Gentle Words in the Tenderloin....

Hello blog reading Beautiful Ones,

Been a while. San Francisco is blue-sky gorgeous and warm today. The Tenderloin is touchy and changing as poor, marginalized and homeless people are being, once again, squeezed into smaller and smaller numbers of square block areas of the city – most in our neighborhood.

I am praising God for new government efforts to house homeless Vets in San Francisco. And, for money to provide transitional housing for homeless youth who come to the city when they age out of our dysfunctional foster care system. Without housing, these kids often end up in prostitution or drug use or both.  I’m so grateful to the President for making housing for homeless people a priority. One of my dear ones (who is 22) just became eligible for the “kids” housing. This might save her life…and I’m not exaggerating!

Meanwhile, the neighborhood is changing. Google, Facebook, Square and other tech firms bought buildings on Market Street in a city effort at neighborhood improvement. (Hmmm...crack houses or Google...)

Gentrification improves the look, feel, and often the safety of a neighborhood. But, people living on the streets are shuffled from one concrete “home” to another as wealthy renters or condo-buyers move in where SROs, abandoned buildings or decrepit apartments once “minimally” house dpoor people.

So, the feel of the community is changing. Plus, it’s winter – freezing and snow elsewhere – but San Francisco offers temps in the 60s and blue skies (that's right...we are officially whiners...complaining when it's below 60 - "freezing" - or above 80 - "too hot!"). Even the rain doesn’t last long. With winter, come new homeless residents relocating from colder places….a considerably less upscale version of snowbirds flocking to Florida or Arizona from the frozen chosen up in Wisconsin or New York or (have mercy!) Boston.

Meanwhile, what’s happening at BJM?  Boundaries. Boundaries. Boundaries. I’m learning how to confront and love at the same time. "Gentle words turn away anger."

Late last week, a disturbed man threatened a tiny, mentally-ill woman as she waited in line in front of the YWAM base for showers on Friday morning.  He moved closer and closer to her, raising his voice and cursing.  She kept whispering, “I’m first. First in line.”

I slipped through the door and gifted the man with a beaming smile.

“Good morning,” I said. “Sounds like maybe you need help.”

He continued his tirade, adding me to the focus of his not-so-creative but pretty raunchy string of profane words.  I followed the pattern God advised in the Book of Proverbs, chapter 15, “Gentle words turn away anger.”

The louder he got, the quieter and more slowly and more clearly I spoke.  I gestured gently to people inside the base for someone to come to the door.  A wonderful, kind and truly calm-and-gentle man named Trevor joined me at the door.  Let’s just say that together, Trevor and I are more than 120 years old….So neither of us was impressive or scary.

 Trevor just stood quietly while I tried to gently express clear boundaries.

The guy at the door yelled (I heard some words I haven’t heard directed at me since I taught middle and high school to juvenile delinquent boys in the department of corrections in Illinois). I spoke more gently and slowly with each passing moment.

“You’re a…..” he yelled.

“I’m first,” whispered the little lady.

“Of course no one can threaten women here,” I said. “Do you need help to stop?”

Same stuff…

“So, do you need me to call the police or can you stop on your own?”

More of same…

“Trevor and I don’t want to call the police, but it’s your choice.”

Trevor didn’t give an inch and didn’t say a word. His calmness helped the situation as much as his presence.  WE were establishing the spiritual atmosphere, not this poor, agitated man.

Finally I spoke very slowly. “So…..you choose…you can leave….your choice….I don’t want to call the police, but I will.”

I paused. “So. Which do you choose?”

The gentleman strode off, continuing to berate us, the poor little woman, and the world in general.

Gentle words turn away anger.  Who would have thought that a line from the Book of Proverbs penned millennia ago would be the key for responding to an angry person in the Tenderloin?

Gentle words…

Yesterday a LARGE, full-bearded and otherwise very hairy guy came to the door at Nail Day and announced, “I’m a woman.”  Now, not a single person in the room thought that was true, but before we could react, he slipped in the door and headed to the hospitality table.

The last time we had a man come into Nail Day claiming to be female, he was aggressive, threatening and scary.  In the end, it took a couple of YWAM guys and eventually a helpful police officer who just “happened” to be driving by to help us get rid of him.

So, when the hairy guy crowded in the door, everybody wondered what would happen.

Six months ago, the presence of a man at Nail Day would have resulted in angry outbursts and women leaving. Now, God has given us the gift of trust. The women trust BJM and Nail Day. They feel safe in the space. Some women moved away from the man, but no one appeared upset or afraid.

