call. S. was at the door of the women's center. Could I talk a minute?

S.'s eyes filled with tears.  S. spoke about the dream of leaving the Tenderloin and making a new life "someplace with clean streets and healthy people."   The opportunity to relocate seemed perfect.
But, during the previous night, S said, "I saw Jesus. He took me into a little room and closed the door. He said, "We need to talk."   

Jesus said, "Not now."  He told S. that God could bless regardless of S's decision, but leaving now wasn't God's first choice.

S. confessed to feeling angry with God. Deeply sad. Afraid the dream might never happen.
And, I was filled with admiration and JOY as S said, "I am staying. I want God's best.  I still feel angry and sad and disappointed. But I want God more."

S is becoming more and more like Jesus - who "only did what He saw His Father in heaven doing."  J is becoming more like Jesus - forgiving even when the wrongdoer never apologized or even recognized the pain and harm they'd caused.  Choosing to say, I forgive.  A. keeps moving closer and closer to this beautiful, infinitely kind Jesus whose love and words are so challenging and off the charts.  I believe her heart wants what her heart wants - And, in spite of all the avoiding and re-framing and trying to keep from loving Him, His love keeps drawing her back.    Soon and very soon!

so. What a week in the TL.  Outside the women's center, there was an awful fight that left pools of blood on the sidewalk.  The long lines of elderly folks waiting for the Thursday food pantry are annoying the neighbors and creating a safety hazard. The police are annoyed.  Rats   got into the basement maintenance room.   Yesterday, a disheveled man looked up from the sidewalk and smiled at me - just as he licked his skin (poor man's alcohol swab) and jabbed a needle into his arm.  I saw a young woman standing next to her pimp. she rocked a stroller holding a sweet, round-faced baby named Rain .  Jesus, come and save!  You are our only hope!

And, meanwhile, A was praying with compassion. J was forgiving terrible wrongs. And S was choosing God even when every emotion was pain and loss.

LIke I said. This was a week of courage and beauty in the Tenderloin.  I'm honored just being in the room!

Send in the Flaggers

Deb heard about the women's center from our mutual beloved Michelle Trehey. This amazing Wisconsin warrior had never met me, never been to San Francisco - but she single-handedly sewed about 12 beautiful, iridescent and fire-colored worship flags for the women of The Well (our BJM women's center has a name!) to use.  I brought them, in their beautiful carrying case, across the country in my trusty-but-crammed toyota (along with another 8 "timbrels" she also made - rings that hold lengths of brightly-colored ribbon or tinsel...when you wave them, they're like shining rainbows!).

Wednesday, they arrived "home" to the BJM women's center.   Our staff women unpacked them.  Ooooohs and Aaaahs everywhere.  "Gold....what does the color gold mean?" (purification, abundance)

 Then, someone said, "This one looks like fire!  We want fire!  Let me have the fire one!"  Everyone began to wave flags.  Blue symbolizes revelation. Red, redemption and both orange and red are fire colors.  (God's heart is  ON FIRE for the Tenderloin!)  Green....new life, growth, creation....White for purity and being washed clean and made whole. Purple is royalty. I can't remember what silver symbolizes...except that it's shiny and beautiful!

Lindsay took her flag out on the sidewalk. I joined her as children from the local school walked by on the way to the playground. The big kids laughed and passed under the flags like a parade.  "Flags...wave them at me!!!" they yelled.  The little guys were scared and moved closer to their teachers. So, we said, "They're just pretty flags. We won't wave them at you. You can just look."  So, we waved tham toward the street and the little guys passed by...not exactly convinced, but not frightened either.

Why flags, you might wonder?  WHAT are they doing waving flags at people?  (and what does this have to do with God and the Tenderloin???)

Today at church, a guest speaker spoke about leading a team of worship folks into a garbage dump in Romania where violence is an every-day, everywhere occurrence.   He referred to battles in the Old Testament.  When God sent Joshua to conquer a city called Jericho, he was told to send the worshipers and musicians first, followed by the warriors.

"Let's see," the speaker said. "They've got AK-47s and bullets and we've got harmonicas, tamborines and a bunch of dancers waving flags."   Yep.   The battle for the garbage dump was ushered in by dancers waving flags!  (now, all we need are harmonicas and tamborines....).

Worship establishes the atmosphere. It says, "This is who we are.  Our beautiful God owns this place - not the drug dealers on every corner or the pimps or the massage parlor owners.  Our God. The God who loves. He has already conquered these streets.  And, He is so unafraid of evil that he sends us - the flag-wavers - to lead the troops.

I was thinking of all of you reading this. You might be fortunate enough to be part of a flag-waving, dancing, worshiping church.  You may want to go out a find one out of sheer curiosity (or because you wonder if I'm running on all pistons out here or what....).    You may be perfectly happy without the whole flag business.   But, know this.  When you worship our beautiful Jesus, your heart is like a banner.  Like a flag waving in front of the world.  Your heart-flag declares one thing we know is always true - here in the Tenderloin or at City Church where Deb and Michelle wave their own flags :).....or wherever you are.....that God IS.  That God loves.  That He has already won the battle and everything - the cities and the streets and every small town.  Every human being is carried in His heart.

So, tomorrow, I'm going to pass out flyers for Nail Day (YEAH....my first Nail Day back in SF!).   And, I'm going to be praying as I go...."How beautiful your street is, God.....How beautiful your daughters are, Father.  How blue your sky is.  How amazing your people are.....How much you love the 'other' dancers in the strip clubs....."   And, I'll be waving my heart-flag everywhere.

