Hairy Week, Smart Friends

Saturday Morning in the TL

This has been a hairy week. Monday someone had suicidal thoughts. Tuesday I didn't accomplish ANYTHING. Wednesday a woman who meets her needs by manipulation and control crashed Movie Day. By Thursday I decided nobody anywhere was allowed to have any more crises. The royal decree didn't work so well, but I tried!

With a week full of hearing stories of pain and hurt, I've been looking for wisdom. Well, mostly I've been muttering, "Helpmehelpmehelpmehelpme....I don't know what on earth I'm doing."

Good thing that I'm surrounded by wise people.  Here are the conversations that got me through the week (in my own words):

Jolene: No matter what happens, I can choose LIFE. It doesn't ever look the same for anyone, but in every situation, I can ask God, "What does it look like to choose life right now. Today. This minute?"
Tomorrow, it won't look like it does today. Maybe today I'm crying my eyes out. Maybe tomorrow I will have hope. But every day I can choose life.

Karol: That rhythms of discipline lead to life. That discipline isn't about punishment or 'doing right' to avoid God's displeasure. It's about practiced, steady, determined walking with Holy Spirit. In God's moment-by-moment presence. "I don't want to skip my quiet time because I don't want to miss what He has for me. The goodness of my time alone with Him."

Justine: In all the demands of being mom to three children under the age of 5, it's easy to just "keep going" and "keep doing." "I can end up believing I have to do it myself. And then I do it myself." Her wisdom is showing me how, in doing it myself I miss the opportunity to partner with God. To be carried and supported and built up by His love. Often, I can "pull it off" (what ever "it" is) but, in doing so, I miss the offer of intimacy and love that God wants to give me in the very circumstance I'm busy doing.

Laina: This week Laina recognized that she had two unique skills: a degree in nutrition and training as a life coach. So, she comes to YWAM San Francisco, intending to help staff the Discipleship Training School. A big need is someone to manage the kitchen - with 3 daily meals to cook for students, staff, speakers and other random people, someone needs to bring order out of chaos.
After a few weeks with Laina at the helm, the atmosphere of the kitchen has changed. People are coming to make coffee and hang out while she cooks. Students come to talk and help with dinner prep. She said, "Sometimes I just chop and listen."
Of course! Laina cares about feeding people good food. She cares about listening and encouraging people. She's not just managing the kitchen - she's making the kitchen into the heart of the base.

Tim: There is a difference between expectancy and expectation. The hopeful rising-up of expectancy comes from trust and a history of being loved. Of God's dependable care and Presence.  Expectation is something we try to define. We expect to receive. We are expected, in turn, to earn and deserve.  In expectancy, my heart is encouraged and free.  In expectation, I fear disappointment. I wonder if, when things don't look the way I expected, either I have failed or God has. In expectancy, my eyes are on the always-dependable, always-trustworthy love of my Father for me.

I am so grateful to live surrounded by wise, loving people.
After a not-so-great week, I was lifted up and brought back to shining hope by the lives and thoughts of my YWAM San Francisco family.

Article on Homelessness....Previous Post continued

http://aplus.com/a/canada-solves-homelessness-problems

Isaac Saul @Ike_Saul

Solutions to Homelessness: Thoughts from the TL

I just read an interesting FB post citing an article about a Canadian city addressing homelessness i a unique way (http://aplus.com/a/canada-solves-homelessness-problems)

Because I work with, love, am friends with and daily get to hug homeless women in San Francisco, this approach to homelessness interests me very much. I've been following the outcomes in Utah as well where cities like Salt Lake are seeing pretty drastic changes in BOTH the costs of helping homeless people and the actual results in terms of health, sobriety, ability to get jobs etc. 

Let me tell you one story that is a mirror of what I see EVERY TIME a homeless woman gets housing here. That housing creates a safety net where change can happen. 

D. lived on the streets. She is a survivor of horrifying childhood trauma and has had a rough life - in and out of addiction and mental illness. She was married at one time and had children (It's unclear how many) Her mental illness escalated when her husband became physically abusive. Her children were taken by Child Protective Services. To this day, she grieves these children and says, "I tried. I loved them. I wanted to be a good mother." 

