Staring at the blank page, the sense of unknown, I have no
idea what’s going to fill the white space.
It’s a quiet Sunday morning, actually it’s officially afternoon
now. The neighbors haven’t woken up yet
so their loud voices have yet to penetrate the relative stillness. Flies buzz around, what I would give for a
screen door. I found my self complaining
about the flies last night, at a get together with friends. Then it hit me, I went from living in a tent
and sleeping on ant infested floors, to a beautiful town home and I’m now
complaining about not having a screen door, ouch!
Even after 8 months off the World Race, I still feel pulled
between two worlds. I desire so much and
can’t have it all at once. My heart
longs for mission and adventure, and at the same time I know this is a season
of mission here, and finding the calling in my own neighborhood. Sometimes I think that I understand what God
is up to, how he is working, but at the moment I’m just confused.
My mind wonders back to one of my favorite Fill-A-Belly
nights, it makes me miss Peter, Nick, Ryan and Eric, all away on military
commitments. As usual, Molly had cooked
up a great meal, which we portioned out and loaded into a back pack. We all circled up in the living room, grabbed
hands and spent some time praying for each other and for the homeless guys we
would come into contact with.
The walk along the ocean to downtown Carlsbad was beautiful. We all talked and laughed, and got to
know each other on a deeper level.
Something about the sun setting, doing ministry with friends, and being
together in real community satisfied my heart.
Once in town, we searched the streets, looking for our
friends. In order to avoid loitering
charges they have to move every hour or two.
Finally we saw them, exchanged hugs and passed out the meals.
I had seen Gary
(name changed) before but never spent time conversing with him. He had deep set brown eyes with grief lines
etching around them, but his smile when offered lit up his face. While digging into his biscuits and gravy Gary begin to talk, with
the thirst of a man who had not been heard in a very, very long time.
“You know, I haven’t been like this forever. I once had a home, we, had a beautiful
home. I owned a business as well, fixin’
people’s showers and stuff like that. It
was good then. We had it good before she
got sick. I took care of the business,
she took care the kids. They were hers
from a different marriage, but I loved them like my own. Then she got sick.”
“She was at the hospital, even there she was beautiful. I took the kids in to see her, but sometimes
they wouldn’t let the kids visit. So I
snuck them in, put them under the dining cart, they were mighty small and could
curl up and fit. She always got a kick
out of seeing the kids.”
“All our money went to hospital bills, I tried to keep
working but couldn’t keep up. Finally
they told me she was going to die. I
wanted it to be me. After she died
everything was a mess. I gave the house
to the kids, the business had gone bankrupt and so I left.”
“A few months later enough was enough, so I drunk an entire
bottle of bleach. Thought that would do
the trick. Instead I woke up in the
hospital with them telling me that I shouldn’t be alive but for some reason I
was. Figured something was keeping me
alive, so I stopped trying to end it.”
“Since then I’ve been wondering, living out here with these
guys. I’ve gotten my self some pretty
good set up’s, once I stayed near a dumpster where a carpet store threw out all
their old carpet. I got fresh carpeting
to sleep on every week, that was nice.”
“I know it sounds cliché but what I want more than anything
is a home, a place to put my head for more then one night. A real
pillow. I want to stop hiding my stuff in trees
hoping it won’t get stolen. I had a
bottle of ketchup the other day, I hid it but some one came by and took
it. I heard that my daughter was trying
to get back in touch with me. I might
call her. I’m starting to work again,
maybe it’s time to rejoin society, but I don’t know if I can make it now.”
All too soon our conversation ended, the twilight had faded
into darkness, and the evening turned cooler.
It was time to walk home. It was
hard to not be able to offer more then a warm meal and a listening ear. Despite that I believe that the act of truly
hearing one’s story is a gift of dignity.
