Contrast of Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I thought this might be important to say:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shalom!..... Jesus!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded. "I can do that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, what comes out of me toward others? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Working the Late Shift

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks, baby," she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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