When D lived on the streets, she used to carry a piece of 2x4 to defend herself. One day, I found her crouched on the sidewalk, pointing a piece of metal at passing cars - reflecting sunlight at them. She urgently called me to come and sit next to her. "Hurry up. If they see you, they'll catch you and put things inside of you." She assured me she would keep ME safe. (Oh Jesus! My heart cried out!). She let me pray for her, but she was pretty out of reality....Except the possibility of violence wasn't unreality. 

D let the women of Because Justice Matters (BJM)  love her. Let us pray with her. Sometimes came to Nail Day for coffee and brownies and kindness. BUT SHE WAS LIKE A SIEVE...SHE COULDN'T "HOLD" ANYTHING WE POURED IN BECAUSE DAILY LIFE WAS SO TRAUMATIC AND TERRIFYING. 

SO...about a year later, D's application for disability was approved (I think it was the 3rd request....BLESS her case manager, who had to lead her by the hand through every single step because she was too mentally ill to follow through on anything) Then, D had some money. Her case manager had been applying for housing. Then, one day D. came and told us she "had a place" We visited. It was in a filthy building. Third world squalor was the word that came to my mind. BUT it had a roof and a door that locked and, for the first time in years (decades? who knows?) D. could actually sleep safely at hight. What happened? Nothing at first. Then, we began to see changes. She began to wash her clothes. The started using her limited funds to buy clothes at Goodwill. Who knew D. was a vintage clothing diva? She stopped burning her hair off with a BIC lighter and got a haircut when a local non-profit brought in volunteer stylists. She gained weight. And, more and more, she began to make sense. Sometimes she still is "off" She is able to remember to take her medication which really helps her mental illness. She comes to Nail Day and sometimes to The Well. We laugh with her (she's absolutely hilarious when she's feeling sane and safe). We pray as often as she feels safe enough to let us. And, not long ago, a SF photographer saw her walking through the Tenderloin wearing a gorgeous vintage coat she found at Goodwill. He saw her striking blue eyes and weather-worn but still beautiful face. A photo of D. showed up in the San Francisco Chronicle. Today, it hangs in our office as a reminder. SO in all this journey, the turning point was HOUSING.

Balance Beam Living: Boundaries and Truth-speaking

Thinking today about a challenging balance...truth-speaking and speaking for myself.

 Like one of my heroes Danny Silk says:  I manage me. You manage you. I don't try to manage you.  I don't let you manage me. 

This has been a foundation stone of my growth in boundary setting (from pretty much no boundaries ever to generally sane boundaries most of the time!).

"I don't try to manage you".....The principle of not speaking for others who are perfectly able to speak for themselves. Not speaking as if I know who someone else is, what they should do and why.   

How do I balance this with the principle of truth-speaking with a loving attitude and intention?
here's my unfinished, in-process thinking: Jesus rarely told anyone what to do. He taught principles. Told stories with hidden treasures inside that could help someone change their way of thinking and seeing.

He also spoke truth to the controlling religious leaders of his time. he wasn't afraid to say, "No. That's not what love looks like" or "You put burdens on the shoulders of the people and don't do a thing to help them."

Realize that "managing me" means I speak for myself, not for others. When I speak only for myself, I don't "get" to be "right." I only get to take responsibility for myself. Darn! I want to be "right."  (Whining ensues...I should get to be right because I think alot. So much more than those "other" people. Or because I'm all about justice. Or because....")

Because I'm not Jesus - I'm only me...sometimes volatile and reactive....sometimes thoughtful..sometimes not....do I ever really speak "truth"?  Do I even know it?

Is it enough for me to do my best with the whole "light shining" thing and trust that Truth will be visible if I'm living it?

How can I learn to love and speak truth? To manage me and love others. To give up being right and still desire my life and words to reflect Truth?

Thinking a lot wears me out. I need lunch. Possibly a doughnut.

