Meeting the Bouncer at the New Century Strip Club

Five years ago I visited Because Justice Matters because I’d read they were making relationships with girls and women in area strip clubs. I learned that ministry had just closed due to staff transitions.  The next summer I volunteered for 2 weeks.  Jen, the woman who had pioneered the strip club ministry spoke with me at length. “We started by getting to know the bouncers,” she said. “Earning trust. Building relationships.” By the time they had to close the ministry, Jen was the only staff involved. And, she had invested countless hours getting to know women in more than one North Beach club. It was hard for everyone.

I returned to Wisconsin and started building a private counseling practice. BJM stayed in my mind. I found myself thinking about women I’d met. I felt the need in the Tenderloin like an itch. It wouldn’t go away.

So, that summer I applied to be an intern. Maybe 3 months in San Francisco would stop the itch.  Of course, many of you know what happened.  I decided to do what my heart wanted. Moved to SF and joined BJM staff. One of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Ever.

Now, nearly 2 years later, that same heart is still drawn to the strip clubs and the women and girls working there. I told God….”Let me restart the work in the strip clubs and with women in street prostitution.  I want healing and souls.”

SO…last fall, God and I had a back-and-forth. It went like this:
            * me: Strip clubs, prostitution, street outreach
            * Him: pastoral care
            * me: Strip clubs, prostitution, street outreach
            * Him: pastoral care

Repeat….a couple more times. Same response. Okay…..

Now, belonging to Jesus for 45 years (whoa, now THAT makes me feel old!) has taught me a number of things. One is that God is better at anything than I am. He knows what he’s doing. He’s God. I’m not. The smart money is on Him.

So I paused to remember the women God has beamed into my life. One newish Jesus-follower I meet with every week. Another beautiful one who comes to church.  BJM friends.  A dealer on Ellis with whom I’m slowly building trust. My beloved K who has grown so much – and has so far to go still.

Pastoral care.  Caring for and about the women God has already sent my way.

Long ago I determined to refuse to say No when God asks. I decided that, regardless of the question, my answer would always be Yes – or as close to Yes as I can figure out.

Embracing “pastoral care” felt deflating. I pouted and whined a little inside before my “yes”  After all, there was that “smart money” thing.

Since fall, pastoral care has been my focus. Many good times of healing prayer. One-on-one meetings where people can share and explore and find insight. God shows up. Hurting places are touched and healed. Hurting hearts stop hurting.

The past 7 months have been time well spent. I’m not pouting anymore – though I whine on occasion. The “strip clubs, prostitution, street outreach” dream has been safely stuffed under the bed.

SO, two weeks ago I was scheduled to help with YWAM’s Friday hot chocolate outreach. Visiting “urban ministry experience” teams from anywhere and everywhere come to YWAM for a day, a weekend or a full week at a time. On Fridays, these teams fill thermoses with hot cocoa and head to the streets.

On a chilly night – and nearly every night in SF qualifies….don’t let the 70-degrees-and-sunny reports fool you into coming without a hoodie and long pants even in July.  Sweatshirt vendors make a killing every summer selling cheap sweats to freezing tourists who think all of California is San Diego…and dress accordingly.

Sorry for the distraction….

So I joined others from a visiting team to give away hot cocoa and prayer.  Two lanky, just-out-of-college type boys from suburban Marin and I headed toward the New Century strip club – a neighborhood establishment about 5 blocks away.

We arrived at the club about 8 – far too early for the “let’s go to a strip club” groups of young men or the “conference in SF” professionals having a night on the town to do something stupid.

Outside, a husky Latino man stood. His navy suit and name badge identified him as “Jason,” club security. We offered him cocoa.

“What are you doing?”

We explained about YWAM and hot cocoa night.

“Interesting,” he said. “I bet homeless people appreciate the cocoa.”

We asked a bit about his job. Long nights, he said. The pay was okay, but the work was hard. Lots of drunk guys and wild bachelor parties.

“Could we pray for you for anything?” we asked.

The man was silent for a long moment. Then, words began to tumble from him…about his son diagnosed with autism. His long hoped-for career as a musician. His wife needing help.

“My son needs me more,” he said. “he needs more time…..I need to let go of my music. Because of my son.”

He seemed to choke up.  “I love my music, but I love my son more.”

We began to pray for him.

I blessed his father’s heart. Told him that “Father God feels the same about you as you feel about your son.”  I said God gave up something precious to him, too, because we needed him.

“God sent Jesus to us because we needed to know Him,” I said. “Now, because you have a heart like God’s heart, you are giving up your music because your son needs you.”

We prayed for his music. For his marriage. For his son.  Asked God to return his music when the time was right. To let his music be part of his son’s healing. It was a blast.

