80 degrees in the Tenderloin! yee Hah! We're acting like true San Franciscans. People are initially thrilled. WARM! Sunny. Sky the color of, well, blue sky. Then, the whining starts. I've figured out that any temperature above 70 and below 60 triggers a blizzard of complaints.
the BJM women decided to avoid whining and head for the ocean. Beach. Gorgeous waves complete with surfers, dogs running on the sand, and little kids hopping, digging, laughing, and shrieking when the cold water hit their toes. A good chunk of the worthy citizens of SF, it seems, had declared holiday and were happily skipping out on work. I say, "Bring it on!"
A few hours at the beach with BJM's beautiful Lisa Kalenberg (a fellow midwesterner from Minnesota) and L and M - two women who have been the most faithful Community Group members.
We had so much fun. it was another small, shining goodness in a week of goodness.
Nail Day was smallish - and surprisingly beautiful. A few times, conflict or agitation began - and just as suddenly faded. M was anxious and yelling at people none of the rest of us could see. In the past, that might have meant triggering for the whole room, anger, fear, and folks looking anxiously around, asking "Are you going to kick her out?"
This time, a staff member quietly took a seat near M. "Could I look at some magazines with you?" M nodded. As the minutes passed, she became less agitated. Others saw her being loved and treated with gentleness.
later in the week, my precious stone K and I were having breakfast burritos at my fav coffee shop when A. came up. "Can I join this conversation?" A was able to speak with such kindness - and first hand, rubber-meets-the-road experience about the struggle to break out of homelessness and find stable housing. She gave advice that I couldn't - because I have never walked that road. A little interaction. Big encouragement for me (and for K, I hope)
At BJM, we just finished 12 weeks of "Brave Communication" (during which every single one of us had at least one week of "well....I wasn't brave...and i didn't communicate very well but...." Then, the whole group would encourage, listen, commiserate, and say things like, "Well, if you had a do-over, what would you say this time?"
We practiced saying things like "I feel ___________ when _____________ happens. I want ___________ ."
Or, "I apologize for saying ________. My words were unkind. I hope you can forgive me."
Or even, "I accept your apology. I recognize you are trying to make things right. I want to forgive you, but I need some time."
It was a great group. At the end, we took a couple of weeks for fun. Watched Calendar Girls (the requirement was a movie about brave women that would make us laugh). Then our beach day bonanza.
What I'm thinking about lately is "small things with great love" Mother Teresa is said to have taught that we don't have to do great things, but, instead, should seek to do small things with great love.
This week has been filled with "small things with great love." A small act of caring that helped M crawl out of the pit of anxiety and trauma. A kind word spoken without expectation....by one friend to another. An afternoon hanging at the beach doing mostly nothin'.....and enjoying every minute of it.
Small things. Great love.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Sex Trafficking in the Tenderloin. And....God didn't say K is a leader for nothin' !
This week, we had a front row seat to one face of sex trafficking in the Tenderloin.
The vast majority of women in the TL are "older" - somewhere between 30 and 80. Some 30 year-olds look 50. Hard lives have etched the years onto their bodies and souls.
Young women in the TL seem to represent a few distinct populations: immigrant women from families working hard to get out of the neighborhood as soon as they can; young addicts deep in their addiction - in real danger of death by overdose or violence; lonely transgender runaways and transplants looking for "someone like me"; and former foster kids who aged out of the system and find themselves without home, family or marketable skills.
after all...kids enter the foster care system because their parents are guilty of neglect so great that even this broken, underfunded system finds them incapable of safely caring for them.
Then, at age 18, the state basically says, "Well, you're 18 now. So long. Good luck." One expert called foster care a "feeder system for sex trafficking in America."
So - back to this week at BJM.
G, a beautiful young woman, has been coming to Nail Day with friends for the past couple of months. She has deep brown eyes and a sharp sense of humor
This Monday she and a new friend seemed to fly into the room. They were laughing and smiling. They announced, "We're leaving on Monday. We're getting out of here."
The story unfolded - told to the volunteer painting G's nails. To Lindsay, the director of The Well. And, to me.
G pointed to her friend. "Her boyfriend is taking us to [another state about 1,500 miles away]. We're going to live on a ranch. It's really big....we'll have our own rooms."
G laughed. "There are going to be horses. HORSES! And cows and animals." She giggled and said she wanted to baby calf of her own, "I'll keep it in my room."
all of us - the volunteer, Lindsay and myself - asked similar probing questions.
"So, how long have you known this boyfriend?" (Couple of weeks)
"Have you met his family?" (Nope..."but he said he inherited the ranch from his grandparents...Isn't that cool! A ranch!!")
"Where is this ranch?" (Out in the country. We're going to fly to A [city] and he'll pick us up.")