"I love you, but just stop talking"

today I stopped at Trader Joe's after church. Groceries after the YWAM retreat last week. Lugging them into the YWAM base where I live, I see Karin across the street. She comes to Nail Day often. We always talk and pray and laugh. She has lived with alcoholism and drug addiction for ??? years. But, recently, she's been sober. it took weeks and weeks for her to emerge from the fog.  Each week, more of her real self emerged.  The angry, defensive, fearful street person began to soften. An artist was hiding in there. A storyteller - sometimes the stories were hair-raisers, but she told them with such passion.... A few weeks ago she was wearing the coolest ensemble.  A little hippie, a little ethnic coolness.  I loved it.   Today, she was across the street. High. Drunk. Her possessions strewn across the sidewalk. She's somehow lost any suitcase or bag or container.  She fumbled about, making piles of clothes....a bag of chips. A sweatshirt. Some Clorox wipes.  The detritus of life on the streets.  Were these her earthly possessions?

At the door of the base, LB, my favorite, much beloved crack dealer, said, "She's an alcoholic. She's at it again."  I nodded. She was right you know.  But, I headed across the street. Asked Karin if I could bring her some tote bags to put her stuff in.  She held on to me with a surprisingly strong grip. "Pray, mama."  We prayed.  I've been meditating on the Truth that God is bigger. Bigger than the Tenderloin. Bigger than addiction. Bigger than strip clubs or prostitution or poverty. Bigger than mental illness or violence.  HE is bigger and I trust HIM to save us.   I started to declare these things, over and over.  Prayed in tongues for awhile, when the hurt in my heart got really burning hot.  Then, went back to declaring that OUR GOD IS BIGGER.  

Later, I asked where she was sleeping tonight. She pointed to the sidewalk.  I mentioned a women's shelter. She began a convoluted story....because of disease and inability to clean sinks after each use, she said they ask women to spit their toothpaste into the toilet. She could not accept this indignity. She refused to "be treated like that....like I should put my face near a disgusting toilet."   

Now, I knew the shelter's motivation was sanitary - or Karin had misunderstood....but i kept my peace.  She explained "That's why I don't want to be near anybody. I want everybody to leave me alone."

Then, like I had no more sense than a muggle, I asked if she wanted me to call the Homeless Outreach Team.  I was thinking blankets maybe...or a shelter bed if she could endure it.    She exploded. "Aren't you listening? Doesn't anyone listen? I SAID I don't want to be near anybody."  She began to pull her hair.  Distraught.  I apologized.  "Just stop Don't talk, mama."  Then, her eyes cleared for a moment. "I love you, but just don't talk."  I nodded.  Sorry that I had upset her.   She nodded.  I walked away.

Perhaps she'll come to nail day tomorrow.  I'm going to keep an eye out for her...maybe take her hot coffee in the morning if she's there.  Look out for her in the afternoon as Nail Day approaches.

Pray for Karin. For this lovely, fashionista, artist and storyteller.  for her desire to be sober and the literal, not symbolic demons that block her at every turn.  I bless her for being gracious when I spoke out of turn.  When i didn't LISTEN.  for loving me and being honest enough to tell me to stop talking.

When I see her next, she will love and welcome me with open arms.  She will forgive me for talking too much and not listening when she said she couldn't stand to be near anyone in a shelter.  And, she will apologize - probably many times - for being high and yelling.  And we will hold each other.....I will say - maybe silently, maybe not - that our God is bigger than addiction, Bigger than relapse. Bigger than panic attacks and fear and rage.  Bigger than me talking when i should have just listened. 

Our God is bigger. What we see with our eyes in temporal.  What God speaks is ETERNAL. 

Hoping today. Love will win.

IT'S NOT FAIR!!

This week been thinking about FAIR because two women much beloved by BJM had incredible, unexpected good news.  They both got HOUSING!

S. was eligible as part of an Obama administration effort to house homeless vets and former foster children under age 24.  A case worker helped her apply. She’s a former runaway with a severe, congenital disability. She’s been on the streets for the past 2+ years while (drum roll here) attending City College of San Francisco!