“He just wants brownies and coffee,” observed one of the women. “He’s a bushwacker,” said another. (Not exactly sure what a bushwacker is, but…it fit with the beard and general hairiness…)

I sat down next to “Kenny” at the art table and asked a bit about him. He actually acted like a sweet, even genial person. He stuck with his story about being a woman, showing me his pink scarf as evidence.  He said he was taking “the trip of my life” after spending a couple of years caring for his sick brother. “I’m traveling around the whole country. But, ‘cause it’s winter, I started with California.”

He enjoyed a few brownies and a cup of hot coffee.  I asked if he had connected with San Francisco’s transgender community. “Nope, he said. “They don’t seem so friendly.”

I smiled. “Could I say something honest to you?”

Kenny nodded.

“If you want people to believe you’re transgender, something has to go….” I gestured toward my chin. “The beard….Otherwise women won’t feel safe around you.”

He raised his hand protectively toward the salt-and-pepper forest on his face. “Shave it off?”

I nodded.

Kenny looked uncomfortable.  “Oh yeah. I should.  I”ll do that…Yeah….I’ll go to the barber and shave it off.  Sure.”

“Women want to feel safe here,” I continued. “Sometimes men come in and say they’re transgender when they aren’t.  Recently one man was actually aggressive and made suggestive comments to women. The women felt really unsafe.”

Kenny nodded again. “If that happens, let me know. I used to be a bouncer ya know.”

I smiled and didn’t break eye contact.

Kenny smiled.

Then, he said, “Thanks so much for the coffee.”

“Yes. Nice to meet you.”

He got up and headed for the door.

I don’t think we’ll see Kenny again. Yet, I’m glad we found a way to treat him with respect and honesty. Gentle words….even though Kenny wasn’t in the least angry.

What Would we do if we had All the Money we Need?

Sunday night I trekked out to San Mateo where a Congregational Church was hosting an awareness conference about sex trafficking in the region.

I expected “big lawn” suburbia, but the Congregational Church of San Mateo commands a whole corner in a Latino neighborhood. Stopped at a taqueria for a quick dinner and was the only non-hispanic-latino person in the place.  Talk about great food!!!

The evening was spent viewing a video presenting interviews with woman after woman who had – one way or another – found herself in the sex trade.  One tiny woman who looked much older than her age told of being sold by her mother to a “man passing through” their small town in rural Appalachia.  She appeared in desperate need of dental care. As I watched I thought Father, please send someone to watch this who will help her get her teeth fixed!

An older African American woman spoke in a halting voice, sometimes sobbing. She told of growing up in an inner city community where street prostitution was “just what women did.”  By her early teens she followed in the footsteps of the role models she saw on the streets of her neighborhood. She spoke honestly of depression, violence, and a lifelong feeling of helpless, hopeless terror.

There was the story of a 14 year-old runaway picked up by a truck driver on a country road and a troubled teenager whose new “boyfriend” promised they could get an apartment together if she would “help” pay the rent by providing sex for his friends.

Each story was shocking in its simplicity. Lack of parental protection. Family histories of abuse, addiction, domestic violence and poverty. Every woman reported sexual abuse before the age of 12.

Each woman’s story illustrated the “signs” of trafficking: force, fraud, ad coercion.

I represented Because Justice Matters at a ‘meet and greet’ information time after the conference.  People filled the crowded room, rushing by, snatching up brochures or hurriedly signing up for our online newsletter. Others stopped to ask questions: “So does trafficking happen in your neighborhood or is it just ‘regular’ prostitution?” Or, “Your dance program only reaches a handful of girls. What can be done to help all the others?”

People were surprised to hear about “massage parlors” in our neighborhood that are actually brothels. In their heartfelt urgency to see the horror of sex trafficking stopped in our world, it seemed hard for the conference attendees to understand just how long it takes to build relationships of trust with women. They longed for epiphany-like moments when women would “see the light” and leave for new lives.

So do we.

One gentle woman, a former marriage and family therapist asked, “What would you do if you had all the money you needed?”

My thoughts whirled around like balls in an arcade game. All the money we needed? What would we do?

“A second women’s center in the Mission or the Haight,” I said immediately. “Runaways, kids aging out of foster care – they are at risk of trafficking in those neighborhoods especially.

“Some money to help new staff and staff who are struggling to raise enough financial support,” I continued.

