Perfectly-Timed Encouragement

I'm really bad at blogging consistently. No matter, I've been wanting to share a story from a week or so ago, and now that I'm sick it seems I have a perfect opportunity.

This summer's CityLights team visited the 'homeless park' in downtown STL and invited three new friends home for dinner. I'll confess that I don't remember all of their names, but one in particular was a voice of assurance I needed to hear.

After a large-group discussion, Carl walked up to me. He'd already shared that he was many years clean of heroin addiction and found it gut-wrenching to watch other guys shoot up around him in the park. We started to chat about homeless folks I've gotten to know a little, and I decided to follow his vulnerability and ask the question I've been craving an answer to.

See, in my part of town, I don't encounter a lot of homeless folks in the park or walking down the sidewalk like in other areas of the city. Around here, I mostly only get to see folks for 30 seconds at a stoplight. The cast of characters changes regularly, which is already difficult for me because it's so hard to get to know any of them. But recently, my supply of mini-toiletries, snacks, and bus passes has run dry.

I hate, and I mean that, seeing someone with a "homeless: please help" sign and just driving past. I feel like I'm piling onto the thousands of messages these folks receive every day that they are worthless. I hate it. Many of these men and women are veterans or medical patients who can't afford things like cancer treatment. Many are already estranged from their families for being a drain. So when day after day, "productive" citizens scowl at, step around, or turn their faces from those who are most in need, they hear, "You have no value." I don't want to pass that message to anybody. Yet when I have nothing to offer, I don't know what to do.

Enter Carl.

I ask, "I don't want to ask you to be spokesman for 'the homeless,' but what do you think I should do? Would you appreciate someone just offering you encouraging words and prayer?"

"You say you have nothing to offer us," Carl replied, "but have you forgotten that prayer is the most powerful help you can offer? I've had people hand me everything you can think of out the car window--half-eaten sandwiches, even cans of beer. But let me tell you about the moment that's stayed with me the most out of all the time I've spend with my sign on a corner."

It seems a woman had pulled up beside him, rolled down her window, and said, "I don't have anything to give you, but I want you to know that God will see you, and I will remember you in my prayers."

He told me he thinks of her almost daily. "Ya know, the food and all that--that doesn't stay with you. What stays with you is knowing you're not alone; you're not nothing."

And then he spoke like he knew exactly what I needed to hear. He challenged me to be willing to feel rejected if every person I roll down the window for isn't thrilled to hear from me. He challenged me to make that sacrifice for the ones like him who would get through their days, maybe weeks, maybe months, on a few encouraging words. 

God's blessing to me was seeing Scott, a homeless vet I'd spoken to once before, the first time I took Carl's advice.

When I yelled out, "Sir, is your name Scott?" a vulnerability and joy washed over his face like I could never have imagined. He remembered me too, and we chatted until he told me my light was green and I needed to go. I called out, "I still pray for God to provide for you, Scott!" and he just grinned back.

Man, I loved that smile.

Meeting Men

My dear friend Megan has told me I should start writing down stories of what God's teaching me about serving His people. "How ironic," I thought the first time she mentioned the idea, "that I started a blog exactly for that purpose."

A year after my last post, I'm going to give it a try. And I won't write just because I'm supposed to, because it's a good idea to note experiences lest I forget them; that's never motivated me to journal before. No, this is my tiny attempt to acknowledge, (honestly but without having to get too personal), that God is at work in St. Louis, and that even when He's not showing me ultimate solutions to hardship and brokenness and poverty, He's always teaching me something. 

Yesterday I met two men. Both claimed to be homeless; at least one actually was. Lamar I met first. 

"Excuse me ma'am, I hate to bother you, but I'm trying to get bus fare and I was just wondering if you could spare anything to help me out."

His shirt looks a little damp, having stood longer in the sprinkling rain than I.

"I'm not one of those bad guys you see out here..." His voice trails off as he half-heartedly holds out a newsprint magazine page with inch-tall headshots of who-knows who. "This is me." He lifts a finger toward one square. "I'm just trying to get myself together."