On Wednesday, S. moved into a small apartment right across the street from her SCHOOL! (I’m about to go all-out and just type a whole line of exclamation points). Amazing. Impossible!  Plus, she won’t be in the Tenderloin anymore!!!!!

Whew…that was exhausting.

Then, my beloved kid “K” told me she was going to get “a place.”  Frankly, I thought it was wishful thinking or confusion or even a scam.  K has been offered housing before with a not-uncommon “catch” of sex as payment.  So, I wanted to see the place. Meet the director. Check the whole thing out.

Whoa! It was legit. And, she had suddenly – for no reason – moved to the top of the waiting list.

The studio apartment, in the Tenderloin, is located in an old but well-kept hotel. Beautiful murals in the entry were probably WPA artist-grant projects in the 1930s. The apartment is small but clean. Wood floors, a private bath and tiny kitchen area. 

The most amazing part of this is that K received this apartment without the usual 2+ year wait or the sometimes=even-longer Lottery system!  She applied and was told “YES”….We spent last Friday discovering just how much stuff I can tie to the roof rack of my car.  Picking up furniture, kitchenware, a bookshelf listed “free” on Craigslist.  I went to Goodwill and bought a comfy chair, small shelving unit and a stool so she can sit at the counter and eat.  2 plates, 2 bowls, 2 sets of silverware and mugs….  A lovely San Franciscan moving to Sweden for a new job gifted K with bedding and pillows. 

I felt such joy. And such inner conflict.

Because another friend, C, has been waiting for more than 2 years for housing.  C has done it all “by the book”….Filling out forms, Re-filling out forms when they were lost or expired or who-knows-what bureaucratic stupidity.  Walking from office to office.  Walking with a walker because C. was injured in a serious fall years ago…the injury was so severe that she couldn’t work….lost her job….and with it, her health insurance…..because ObamaCare didn’t exist then, her medical bills thrust her into bankruptcy…Lost her home and ended up on the streets (this is an all-too-common story here in the Tenderloin)

Today, C. needs hip replacement surgery related to that injury that led to homelessness…and now, CAN’T have the surgery until she has a place to live.  (WHAT?  Yep…she can’t have surgery and be released to the streets….and is still on the streets unable to work because she needs the surgery)

So, C does everything the system asks. Dots her I’s and everything else in sight….and K gets an apartment in a few weeks. 

I am so grateful that K is no longer on the streets. SO hopeful that having stable housing will be the key that opens the door to healing of trauma, recovery of identity, and a new vision for life that includes good things like work and stable relationships.  This is so GOOD.

AND, another part of my mind is screaming; “IT’S NOT FAIR!” C should have a place to live!  C should have gotten housing first.

I talked to Father about it. Here are some thoughts from that conversation:

            *the world lives with a mindset of scarcity and Law

            * The world acts based on the belief that there isn’t enough, and we need to work hard because we get what we deserve

            * God doesn’t give us what we deserve. It’s called Grace…

·      Grace isn’t fair

o   God isn’t fair…and it’s not just about getting into heaven “free of charge” without having to earn any status as His Children

o   God loves K and loves C.  And, what happened isn’t fair.

o   But God IS good.

God is good. I don’t believe for one moment that we should nod sagely and mumble, “It’s God’s will that Carmen is homeless…He will be glorified through it…just wait…”

I reject the lie that God “wills” pain and evil to happen so that He can accomplish some bigger plan.  Or, that He arbitrarily dispenses good things to some and leaves others in the lurch…

I feel so happy and so sad. I can’t fix the system that left C homeless, broke, and sick after a lifetime of hard work and responsibility.  I can’t fix the system that ignored K – a 10 year-old runaway from a sexually abusive home…and failed to protect her at almost every level.

It isn’t helpful for me to ask “why” K got housing and C  - whose immediate need is more critical – is still homeless.  I suppose any answer to “why” is too massive…touching on greed, sin, economic power, corruption and human failure to care.

