To Walk the Brick Streets Part 4

I had no idea what I would say to the woman as I exited the Max, but I tried to keep my eyes on her, trying to figure out someway I could naturally talk with her. I saw her approach one of the men on the corner asking for directions. He didn't seem to be helpful.

"What are you looking for?" I piped up. I don't know downtown Portland hardly at all direction wise. Smile.

"W. Street?"

"I don't know where that's at. I'm sorry." Wow, danae. That was successful. I'm pretty sarcastic with myself sometimes. Well, she walked off and because I didn't feel like I could follow her without seeming like a stalker, I tried to navigate my way to where I thought Janeen would be.

The day was eerie. The sky was covered in white cloud, making the city feel grey and only half-alive. I watched people going this way and that. There were couples together, holding hands, not looking into my eyes as I passed them but staring straight ahead. Everyone seemed to be going somewhere and nowhere at the same time.

And as I trekked the streets, trying to find the seal water fountains that Bethany and I been next to when we prayed for Janeen, a man, probably in his twenties, came up to me, wearing dark colored, worn clothing.

"Ma'am? Can you spare some change? I've talked with 40 people today and only got 50 cents. I'm trying to raise money for my girlfriend for her birthday to send her to California to see her kids. Please? Can you help me?"

And his story was good and sad, and I reached out my empty hand. "I'm sorry, I can't help you, but what's your name?"

"Wesley."

"I'm danae. Nice to meet you, Wesley." And we shook hands.

And he walked right on past me in a daze. "It's for her birthday."

Oh Wesley. Jesus loves you. I wish I would have told you that. I don't know. Maybe you wouldn't have remembered it the next day. Maybe you were on drugs. I'm pretty naive when it comes to things like that sometimes. But Wesley? Jesus wants you to be His son, and I am praying for you, that He will send someone else to come find you and love you and point you to His cross. I'd really like to meet you in Heaven someday, friend. You are a person, sir, and so valuable in His sight. Please, Jesus, please take care of Wesley tonight.

James asked me for money too. He was an older man, and I did the same thing. Outstretched hand. Shook his hand. I wanted to show him that he is a person. He might be homeless. He's still a person.

Well, considering my talent in navigating myself in such a way that sends me in circles (aka my lack of navigational talent), I ended up passing a random side street and saw the same girl that I saw in the max headed toward a bus stop. Well, without planning out what I would say or what I'd do, I followed her. I figured that since God put her in my path again, maybe it was on purpose?

She set her duffle bag down and sat on it as she waited for her bus. And . . . well, . . . let's just say I wasn't super graceful, but I came up to her and tried talking with her. I don't remember the conversation perfectly, but I think it began something like this:

"So you found it!"

"Oh hey! Yes, I did!"

"What's your name?"

"Raina."

"Hey Raina! I'm danae. Nice to meet you!"

And we talked for awhile. I learned that Raina's twenty-two, that she's just traveling while she's young, her life in a duffle bag I guess. She's a Christian, went to church earlier that morning. She just has no place to call home. She was in foster care but ended up with no family, no home base. Heart breaks for this and the broken foster care system that leaves kids orphans. Her plan is to just travel for awhile, eventually finding a place to settle down. She was fairly upbeat and kind, though she seemed kinda ready to get on the bus when it came and put some distance in between herself and the crazy danae-girl that followed her from the max. :/ :) But there was something about her. I think we would have been good friends. She looked like someone who totally could have just walked off Warner Pacific's college campus. She was just a normal girl in her twenties. Without a home. And maybe she was fine with that, but my prayers go out for her tonight, that Jesus would protect her from the life of the streets. That He would be a safe place for her and that He'd lead her to a place of rest, no more wanderings. Lord? Please be her home, but is it okay to ask that You would send her somewhere, to a place she can call home and be surrounded by people who love you and who would love her? Please, God?

She boarded bus 14, and it sped away away. I was left alone, standing at an empty bus stop, wishing I could have given that girl my number or something, wishing I had a home I could invite her to come in and rest. She's in Jesus' hands now.

I turned back from where I had come, my eyes still open for that girl with the blood clot and the small brown pony-tail. Janeen . . .

To Be Continued. :)

To Walk the Brick Streets Part 3

It was on Friday that I met Janeen, and her broken heart had left burn marks on my heart. I couldn't shake the memory. I couldn't shake her tears and how real they felt. Not concocted. Pure brokenness and starvation for something she had been deprived of for a long time . . . love.

I wanted to go back.

Really badly.