What will you do if you don't like it there? (No problem...He says he'll just buy us a plane ticket and we can come back.")
"What will you do for work?" (He said we can get jobs if we want to, or we can just help out at the ranch." G's friend announced, "I'm not going to work at first. I need time to get to know him."....She told the volunteer she was going to marry him.)
In short, a young man they had known about 2 weeks was promising these homeless, family-less young women a place to live. Food. Employment. Maybe even marriage.
All they needed to do to cash in on this paradise of promises is to move to a place where they know no one. Have no support. No transportation. No money. And live in an isolated ranch miles from the nearest city.
Many of you who read this blog have heard the term "sex trafficking." Sometimes people think of children sold as sex slaves in Thailand or orphans in Moldova or other former soviet block nations sold or kidnapped. Latin American or Asian immigrant women enticed to the U.S. with promises of work.
But here, less than half a mile from the wealth of the financial district in America's most expensive city, sex trafficking is happening to some of our most vulnerable children - girls and young women who have aged out of the foster care system and now struggle to feed, clothe and provide for themselves.
So...as the young women enthusiastically described their promised dream on that far-away ranch, the volunteer, Lindsay and myself said things like, "This is sketchy."
"I'm worried about this. You don't know this guy. You could be in danger."
"I'm afraid you might get there and things won't work out like you expect. I'm afraid you won't be able to get help or get away."
The volunteer bluntly said, "This is bad. This is how sex trafficking happens."
I said, "This isn't good. Let's talk about this...."
We were all met with shrugs and eye rolls. Their expressions reminded me of teenagers giving their moms looks that say "you are old and don't know anything....get out of my life."
G and her buddy slipped out the door before I had a chance to connect with them again. Worried, I left messages at the shelter where G stays. I texted another friend who might see her. And, sent an email to K - one of my especially "precious stones" who has been homeless since she fled an abusive home as a pre-teen.
"HELP" I wrote. This isn't good. I described what was happening. "Can you find G?" I asked. "Will you try to convince her this is too risky?"
I asked K to meet me at The Well today "anytime between 1 and 4."
She showed up at 2. "Just got the email and I ran from the library to here." She said. "This isn't good...."
We talked about G and the situation. K was agitated. Worried. She seemed to understand when I said, "G doesn't trust me. She thinks of me as somebody's mom....Maybe she will listen to you."
K left a bit later, promising to find G and "convince her this is really dangerous."
I went home. Fixed dinner. Worried and prayed.
Then, an email came from K. One word,
DONE.
Although I'll probably worry and pray some more before the night is through, I trust that K did as she promised....found G and talked honestly with her. Maybe told her some of her own experiences.
You see, a year ago, K met someone who promised her work in sunny southern California. A house to live in. Food. A beautiful city far from the dirt and craziness of the Tenderloin. K jumped at the chance.
And, K found herself trapped in a strange city without money or friends. Forced to go sell her body on the streets every day. Threatened with beatings and even death if she failed to earn enough money.
So, when K said, "This is bad. This is really bad." she knew what she was talking about. K escaped and made her way back to San Francico about a year ago. Thin, sick, and terrified, she came first to the YWAM base. "Where else would I go?" she said.
She still looks over her shoulder to this day, seeking the faces of the people who trafficked her and held her against her will.
today, as I pray for G and wonder what's happening with her, I'm counting on K's calling from God as a leader. And as someone gifted to love unconditionally. I'm counting on K's compassion and willingness to help others.
Hoping G will listen to Ks' story. Trust K's honesty. And decide to stay here - in the not-so-safe, not-so-pleasant Tenderloin. where, at least, some people love and care about her. Myself. Lisa. Lindsay. the Nail Day volunteer. And K, of course.
The vast majority of women in the TL are "older" - somewhere between 30 and 80. Some 30 year-olds look 50. Hard lives have etched the years onto their bodies and souls.
Young women in the TL seem to represent a few distinct populations: immigrant women from families working hard to get out of the neighborhood as soon as they can; young addicts deep in their addiction - in real danger of death by overdose or violence; lonely transgender runaways and transplants looking for "someone like me"; and former foster kids who aged out of the system and find themselves without home, family or marketable skills.
after all...kids enter the foster care system because their parents are guilty of neglect so great that even this broken, underfunded system finds them incapable of safely caring for them.
Then, at age 18, the state basically says, "Well, you're 18 now. So long. Good luck." One expert called foster care a "feeder system for sex trafficking in America."
So - back to this week at BJM.
G, a beautiful young woman, has been coming to Nail Day with friends for the past couple of months. She has deep brown eyes and a sharp sense of humor
This Monday she and a new friend seemed to fly into the room. They were laughing and smiling. They announced, "We're leaving on Monday. We're getting out of here."
The story unfolded - told to the volunteer painting G's nails. To Lindsay, the director of The Well. And, to me.