I’m left with the freeing, hopeful good news that God isn’t fair. We don’t need to fear because He isn’t keeping score.  But God is good. Absolutely good.  And that Truth  is hope.

In the hallways of San Francisco General Hospital: (or) I don't do blood very well....

Love to you all from the Tenderloin!  It’s the 7^th anniversary of Because Justice Matters.  I’m in Redding hanging out with my BF MaryBeth and my BJM sisters are having brunch (of course) back in San Francisco. Sisters, forever!

A friend posted a pic of a medical provider with the caption, “I’m a nurse. Obliged to provide top-notch care and comfort – even to people with freaking swastikas tattooed on their flesh.  If I can take care of Nazi sympathizers, they can serve pizza to gay people.”

Yesterday with a friend at San Francisco General Hospital. Whoa! This is what healthcare looks like for the urban poor....In the hallways. HALLWAYS, mind you… I saw medical procedures being done. Discussions of confidential information with patients.

Nurses and Docs treating angry, confused drunk people (overheard said to thrashing, confused guy by kind resident with a smile: "It's okay, we're just getting some fluid into you beside beer"), mentally ill people (one screamed over and over and OVER "I'm going to a better place" until another patient muttered, 'You could go there now...'  have to admit, she was saying what I was too “nice” to say….)

Disturbing, sexually inappropriate, bad-smelling men from the streets. "Failed" suicide attempts with blood everywhere (evidently, I don’t do blood well…felt kinda queasy). Sirens outside followed by yelling. Nurse said it was a really bad car accident. Some guy with a truly amazing vocabulary of profanity who threatened people and had to have a police officer standing by.

I had one of my “Jesus, here we are” moments. Part of me wanted to leave and take a walk in the park.  Any park. Part of me wanted to start down the crowded, noisy hallway, going bed to bed. Smiling. Touching gently. Praying. Saying, “Jesus is here. You aren’t invisible.”  Sometimes I laugh at the weird places where I suddenly feel at home (except for the blood…ick)

Had a momentary flash of that unsmiling security guard escorting me from the building and me having to leave my friend mid-x-ray…so I didn’t cross the chicken line.  Wondering if I should go back.  My beautiful Jesus could clear that ER and send everyone home healed. Am I brave enough to do what I see my Father in heaven doing?

But, this brings me to the actual purpose of telling this story. The nurse and the ‘freaking swastikas’….

In the 4+ hours I spent there, never, not once, did I hear anyone ask a patient, "Are you gay?... Are you divorced?... Put on this hajib or I won’t help you.”

I didn't even hear anybody say, "Are you Christian? Because I'm gay and I don't like the way your people treat me."

Now, maybe I know some “Indiana-type sympathizers” who don’t want to be forced to do things they believe support lifestyles with which they disagree (translate: don’t want to bake wedding cakes for gay weddings or be a real estate agent for gay couples looking for houses).  I don’t know…

And, I must acknowledge that a Michigan pediatrician refused to act as primary care doctor for a newborn patient when she realized the baby’s parents were two women.  And, I am in the “affirming” camp just so you don’t think I’m somebody I’m not.   But…

These two stories feel important to me. 

Recently I asked some 20 and 30 something young women…smart, very well educated, compassionate, aware….why they rejected Christianity.  Here are (in my words) their reasons: the cruel, intentionally rejecting way they saw Christians treat gay people, Christians who reject science because they “don’t believe in global warming” and don’t have a clue why.  Misogyny in the church (all men all the time). And, Christians blaming women for “dressing immodestly” instead of teaching men to keep their eyes and hands to themselves.  (A couple mentions of the Duggers being “bat shit crazy”….but that was sort of comic relief….)

The witness of Jesus is harmed by Christians who appear to be more concerned about the gay couple down the block who want to be married than they are about the homeless mom and kids sleeping on the street or the working poor who must choose between paying bills and buying medication.

I’m gonna scrounge around and see if I still have my What Would Jesus Do bracelet…