I wanted her to know that when I said she was valuable and when I said we cared, I meant it. I didn't want to be another person who handed her Jesus' name and then ran away, not really caring what would happen to her the next day. And I was worried about the clot in her leg.

I worked on homework that Saturday. It was hard to concentrate. I could hear her words, over and over again.

The clock ticked slowly and finally Sunday came. I wanted to do something.

But my heart was oh so inverted.

Janeen was in distress, and she needed saving, and if no one else was doing it, why not me?

And I lost sight of Jesus.

Well, I sure wasn't wanting to, but my desperation to help save her was very much rooted out of a belief that was wrong. That I could save her. I could not and cannot. I can love though, with Jesus' love, and I hope and pray that Jesus used my rashness and my silly, broken heart to still love . . . even though the mission I took that Sunday was probably pretty foolish.

It took me a long time to figure out whether or not I should go downtown that Sunday. I really wanted to though. Really badly. I looked online for some info about blood clots and the nearest homeless shelters. I tried to be smart (some would debate this . . . haha) and didn't take a purse, just carried very few belongings with me that could fit in my pocket, including my little canister of pepper spray. (: I grabbed the change I needed and decided to just do it alone. Bethany was doing things with her church, and like I said before, I was pretty antsy. I sped walked to the Max station around 6:30pm, heart beating. Praying for little signs on the way but not really paying attention to them.

As I pressed the buttons of the ticket machine, trying to get what I needed, a man came by and handed me his ticket, "Here, it still has about 2 hours on it." And with that, he sped off. I wasn't sure what I should do, but I grabbed it and hoped I wouldn't get fined. I moved pretty fast to the max stop, where I saw an older woman. That made me feel so much better. Honestly, I was scared.

I don't know that I have ever been so scared.

And not that the fear was something rational (though it might have been rational that I was afraid. haha). For instance, I wasn't afraid of a specific thing happening. I just felt fear.

But finally a train came, and I walked on. I grabbed onto a pole, smiling at a cute little boy riding with his daddy. The max train made several stops. On one of them, a girl came on who looked about my age. She carried a big duffel bag. She was dressed in lots of color like an ordinary college student, and I caught her eyes a few times and smiled. She smiled back, as if we could have been friends. My mind was filled with so many questions. Is she running away? Should I talk to her? How should I talk to her? What should I say? What if she's in trouble? 

And as I continued riding, I tried to figure out what I could do or say. And finally, the Max hit another stop, and she walked off. I knew a few more stops down might take me closer to where I was hoping to find Janeen, but because I recognized the name of the street and because my friend was making her exit, I stepped off the max train, waiting for any opportunity . . .

To be Continued

To Walk the Brick Streets Part 2

As Bethany and I approached the girl with the sign, we saw her more clearly. She saw (is) a small, young woman (probably in her early twenties) with brown curly hair, pulled back in a ponytail, very thin. We slowly walked up to her and introduced ourselves and shook her hand. Her name is Janeen. I can't get her out of my heart. Not that I'm trying . . . I don't want to forget her.

I don't remember the exact words of our conversation or the order of what all was said, but roughly, it went like this.

"Wow, Janeen. You are so brave. It takes a lot of guts to hold that sign out there."

"Yeah, I'm just doing what I have to. I bet you girls would do the same thing.

I'm just trying to get $10. Just being honest, guys, I'm an alcoholic, and I just need to get a beer tonight or else in the morning, I'll get shakes. And I need some tobacco too. Just to be honest here."

"I bet it's hard, Janeen."

"Yeah. I have a blood clot in my leg, and so my shoes are pretty uncomfortable."

"Oh goodness, lady! Is there something you can do for it? Put ice on it or anything?"

"Not really. Ice doesn't really work with a blood clot."

"Ah, I'm sorry. Janeen, do you have any family around? How long have you been in Portland?"

"I've been here about three months. Nope. I really don't have a home or any friends or family, just my homeless friends. It gets lonely."

"I bet. Where do you stay at night, Janeen?"


"Under the bridge. Thankfully, the weather hasn't been too bad lately. Hasn't rained, but when it does, your sleeping back gets so wet. And you don't know until the morning when it's soaked."

And I don't know exactly what built up to this. I call it Jesus moving us. He knows the right words to break us enough to love us, but we told her:

"Janeen, you are so valuable. You really are."

And her beautiful brown eyes filled.

"Can I give you a hug?"

And I held her for just awhile as she cried. Oh what world is this that people don't understand how valuable and loved they are by God? What world is this?

"Thank you so much," and her tears kept falling.

And a lady came by and gave her a few dollars, and asked her what was wrong, and she said that she was nervous.

"I've just never had someone care."