We talk for a moment longer, exchange names, and I decide to give him what little change I have. To be honest, I'm never really sure when it's right to give money instead of buying food or just continuing conversation. I try to say a quick prayer for wisdom about what would be most serving to the individual. But when I'm not sure, I usually err on the side of, "Give to everyone who asks you" (Luke 6:30). Anyway, I hand it to him with well-wishes of getting where he's going safely.

I walk away, slowly realizing how desperately Lamar clung to the idea of a positive identity.

I often wish after these conversations that I'd been brave enough to say more. 

Down the block, I pull the car over to fill my gas tank, and when I step out, I hear a voice coming from the other end of the pump. 

"Hello ma'am, how are ya, would I be able to pump your gas for you or maybe wash your windows or really anything to help cuz I'm homeless and it's raining and I don't know how I'm gonna get to a shelter." Like so many homeless folks, he rushes to say as much as he can before backs are turned. 

Holding out my hand, I introduce myself. "And what's your name, sir?"

"I'm Keith. Glad to meet you, Julie. And like I said, anything I can do to help, I just don't know how else to get where I'm going."

Feeling inadequate, I tell him honestly, "I only had a few coins, but I gave them to a guy I just met down the street named Lamar."

"Damnit, Lamar," he exhales. But I continue.

"How long have you been out here, Keith?"

"About six months now. I walk down to that unemployment office a few times a week to get on the computer and look for jobs, but there's just nothin."

"I'm really sorry I don't have anything to offer you. Except...if it's okay with you, I can remember you in my prayers." To be honest again, I still always feel a little sheepish when offering prayer, as if even though I know its power, I still doubt whether it's received as sincere.

Keith answers, "You know, Julie, I would really appreciate that. It feels like God's not there when you call, but I know He's there when you need Him..."

Now a guy about my age walks over and hands Keith a bag of sunflower seeds. "These are for you man. I just bought them." Keith thanks the guy sincerely, but when the car door shuts, he looks at me and says, "It's the same price--why didn't he just get me a hotdog?"

"He's trying," I offer.

"You're right. You're right."

Himself sheepish this time, he asks, "Can I pump your gas for you anyway?" I protest that he shouldn't waste his time on me, since I can't help with bus fare.

"Please allow me. If I can do something to help someone it makes me feel...like I still matter."

I nod for him to go ahead. He stops the pump at exactly the amount I asked. I shake his hand and say goodbye to him by name, as he does the same for me. As I climb into my car, the police officer who has observed our entire exchange from a nearby squad car slowly pulls away, and I notice a puzzled kind of look on her face.

The scent of being long without a shower stays on my right hand as I drive home. I think of Keith sleeping on the stone steps of a nearby church every night it's not raining. I think of him walking all night under storefront overhangs when it storms and he can't get to a shelter. I think of what it must be like to feel completely worthless, and to have people reinforce your insignificance all day long. I thank God that He's helping me and people like the sunflower-seed-guy start to notice those we'd normally overlook or, worse, avoid. 

Please pray for Lamar and Keith to know God's provision, and to deeply trust His opinion of their great value. 

The Sprouts

My first grade class is called "the Sprouts." (We were SUPPOSED to be "the Brussels Sprouts" but everyone made fun of me when I said the first word had an 's' at the end...) My co-teacher and I have 12 students and one tutor per student. I have no idea how one teacher and one aide could ever teach a class on their own. My kids were pretty well behaved and I still realized how much I needed to rely on the help of others. 

The tutors are mostly high school students from South Carolina (I think). They did a great job today of helping the students but not giving them the answers. They were really encouraging of the kids, too. 

I have the afternoon off for planning, and Tuesday and Thursday I'll be teaching Art in the afternoons. I got to be a part of the worship team today, so I sang along with the praise band, taught the kids a song, and got to pray for the day at the end. If you don't know, singing in public is normally out of my comfort zone. Doing anything in front of a group is WAY  outside my comfort zone. But today was really fun, and I'm excited to keep leading the kids in worship. God is really amazing with answering prayers for safety, strength, energy, excitement, love, and He definitely came through again in my nervousness about today. 

