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."
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Saturday, March 22, 2014
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.
"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!
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!
Sunday, February 23, 2014
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."
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....
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....
Saturday, February 8, 2014
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
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
Monday, February 3, 2014
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.
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.
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