“I want to see our staff size double….A budget for a team called to reach out to women in the strip clubs and street prostitution.”

I thought a bit. The woman smiled. 

“And, enough money to take our BJM staff women on a real vacation.  Beach. Waves. Good food. Mojitos and deck chairs and ‘vacation’ novels. Absolutely nothing to do but relax.”

It wasn’t until I had loaded the car and was headed back to the City on Highway 101 that I thought. Wait. Who was that woman? Why did she ask that question?

And I wondered, What would we really do if we had all the money we need? Wow….

I am part of a team at Because Justice Matters.
BJM women are the Best. Team. Ever. Quote from our director and visionary, apostolic, leader Ruthie Kim.
We celebrated Christmas together by learning to cook Thai food at this very cool place in SF. An old church turned into a residence and workspace. I haven't laughed so much in AGES. Yes, we played "telephone" during dinner.
The heart of this team is love and unity. Supporting each other and truly "seeing" each other. Valuing what each person brings. Affirming.
This team lives out the core value of "stopping for the one." We do it for women in our community and on the streets. (so it maybe takes a half hour to walk from the YWAM base one block to The Well because of all the "ones" we pass and love...Is this a problem?).
We stop for the one with each other. A meeting may detour into listening, caring, and prayer if someone needs encouragement. We regularly schedule times to hang out and laugh. Lisa, our Well director instigates glorious silliness (who knew a shopping trip with Lisa would reveal gentle, introverted, prophetic Meg posing like a super model in the "cool clothes" section of a department store?)
This year, one of my so-thankfuls is the privilege of working with women who share vision, commitment, unity, and love. Best. Team. Ever.

Who Will Come? Back in the Tenderloin....

Taking a break and coming home again.

At the end of December, BJM staff scattered across the country to celebrate Christmas with family and friends. It felt odd to walk by The Well, all silent and dark. Manicure Monday closed until the New Year. 

We all took a much-needed break to rest and recharge our spiritual and emotional batteries for 2015.

After a few days on retreat at Bethel Church in Redding (think: sleep, eat, hang out with Chris and Sarah Pollasch, lie on the floor in the prayer chapel or the Healing Room.... worship music washing over you like waves…repeat) and a long Christmas weekend with my son-in-law’s wonderful family in nearby Vacaville, I returned to the Tenderloin.

It felt like home. Familiar. Happy to see Donna on the street.  She hugged me and said, “I AM going to come back to Nail Day. I miss you guys….just because I don’t like all the women doesn’t mean I can’t come, right?”   

Seeing some of the sketchy drug-dealer-and-user types have moved from their "home" from the sidewalk in front of the park entrance during construction. Some are gone. Good!  A few have reloacted to the concrete in front of the YWAM base.  Hmmm...Not so nice. Pondered how much energy I wanted to spend getting to know Rena, a woman who sells drugs from her wheelchair. Her "sketchy guy" clientele are, well, sketchy.  Gave her a poncho during the rain just before Christmas. Now, she greets me like an old friend.

Back in the thick of it!

 I went to the post office to run errands. About a block from home, a woman came up to ask for money for “Subway.”  I said – as always – I don’t give money to anybody. But I would gladly buy her a sandwich. She mulled that one over. I could see she wanted money, not food. But, she was torn…after, all, a sandwich was better than nothing. Hmmm….

While she was mulling, a young-ish man in a wheelchair zipped by. As he passed, he grabbed the scarf around my neck and pulled. Perhaps he thought he could steal and sell it for a buck or two. Perhaps he was just being obnoxious. But, the scarf was one of those “circle” types, so it stayed around my neck.  He rolled away.  I turned, suddenly feeling furious.

 I shouted. “Hey…. you….HEY. Stop!” The man turned. “I am old enough to be your mother. What are you thinking, grabbing my scarf?”  He looked sheepish.  “Well?” I asked, waiting for a response.

“Um….happy holidays, ma’am,” he mumbled.

I’m back in the Tenderloin, I thought.  The woman looked surprised. Maybe my reaction wasn't what she'd expected from somebody's mom wearing Doc Marten boots and a pink scarf!   She switched gears, and  tried to hit me up for “just $10 to get a room.  It’s cold…” When she continued to press, I put my hand out like a traffic cop. “Stop. I really meant it when I said no money to anyone. You don’t want a sandwich, you want money. Now, I’m leaving.”

I continued my errands. Mail. Pharmacy. Pooh…the little donut shop on Ellis and Taylor was closed (like I needed a donut after Christmas in Vacaville where Karen, my “partner in grandma-ing” fed us like royalty).  