G pointed to her friend. "Her boyfriend is taking us to [another state about 1,500 miles away]. We're going to live on a ranch. It's really big....we'll have our own rooms."
G laughed. "There are going to be horses. HORSES! And cows and animals." She giggled and said she wanted to baby calf of her own, "I'll keep it in my room."
all of us - the volunteer, Lindsay and myself - asked similar probing questions.
"So, how long have you known this boyfriend?" (Couple of weeks)
"Have you met his family?" (Nope..."but he said he inherited the ranch from his grandparents...Isn't that cool! A ranch!!")
"Where is this ranch?" (Out in the country. We're going to fly to A [city] and he'll pick us up.")
What will you do if you don't like it there? (No problem...He says he'll just buy us a plane ticket and we can come back.")
"What will you do for work?" (He said we can get jobs if we want to, or we can just help out at the ranch." G's friend announced, "I'm not going to work at first. I need time to get to know him."....She told the volunteer she was going to marry him.)
In short, a young man they had known about 2 weeks was promising these homeless, family-less young women a place to live. Food. Employment. Maybe even marriage.
All they needed to do to cash in on this paradise of promises is to move to a place where they know no one. Have no support. No transportation. No money. And live in an isolated ranch miles from the nearest city.
Many of you who read this blog have heard the term "sex trafficking." Sometimes people think of children sold as sex slaves in Thailand or orphans in Moldova or other former soviet block nations sold or kidnapped. Latin American or Asian immigrant women enticed to the U.S. with promises of work.
But here, less than half a mile from the wealth of the financial district in America's most expensive city, sex trafficking is happening to some of our most vulnerable children - girls and young women who have aged out of the foster care system and now struggle to feed, clothe and provide for themselves.
So...as the young women enthusiastically described their promised dream on that far-away ranch, the volunteer, Lindsay and myself said things like, "This is sketchy."
"I'm worried about this. You don't know this guy. You could be in danger."
"I'm afraid you might get there and things won't work out like you expect. I'm afraid you won't be able to get help or get away."
The volunteer bluntly said, "This is bad. This is how sex trafficking happens."
I said, "This isn't good. Let's talk about this...."
We were all met with shrugs and eye rolls. Their expressions reminded me of teenagers giving their moms looks that say "you are old and don't know anything....get out of my life."
G and her buddy slipped out the door before I had a chance to connect with them again. Worried, I left messages at the shelter where G stays. I texted another friend who might see her. And, sent an email to K - one of my especially "precious stones" who has been homeless since she fled an abusive home as a pre-teen.
"HELP" I wrote. This isn't good. I described what was happening. "Can you find G?" I asked. "Will you try to convince her this is too risky?"
I asked K to meet me at The Well today "anytime between 1 and 4."
She showed up at 2. "Just got the email and I ran from the library to here." She said. "This isn't good...."
We talked about G and the situation. K was agitated. Worried. She seemed to understand when I said, "G doesn't trust me. She thinks of me as somebody's mom....Maybe she will listen to you."
K left a bit later, promising to find G and "convince her this is really dangerous."
I went home. Fixed dinner. Worried and prayed.
Then, an email came from K. One word,
DONE.
Although I'll probably worry and pray some more before the night is through, I trust that K did as she promised....found G and talked honestly with her. Maybe told her some of her own experiences.
You see, a year ago, K met someone who promised her work in sunny southern California. A house to live in. Food. A beautiful city far from the dirt and craziness of the Tenderloin. K jumped at the chance.
And, K found herself trapped in a strange city without money or friends. Forced to go sell her body on the streets every day. Threatened with beatings and even death if she failed to earn enough money.
So, when K said, "This is bad. This is really bad." she knew what she was talking about. K escaped and made her way back to San Francico about a year ago. Thin, sick, and terrified, she came first to the YWAM base. "Where else would I go?" she said.
She still looks over her shoulder to this day, seeking the faces of the people who trafficked her and held her against her will.
today, as I pray for G and wonder what's happening with her, I'm counting on K's calling from God as a leader. And as someone gifted to love unconditionally. I'm counting on K's compassion and willingness to help others.
Hoping G will listen to Ks' story. Trust K's honesty. And decide to stay here - in the not-so-safe, not-so-pleasant Tenderloin. where, at least, some people love and care about her. Myself. Lisa. Lindsay. the Nail Day volunteer. And K, of course.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
The Givers Receive and Receivers Give.
End of the month. Raining. Nail Day - all on the 31st.
About an hour before Nail Day started I heard a HUGE thunder clap and BOOM. Within minutes, the rain started. Not a gentle shower, but a pounding down rain.
I hear from long-time San Franciscans that most winters include a rainy season - where storms slip in and out of the week, often with sunshine and warm sun in between.