PS: Yep, we'll definitely take those flags to the street! I'll let you know how it goes! 

California, Comin' Home

On the morning of the 15th, I got in my car....loaded to the gills with clothes, kitchen stuff, guitar, rug, vacuum, worship flags, art, more kitchen stuff, miscellaneous more stuff....ready to start my San Francisco "thelma and Louise" car trip.

Punched the cd player on.  The night before I'd dug out an old Joni Mitchell cd...and that morning...the first song to play was "California, Comin' Home."

I laughed. A lot. I sang along.  I loved this whole God adventure musical accompaniment.

During the 6 days on the road, I started each day singing California, Comin' Home.   I honestly felt as if I were leaving home to GO home.

My strategy for lodging was to decide each night how far I wanted to drive the next day.  Figure out what town/city is nearest and go to Trip Advisor to weed out the really ghastly places.  My trigger words were "clean and cheap."   One place wasn't really clean. Another wasn't exactly cheap.  But, in general I stayed in smallish, retro motels in smallish, never-left-retro towns.  Evanston, Wyoming has a lovely little strip motel run by a family.  The mom said "if we ever don't need the motel to make money, I'd like to turn it into housing for single, pregnant teenagers....somebody has to help them out."

This beautiful woman was once a teen mom herself. She married her high school sweetheart (who still runs the motel with her).  Now, she and her ginormous black and white cats welcome tired travelers. You can request "breakfast in a basket"....homemade muffins and coffee.   Her heart is big and open!

Came in on Sunday night and stayed with Becky and Alex in their cute, little house in Pacifica (about 25 minutes south of San Francisco) you can see the ocean from their living room window.  Met their new puppy, Sierra.  Slept like a rock and spent Monday unpacking storage items from the car, playing with Sierra and generally vegging around.

Today, I headed into the city.  My faithful GPS knew what to do, so I wove my way from highway to highway and found my self headed toward Ellis Street.  Counting the blocks.  My heart was beating and I actually said out loud "Almost there!  Almost there."  I thought - this is SO good!!  I can't wait.

Of course, in my mind Joni Mitchell was singing, "California...California, comin' home...gonna see the folks I dig, I'd even kiss a Sunset pig...California, comin' home."

Drove up to the YWAM base. A kid from the Los Angeles "Skaters" Discipleship Training School stood on the sidewalk, holding his skateboard, and talking with some of the neighborhood guys.  The Because Justice Matters women bowled me over with welcome hugs (these are the folks I dig....).  Helped me unload. And unload. And unload. 

Now, pretty much flattened at about 8 pm.  Unpacked, settled, sorted, and organized for about 7 straight hours. I hurt all over and it looks like I gave away my silverware to somebody in Wisconsin....cause it isn't here!

but, here I am.  My room has BEAUTIFUL wood flooring.  I just made a cup of tea in my settled-in little kitchen and hung my "big bag" car top carrier in the shower to get the salt off tomorrow morning.  Everything is good.

I am home.  My heart is home.  My body is chilling and ready to sleep.  Joni Mitchell is singing somewhere in the gerbil wheel of my brain. 

STUFF!

now, it's about stuff.  Lots and lots of stuff.  Stuff I need and stuff I don't.  Stuff somebody else can use and stuff nobody wants - not even me!

I thought I'd pared things down when I moved to my apartment in 2011. Last Friday the POD people rumbled up to the parking lot of a consignment furniture store here in Madison. My friends helping me drag stuff to the shop, to their  various trucks, van and cars.  Some sold, some given and some kept.  Now, I have a boxes and boxes in another friend's garage.  Making sub-piles....give to somebody special, donate, mail, and "will it fit in the Camry?"  I mailed 13 boxes of books (THIRTEEN???? what do I think I am, the public library?)  Another 3 donated and all my old books and materials from my "past life" as a storyteller are now happily living at a couple of area schools.

All this is rearranging my head significantly.  Can I feel sad about the lovely home I created in my first-ever living alone apartment AND feel free and happy to see things falling away?  I sit for long minutes thinking "Can I fit these coffee mugs in the car?"  and "Do I really need 15 coffee mugs?"  Which to leave behind?  Which sweet memories to take?  (Whoops....16 mugs...a new friend just gave me one of her hand-thrown beauties so I'd remember her and her big heart while I'm in SF).

It is like dividing up pieces of my life. Christmas decorations from years of celebration with my family.  Pots and pans used to cook meals for friends I love.  Dishes I picked myself and the wealth of mugs....all memories of hours and hours of laughter and talk with be-loved people  My good old college graduation present to myself guitar invites me to worship and sing.  Worship flags made specially for the women's center by loving hands here... Two Norwegian ski sweaters - one knit by my mom and another by my host mother in Norway. Both mothers gone now.  Yes, I will keep the sweaters though I may never wear them. 

Some things go so easily. Other things cling to my heart. My memory.  I will probably try to take too many things to San Francisco. I have a single room and a shelf or two of storage space at Becky and Alex's in Pacifica.  I don't need the 16 mugs. Or the  hand-blown glass globe I bought at Madison's Art Fair on the Square one summer.  But I will keep them.  Perhaps they are waiting for another time. Another "letting go" to find other homes.  Or, they will make this journey with me.