"Oh Janeen, we love Jesus, and we believe that He loves you so much, even when it doesn't feel like it, and it's okay to say that."

And the tears fell and fell, and my tears fell too. This blog doesn't come close to the power of that moment. I don't know if I've ever had someone respond so in such away to the love of Jesus.

I asked her where she normally stayed during the day, and she said that she was normally either right there or by Safeway, where there's a lot of people.

"Janeen, we're busy college students, and I can't promise you anything, but I really, really hope I can come back and see you sometime!"

We held her again. We left.

Tears in my eyes. Tears still in hers.

And Bethany and I walked off and begged God to love on her, to take care of her. We asked that He'd send others to love her, that He'd bring us back if we could.

And we left. But she never left from my heart. She was and is so real, such a person. I am guilty of stereotyping the homeless as those who have bizarre stories and who just need cash for their guilty pleasures. But no. These people are real. They know what it means to feel and to hurt. They know what it feels like to be treated like DIRT. They are real people with Mama's and Daddy's, who maybe had first days in first grade and played on the monkey bars at recess. Or maybe their Mama's and Daddy's weren't there.  Maybe they've never had a real home cook meal or have never been given a big hug before going off to school. Maybe they had no friends in elementary school. I call Janeen my friend, and I hope beyond all hope that I see her again. I really, really do. But that hope leads me into another part of this story . . .

To Be Continued

To Walk the Brick Streets, Part 1

Revelations 21 talks about golden streets, and someday my feet will feel them, but until then, God has put me on brick paths and concrete sidewalks to prepare me for those golden walkways and to love, oh to love, those who are so lost on the broken roads.

This weekend was a crazy journey. I would like to say it was filled with courage, but it may be a little better categorized by a few measures of stupidity. ha! But, I don't want to forget what I learned this weekend about brick streets and hopelessness and what love does and what hope really is, and I need to share it to get it outside of myself. These next few posts may not be refined or fun to read. They might be way too long, way too detailed, but this is the story, and I want to remember it well.

The story starts Friday night. Friday was Junior Senior Banquet at my college, and because one of my roommates (Bethany) and I are only sophomores and weren't invited by any juniors or seniors, we weren't able to go. Honestly, I was perfectly fine with that. I was feeling pretty tired, but I am very much into spontaneous adventures, so doing something crazy was more in my line of fun than going to a banquet with dancing and possibly awkward moments (most likely awkward moments . . . after all, I'm danae. ha!). Now every fourth Friday, the Portland Art Museum has free admission, and I was wanting to go again, so I kinda randomly asked Bethany if she wanted to go ride the max and go to the Museum with me. Well, she was up for it, so we figured out what max we'd have to take, and we ate a quick bite and headed over to the max station. I had suggested we could dress up, kinda as a substitute for not being able to dress up for JSB, but Bethany made this really good point that she didn't feel good about dressing up when going downtown. With so many homeless people, it just didn't feel right to dress up while they had nothing. That was such a good point, and I am so glad we didn't. But that will make more sense later. We also decided that we wanted to do at least one thing for somebody, one act of love. We wanted to have a fun time, but we really wanted a meaningful time. So with that in mind, we headed off!

We speed walked to the 82nd max station after eating in our school's cafeteria. We were pretty afraid we missed our first train as we fumbled to get the right tickets, but thankfully, we were right on time to get on the right train. We sat up front and talked and talked about this school year, and I felt perfectly safe being with her and my yellow tube of pepper spray. (:

It was fun to see the city from the max. That was only the third time I've ridden on one I think? Finally, we made it to our stop, and thankfully, Bethany has good navigating skills, so we made it to the art museum in good time. Bethany has wonderful eyes for art, and she was able to appreciate each brush stroke on the paintings and helped me appreciate it even more. It is amazing how people can capture such color and beauty, a hint of God's glory?

Well, after the museum closed, we headed out. As we walked, an older homeless man asked us if we had any spare change. We said no and kept on walking. On the right, we spotted a young woman with a cardboard sign. I didn't catch the sign's words as we walked, but she caught our eyes as we walked past. Bethany and I had been discussing what we should do to love someone, and we were trying to keep our eyes open. After we passed her, we talked for a little bit. It just seemed right to go back and meet her. I've heard how powerful it is when you look into a homeless person's eyes and get to know their names because they're so used to being treated like trash. So, we backtracked and headed for the woman. Later, I saw her sign read something like: "I wouldn't be holding this stupid sign if I didn't need to. Anything helps."

To Be Continued.

He Pulls Me Back Up

Cut-throat honesty.