During math time, I walked over to one child to see how he was doing, and he got a big grin on his face and said to me, "I love this class!" I have no idea what I'm doing. God is so good.

Moving to Etzel

This past week, all of the interns got to move into homes on Etzel, a street in Wellston that several families from New City Fellowship have made home. Wellston is the poorest zip code in Missouri, with 94% of its residents living below the federal poverty line, and many living on half that amount. Most kids there are raised by a single working mom, and many are reared by their grandmother. It's a rough area (although the street we were on is sort of a bubble of low violence) where most young children have known someone who was shot, and many have seen someone be shot. These kids (and their families) deal with things nobody should have to face, and this week gave us a chance to look at their lives from an eyes-open perspective. 

Two other interns and I lived with the Patrick family, two beautiful children with a White dad and a Kenyan mother. They were so good and kind and welcoming to us that it almost didn't even feel like we were on Etzel. We were there, but we were still sheltered. I am so thankful for the time and laughter and wisdom that was shared. I do wish, though, that there had been more time somehow to immerse ourselves in the neighborhood. I think I'll get that opportunity more as the summer progresses, through using free times to play with the kids we've made friends with or doing simple projects to clean up the area. Now, though, I am stunned at my own ignorance to what life is like for so many. 

Half of the intern team ran a backyard Bible club this week for kids from the neighborhood. They were precious and loving and eager to participate. I met many who will be in my class for tutoring starting on Monday. The other half of the team went to play with Somali refugee children living around the block, and they were equally wonderful. But on Wednesday night, 15-20 rounds were fired right next to the Somali village, and both teams had to gather the kids against the nearest brick wall to wait for safety. The team with the Somali's could have been in grave danger; several were right next to a vehicle that had its windows shot out. But God protected all the team members as well as the children with them. My team was never immediately threatened, but it still gave us all a small taste of what is normal life for these small people. 

We called the police and waited for response before releasing the kids. I think a patrol car might have driven past about 20 minutes later. I'm not certain. 

The concern and desire to protect these children I'd know for 3 days astonished me. I struggle to imagine the panic parents in this area must feel when they let their kids step outside every day. Every goodbye must be almost unbearable for them. Yet life continues. Please pray for the safety of the Etzel and Hodiamont (refugee area) children.

more to come...

First Steps

I've made it through the first two weeks of the internship and arrived at my very first free time. Saturdays we have off, and today has been a wonderful chance to rest. Averaging five-six hours of sleep a night and running all day has been draining, but I've had extra energy that I know isn't coming from me. Today we left our host family for the past week, who I'll blog about later, after Rachel made us fresh fruit smoothies (yum!). I've gotten to spend time with a close friend today and enjoy the warm weather and the quirky Loop shops. I got to have some quiet time to myself. I feel refreshed.

There's so much to share from the last two weeks that I'm not sure where to start. I guess I'll begin with team training/tutoring prep to provide a glimpse into the majority of my time here so far. My first week here was focused on getting the know the team, growing to love this city, and exploring topics of social justice around the world. We did fun things like go to Shakespeare in the Park, see a play about Afghani refugees, eat local food, visit a circus, watch a documentary about the American Civil Rights movement, watch a film about life for women under the Taliban, and have a 'Retreat of Silence' (aka extended individual prayer/Bible study time) in a beautiful garden in the middle of an inner-city neighborhood. Many of those things will hopefully be the topics of individual posts. For now, we had lot of information smack us all at once. Some of it was enjoyable. Some of it was painful. All of it was informative. 

The time we weren't doing those things was filled with culture-training of sorts, including discussion of cultural lenses and how to lovingly interact with people who see things differently than we do, as well as get-to-know-you time with the intern team. I feel blessed to be getting to know the other people here. They are all fun and unique and God is really creating a safe and open community in our midst. I've already talked with two other women who are planning to move to St. Louis permanently after this summer, and one is looking for roommates! :)

Anyway, the first week was a total whirlwind of information and emotions and learning about God's heart for the poor and oppressed. I feel so at home here that I can ask hard questions and wrestle with things we discuss without any fear of judgment. In fact, lots of people have had the same questions I have. We are searching for answers together. 

**Hi, Barb!**