Back at the YWAM base – and home, I saw LB had returned to her usual perch on a milk crate where she sells drugs for a dealer in Oakland. She’s there every day, huddled in her puffy jacket and black watch cap. Until, one day a couple of weeks ago, she rushed into Nail Day, shaking and disoriented. Her mother had died. She was frantic and despairing. “This has got to stop…I’m getting out of here,” she kept saying. She let us pray for her and sat with her much-beloved BJM staffer Cassandra, for nearly an hour, rambling and crying. 

Then, she disappeared for a week or so – mourning her mother. Having a funeral.  Seeing relatives. Grieving and alone. But, now she was back. We sat together on the sidewalk, talking about mothers. About missing hers – and mine. About remembering what made our mothers special and beloved.  She let me bless her….releasing God’s heart for “new things….that this year will bring the changes you have been hoping for. For new life this year.” We hugged. I pray that this might be the year when she makes a life for herself without drugs or street corners.  I LOVE LB!

The new neighborhood park opened. The glorious sound of children’s voices echos across the corners of Jones and Eddy streets. Not business-as-usual in the Tenderloin. But kids playing. Shouting. Laughing. It is the sound of life. Of hope for something different for these children.

This is a park surrounded by special “entrance proof” fencing. The gates are locked except during specified play hours. And even then, a police officer is always, always present every moment. On the federal sex offender registry, our neighborhood map is filled with red and blue “dots” marking offenders and predators. Creating a safe space for children is a serious challenge.

Some of the girls playing in the park will make their way to The Well and our dance program. A handful will be loved and mentored by Gabby and Cassandra. Others will be drawn into life on the streets.  There simply aren’t enough Gabbys and Cassandras to reach them all.

Seeing them reminds me of the scripture “the fields are white ….ready to harvest, but the workers are too few!.....Pray to God, the Lord of the harvest, asking Him to send more workers.”   BJM needs more staff! Who will reach out to those young girls – still innocently playing at our beautiful new neighborhood park.? Who will come to help us create a street outreach team to build relationship with LB and the hundreds of other women who need love and hope here?

The harvest fields are ripe….filled with people who need hope and love. Who need to know that Jesus sees them. That they aren’t invisible.  The workers are few.

For 2015 I am praying for more hearts (and bodies) here at BJM.  I want to see a BJM team reaching out and building relationships with women working in the neighborhood strip clubs and in prostitution on the streets.  Cassandra and Gabby would like to expand our dance and mentoring ministry with at-risk girls in the neighborhood.  Karol and Carolina would love to reach more mothers in the neighborhood…hard-working, overwhelmed Latino women….quiet, lonely refugees – often Muslim – feeling stranded in this city. And recently, a few women from “the streets” who want something better for their daughters than they experienced.

On the dining room wall at the YWAM base, two large frames hold photos of every YWAM San Francisco staff member. One space is empty, with a note, “Could this be you?”

Will you join me in prayer for that “empty space” to be filled? Volunteers are beyond wonderful. We love and depend on them. And, full-time committed staff are necessary to lead. To listen to God, envision, and create the foundation into which volunteers can come and give.

Will you pray for a woman called to use dance and movement to help traumatized women heal? For a team of women willing to love and invest in girls in this neighborhood where no child should have to live? For a few brave hearts whose eyes light up when they think about befriending, honoring, and loving women who sell their bodies in strip clubs and on the streets? 

Each new staff person must raise her own support. Will you pray and consider committing some of your long-term giving to new BJM staff?

The fields are ready for harvest. But, there just aren’t enough workers to find all the treasure God has in the Tenderloin. 

Someone’s picture belongs in the empty space in that frame in the dining room. Could it be yours?

The World is Making me Crazy....but Love Looks Like Soap and a Toothbrush

The political mess in our country is making me CRAZY. One of God's calls on my life is to care about and work for justice. And, I feel worried and afraid.

I worry about the future for my friends who live with addiction and mental illness. For the refugee children being held by the INS in Texas. For elderly and families who need food stamps.

I worry because there was yet another shooting on a college campus. One more unarmed, young, Black man shot by police. Today, I read that the newly elected Speaker of the House in Nevada (a journalist of sorts with 13 years of columns to demonstrate his personal and political opinions quite clearly) actually used the words "simple minded darkies" to describe African American Democrats and stated that "Negroes" in America were not sufficiently grateful to Whites for "ending slavery."