At the end, we hugged. The two boys from Marin stood on the sidewalk, grinning like Halloween pumpkins. It was GOOD.

As we walked away, it hit me.  Jason’s name badge read “security.”

The first step in strip club ministry, Jen had told me 2 years ago, was to meet the bouncer. I began to laugh.

I had just met the bouncer at the New Century strip club! Without a plan or even an awareness. God set me up to meet the bouncer. Not just for Jason, but for ME too. Because it would show me that, after 7 months, God remembered.  Of course!

And, it was so GOOD.

Choice, Consent, and Abuse

Thinking about “ choice”

So, recently we all saw, heard or participated in a bit of hullaballoo about the Fifty Shades of Gray film.

I won’t dissect the books and movie here except to say it is a story of abuse, control, gaslighting (look that one up if you don’t know it), mind games, manipulation and false views of love, intimacy, choice and consent.  As one reviewer said, “If [the male protagonist/abuser] lived in a shack instead of a penthouse, this wouldn’t be a feature film, it’d be a plot for Criminal Minds!”

Some brilliant somebody suggested that, instead of paying $ to see porn masquerading as story, we all boycott the flick and donate to our local domestic violence shelter instead.

I cheered.  Good idea!

Then, something happened that really threw me off the bridge.  A Christian leader I respect - who recently risked a lot to write a book confronting traditional evangelical views barring women from positions of leadership in the Church - posted on his Facebook page the

 suggestion that people not donate to domestic violence shelters but INSTEAD to ministries fighting sex trafficking. Why? Because, he wrote, trafficked women “don’t have any choice.”

I read the words. Twice. I realized I wasn’t breathing. I felt shocked. As if I had been slapped.

I took a mental step backward. Perhaps this Christian leader didn’t fully understand what he was saying. Did he really believe that women who experienced domestic violence CHOOSE to be abused?

Yet, as I read and re-read his words I couldn’t understand them any other way…he clearly communicated that donations would be better given to anti-trafficking work than to domestic violence shelters. He suggested donors could be certain no woman helped by a sex trafficking ministry had “chosen” to be a victim.  The unspoken communication was, of course, that women in domestic violence shelters may have chosen to be abused.

So, I need to write – and this writing and reading community needs to dialogue – about choice. And consent. And women. And Domestic Violence.

CHOICE is a decision freely made. Without coercion, force, or fraud. Without fear and confusion, manipulation or control.

Choice must include:

            * viable, real options to choose between
            * sufficient power that one’s decision has impact on the situation
            * ABILITY to understand, evaluate, and choose between available options
            * CAPACITY – emotional, spiritual, mental or intellectual – strength
            * safety, access to survival resources (food, $$, shelter, protection)
            * physical and emotional freedom to choose

I believe that, in the absence of any of these components, a woman is not freely making a real choice. When abuse, coercion, threats or emotional/mental manipulation create fear, loss of confidence, and loss of identity, self-worth and value, real choice simply doesn’t happen. 

“But she stayed” we often hear.  I wonder if that idea influenced the Christian leader who seems to believe trafficked women don’t “choose” but women in domestic violence do?

A woman may stay in an abusive relationship. In reality, research shows women who leave actually plan to leave an average of 7 times before they either succeed, give up, or are murdered. Why? Because leaving requires resources, confidence, money, safe opportunity, and support – before, during and after. Many women CHOOSE to leave, TRY to leave, and end up staying because they can’t get “everything” together.

Women stay because they are afraid. They have reason to be afraid because they have been battered, threatened, injured and controlled. They fear their partner will harm, kidnap or kill them, their pets, family and friends, or their children. Fear is not choice.

They stay because they have been taught in church that marriage is forever and they should go back, pray, and try again. Religious control is not choice.  

They stay because they have no money, no job history, or little education. They fear they can’t support themselves. Lack of survival resources is not choice.

They stay because they hope that maybe – this time – his promises to change are true. Believing a lie is not the same thing as choosing to be abused.

A dear, wise and beloved friend who escaped a physically and emotionally abusive relationship says it was and is important to not see herself as a helpless victim. She wrote, “I did make choices – not always good ones, but I made them.”  What we both understood in the resulting conversation was that she did choose to try again….or to accept unacceptable behavior….or to believe his claims that “it would never happen again.”  She did choose to stay until she finally chose to leave.  However, what she never chose was to be abused.

So, Fifty Shades of Gray has had its day. This week I heard the first news story of a death resulting from some foolish person trying to duplicate what he saw on the movie screen.

I hope Domestic Violence shelters saw an increase in donations. I hope the leader I respect – and anyone else in need of “new thinking” – comes to see choices and the women who make them with new eyes.

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!