As we were getting ready for Nail Day (what a CA-RAZZZZEEEE time it was....50+ students from Bethel School of Ministry were getting ready to leave after a week-long visit serving YWAM, having fun in SF and loving LOTS of people). Bags, pillows, more bags, random hoodies and backpacks were scattered everywhere. Our team of 12 or 13 volunteers and staff is trying to move tables, chairs, art supplies, coffee and snacks. Setting up 10 nail stations with everything needed. Scooting back and forth between the kitchen and office and the huge, high-ceilinged Ellis Room where Nail Day happens.
Outside, it is pouring rain and the women are starting to gather. Covered with umbrellas, jacket hoods, plastic bags and random pieces of cardboard, women waited patiently. Suddenly, the Bethel students left - running through the rain to their waiting bus. Various YWAM staff scattered upstairs, outside or back into the office and dining room. We gathered in a circle to pray and assign jobs for the afternoon.
Then, the door opened. Women filed in, dripping and peeling off wet jackets. shaking umbrellas. Making sodden piles of stuff where, a few minutes before, the Bethel students' stuff had been.
Let the good times begin. With the rain and cold, some women came and stayed the entire afternoon. The art table was buzzing - everyone was making beautiful cards with affirming words on the inside. A few pool players tried their hand at the tables. Every nail station was full as women talked and chose their favorite colors. A few soaked and exhausted souls just curled up in chairs or put their heads down on a table and fell asleep.
The coffee was hot and the cookies were BIG and chewy. The entire afternoon was gentle. Peaceful. Soft music gave a spa-like feel to the room. The buzz of conversations broken then and again by laughter.
I had found some cute little stamps at a craft store and went around stamping people's hands and speaking prophetic words about the beauty of their hearts or shining suns or smiles.
At the end, after all the women had left and cleanup was done, the volunteers gathered to share and encourage. One beautiful woman, J. has been volunteering regularly since fall. She is a gentle soul with particular gifts in listening closely to others and caring.
This was her last Nail Day. When asked "What have you come away with from volunteering." She replied, "I was afraid of the transgender people when I first came. I didn't know what to expect. But, I tell you the truth, I have never met such accepting people anywhere. Not at work or even in my church. I've never felt so accepted just as I am as I have been here by these women."
About an hour before Nail Day started I heard a HUGE thunder clap and BOOM. Within minutes, the rain started. Not a gentle shower, but a pounding down rain.
I hear from long-time San Franciscans that most winters include a rainy season - where storms slip in and out of the week, often with sunshine and warm sun in between.
As we were getting ready for Nail Day (what a CA-RAZZZZEEEE time it was....50+ students from Bethel School of Ministry were getting ready to leave after a week-long visit serving YWAM, having fun in SF and loving LOTS of people). Bags, pillows, more bags, random hoodies and backpacks were scattered everywhere. Our team of 12 or 13 volunteers and staff is trying to move tables, chairs, art supplies, coffee and snacks. Setting up 10 nail stations with everything needed. Scooting back and forth between the kitchen and office and the huge, high-ceilinged Ellis Room where Nail Day happens.
Outside, it is pouring rain and the women are starting to gather. Covered with umbrellas, jacket hoods, plastic bags and random pieces of cardboard, women waited patiently. Suddenly, the Bethel students left - running through the rain to their waiting bus. Various YWAM staff scattered upstairs, outside or back into the office and dining room. We gathered in a circle to pray and assign jobs for the afternoon.
Then, the door opened. Women filed in, dripping and peeling off wet jackets. shaking umbrellas. Making sodden piles of stuff where, a few minutes before, the Bethel students' stuff had been.
Let the good times begin. With the rain and cold, some women came and stayed the entire afternoon. The art table was buzzing - everyone was making beautiful cards with affirming words on the inside. A few pool players tried their hand at the tables. Every nail station was full as women talked and chose their favorite colors. A few soaked and exhausted souls just curled up in chairs or put their heads down on a table and fell asleep.
The coffee was hot and the cookies were BIG and chewy. The entire afternoon was gentle. Peaceful. Soft music gave a spa-like feel to the room. The buzz of conversations broken then and again by laughter.
I had found some cute little stamps at a craft store and went around stamping people's hands and speaking prophetic words about the beauty of their hearts or shining suns or smiles.
At the end, after all the women had left and cleanup was done, the volunteers gathered to share and encourage. One beautiful woman, J. has been volunteering regularly since fall. She is a gentle soul with particular gifts in listening closely to others and caring.
This was her last Nail Day. When asked "What have you come away with from volunteering." She replied, "I was afraid of the transgender people when I first came. I didn't know what to expect. But, I tell you the truth, I have never met such accepting people anywhere. Not at work or even in my church. I've never felt so accepted just as I am as I have been here by these women."
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....
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