I cry out to God because the Church seems largely either silent or in agreement. Help me, Jesus! I don't know what to do.

And, as always, the political becomes the personal. It must. Trickle down economics doesn't work, but trickle down values do.  Unfortunately.  A missionary and gifted worship leader writes that he has a rare eye disease and will go blind without expensive medication. If the Affordable Care Act is repealed, he will be uninsured and uninsurable.

My friend Lilada - a truly stellar leader who is helping Black women find healing across the nation - is called the "N" word on the street in progressive Madison, Wisconsin.

Then, I hear that R. - a lovely, creative and brilliant young woman who loves Jesus - is told by a fellow church member who knows she is a lesbian in a long-term committed relationship that "I'd rather find my son dead in the bottom of the swimming pool than have him be gay."  Really. I'm not making this stuff up here!

Friends, I can love people in the Tenderloin. I can open my heart to women who are sober, kind and engaging one day and drunk and irrational the next. I can feel sorrow at the trauma and abuse that created the scary and emotionally broken men I see every day on these streets.  But I can't find any sane, emotionally level ground on which to stand when I look at the news and the actions and mind-sets of many political and religious leaders and of so many fellow Christians.

I want to care about what Jesus cares about - He confronted mindsets and actions that threatened and degraded women, powerful people who ignored the needs of the poor,  and religious and political leaders whose actions demonstrated racism and abuse of power. 

 It takes more energy for me to hear and process what Lilada or R.experienced than it does to spend a week in the Tenderloin. I feel powerless and exhausted. I want to feel sane and grounded. At peace. Hopeful.

I've decided to take a sabbatical from all things political until Father God tells me differently.

And, I'm going to ask all my be-loveds to consider a simple act of love in honor of my sabbatical from craziness!

This random act of kindness will, if nothing else, offer a concrete, person-to-person way to care about something Jesus cares about. Thanks to my friend Patricia, for this idea!

I invite you to host a "blessing bag" party in your house. Or small group. Or "ladies who lunch" bunch.  

How? ask people to bring hygiene and personal items and assemble bags for women or homeless vets or those panhandlers that irritate folks downtown.   Then, give them away!  Take them to your community's shelter. Call a meal program and see if you can give them away at dinner. Connect with a local ministry or rescue mission or the Salvation Army women's shelter. Make hot-pots full of hot cocoa, grab some friends and styrofoam cups, and go give them away yourself.  You know where to go...sure you do!

A San Francisco woman did this for her WEDDING SHOWER!!! No kidding...it was fabulous....Love has to look like something - and sometimes it looks like soap and a tooth brush!

Details! (suddenly I feel like lots of exclamation points are required!) !

We give out many hygiene kits every week here at Because Justice Matters in San Francisco (www.becausejusticematters.org).We've learned a few things like:

 Small sizes of items are important because many people who are homeless don't have much space and must carry every single thing with them. 

Think: 

* necessity (shampoo, soap, tooth brush and paste and tampons for women's kits...small containers of body wash are easier to keep than soap...once bar soap is wet, it's a MESS for someone who has to carry everything around....if you include bar soap, put it in a little ziploc sandwich bag to contain future wet-soap mess...) 

* body care (lotion, lip balm, hand cream) 

*weather (warm socks, sunscreen, lotions for chapped skin)

* clothing needs (underwear for women, warm socks or gloves/hat), 

*safety (a small emergency whistle, condoms, bandaids and antibiotic ointment....a little card with local phone numbers of the 24 hour domestic violence hot line, emergency help for homeless hot line) 

*food (a soft granola bar....remember many homeless people have lost teeth...a coupon for food at McDonald's or ? A little packet of hot cider or cocoa mix)

* and "you have value and we see you that way" items (nicely scented body lotion, tinted lip balm for women, make-up in a little bag at Christmas, a pair of inexpensive earrings or tiny bottle of perfume....a simple non-preachy note). 

Not ALL these things, of course, but this gives you ideas.  Purchase freezer or heavier weight ziploc bags because they don't self-destruct in someone's backpack. the cute little holiday gift bags look nice but fall apart. 

Please don't give money. Here in SF, crack costs less than $1.  

Some people bristle at the idea of including condoms. A condom could save someone's life. 

 And finally: Thanks to every one who decides to do this! Thank you thank you thank you. Please let me know what you do....it will make my heart beat faster and help me feel sane and grounded again!

 Love to you all!

 

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?