I don't like how many inches it takes for the measuring tape to wrap around my belly. I don't like how I easily let myself lose control, and I stuff things in my mouth because I'm bored or because I think I can control pleasure. Sometimes, the "littler" sins bear the biggest shame and the shame keeps me quiet and that keeps me chained.

But sometimes, I really do struggle with eating, with self-control. I'm a twenty year old, and I struggle with body image, and while I'm a lot more confident than many I know, I still struggle with the shadow in the mirror. I struggle with health and self-control.

But healthiness means this. I wipe the dust off my shoulders, and I stick that measuring tape back in the drawer. I tie on my tennis shoes and make a deal with my hands, my mouth, my eyes. It is not about restriction. It's about freedom. I am free to be healthy by the grace of God. I am free to exercise self-control. Freedom. I am free to be fully reliant on the real true God, Jesus, the One who cares about the simplest things, like what I put in my mouth and how often I get on the treadmill. Well, to be honest, those things probably aren't as important to Him as to why I'm putting the second cupcake in my mouth and why I force myself to spend hours in the gym per week. He sees the extremes. He loves me. He saves me.

The focus of the rest of tonight is healthiness. I have made several wrongs within today already, but the day is not over. Your day isn't either. :) I'm grabbing Your hands, Jesus. Thank You for pulling me back up. Let's win this! (:

Carrying My Candle

Considering I really don't have time to blog, it's time for another blog post. I have no idea why I'm so good at only blogging when I really have no time for it, but I guess ya just have to do what ya can. (: 

As I write this, I ask Jesus for words of healing. It's funny. When we need healing the most, sometimes, there really are no words. All we have is the Word. Come, Lord Jesus.

Tonight was the memorial service for a Multnomah graduate student. Jennica Kruse. I didn't know her, but I knew who she was, and I knew the familiar face of her husband, often smiling. Both of them smiled a lot. And then . . . she was gone. Had no idea about a brain tumor, just about the pain that sent them to the hospital the night before the morning that she walked through Heaven.

And it doesn't make sense. The honesty of that statement shatters me and helps me feel safe in the same moment. There are answers too big and complicated to understand. There are good answers. We just might not be strong enough to carry them right now as Corrie Ten Boom might say.

And I am quick to sympathize with those struggling. I am quick to enter into their struggles, into their not understanding, but in so doing, sometimes, I lose sight of what I know. That God is still in control. Oh poor world, those words seem cheap to you when you're aching sometimes, don't they? And to those who have sipped suffering and have felt the way it scalds are not the ones who need to hear those words. They need to feel them but not to hear them. But for me, the one who is only stepping onto the precipice of their pain and feeling, not it's full force but the retraction, I have no excuse to shy away from His sovereignty.

Faith may not be natural, but especially in these moments when the suffering hasn't directly affected me, am I practicing the art of protecting faith? Am I keeping it safe from the winds that would quench the tiny flickers of fire or am I letting it stand vulnerable, only for the purpose of trying to sympathize with others? I have to remember that silence might be the best way for me to love those who are directly suffering, to listen to their doubts and questions, the anger, and I believe God has called me to this and to His grace, because He sure knows I need it whenever I go through the waters. He's seen me angry in pain.

But what I'm learning is that, in helping carry my friends' burdens, I still need to carry my own faith. 

This might not make any sense at all. It could probably be very easily misunderstood, and if so, I'm very sorry. I'm trying to communicate something He's trying to show me.

Our God Reigns.

Still. And if you can't see that right now, dear one? That's okay. I will trust it for you . . . you can lean on me; I'll help carry you. I'll try my best to be silent, to simply listen to your bleeding, broken heart. It's okay if it's messy. It's okay if you don't understand or if you're angry. It's okay. I'll still be here. Only as God gives me the grace, I will try hard to be strong . . . lean on my strength. It's okay if you don't have enough of your own right now. I love you very much. One moment at a time. 

Near the Place of Stillness: Only in This Moment

The rain falls and Your grace mixes with it until I am soaked.

And it is when I rest in this moment, in this second, that I am given what I need to continue on. The strength meets me, the peace; it comes in this moment of stillness.

A still future is not what You promise me, is it?
But peace right now . . . this You give.

So, while the waves tower and crest and fall against the walls of my soul, please keep me near You, near the place of stillness.

The stillness and the knowing.

You are Healer, Provider, Joy-Giver.
Prince of Peace.

And You give in the moments just what I need.

Thank You.

*As I type, I listen to this song. May it bless you, friend, and help heal you like it does me as I sit inside, rain pouring gently on this quiet Wednesday.*