Monday, November 21, 2005

Jesus...



I wonder what Jesus thinks of this?

WHAT GRIEVES MY HEART

What Grieves My Heart

The more time I spend in new environments in this Bay Area the more I notice things that grieve my heart. I see things that I believe would make the Father sad wherever I go. I see poverty and homelessness, addiction and hopelessness. Actually, hopelessness and despair exist throughout this land, with the rich and poor and the in between. You’ve got your drugs and alcohol. You’ve got your couples with failing marriages. You’ve got single Moms and wayward Dads. You’ve got Moms cheating on husbands. You’ve got the lifeless people, looking good on the outside but dead on the inside, working 9 to 5 or maybe 5 to 9. You’ve got women paralyzed by fear they are not pretty enough. You’ve got men in San Quentin praying for parole. You’ve got men on the streets addicted to speed realizing their Father doesn’t know how to love them.

But there is one thing that I just can’t get over…the kids. As I write this I see two youngsters being held by their Dad as he yells at them for being too loud. The boy begins to cry. Two of the most amazing young teenage women I know do not have Fathers living with them. One of them has not had a Father for most of her young life. I spoke with a young mother the other day who could not get her baby to stop crying. Moments later I saw her sitting with a man outside, both of them puffing smoke into the stroller. I watched the baby breathe the air, not knowing what was happening. I found out later the mother is mentally ill.

Through Isaiah over and over I read about the orphan that is not being cared for. The City of Jerusalem has forgotten the orphan, and God is not pleased, to say the least.

The children…they can’t defend themselves. They can’t teach themselves. They can’t help themselves. Who will be their advocate? Who will be their friend?

Saturday, November 19, 2005

THE MAN

THE MAN

The man is funny.
He says things that will make you laugh.
The man is sweaty.
He appears to have been in the heat for some time.
The man is scary.
He makes young ladies with Bibles walk away.
The man is loud.
He does not seem to remember traditional social norms.
The man is happy.
He remembers the woman who appreciated his presence.
The man is sad.
He believes that he will soon die.
The man is drunk.
He lives on beer, which he pays for by asking for money on street corners.
The man is friendly.
He quickly smiles at the people he meets.
The man is sleepy.
He throws himself onto a couch and instantly falls asleep.
The man is addicted.
He begins to sober up and asks me for a dollar.
The man is willing.
He throws his can to the curb to gain entry to the room.
The man is able.
He helps us arrange groceries to give to the community.
The man is gone.
He can’t stay in the room with the friends and the food…
It is time for more beer.

Friday, November 11, 2005

Urine on my shoe

I was in SF the other day having a conversation with a man who is addicted to speed. He has been living on the streets for several years now, and during those years his record for staying off speed is 10 months. He started doing it after his girlfriend left him. He was devastated and moved into a "speed house", and the rest is history. The striking thing about this man is that he seems to have so much going for him...good looking guy, clean cut, articulate, intelligent. He was studing art and photography at a well known school. At this point he seems to be enslaved and stuck in an endless nightmare. He speaks of the pain that devastates him each and every day.
While I was listening to his story, an elderly lady appeared, hunched over with a walker and a small white dog on a leash, shuffling along. She stopped about fifteen feet away from the line, the line to sign up to receive a box of groceries on this Monday morning. She asked if she was at the end of the line. As she was obviously not anywhere near the line, several people motioned to her to move towards the actual line. The bearded man who claims that the system is designed to control people like himself who are on medication quickly helped her find her place. He showed a sincerity in his assistance of the woman that struck me. It was as if he genuinely cared for her and didn't mind taking a small piece of his day to help her however he could. He actually really wanted to help her. Just then as my new friend who is addicted to speed was continuing his amazing life story, the elderly lady's dog approached me. I continued to listen, yearning to communicate with my body and face that I truly do care about this story, but then something happened. I first realized it when my friend Mark looked at me and seemed to be holding back a smile or laugh. This was odd because we were in the middle of an intense conversation, and Mark is not the type of person to be distracted and laugh at an inappropriate moment. I suddenly realized...the dog was urinating on my shoes. My only pair of black shoes...the shoes I usually wear into the City. I really like those shoes, and since I had taken a vow to not buy myself any clothes for a year, this wasn't what I was hoping to see as I looked down towards the ground. However, at the same time, I realized how unconsequential my shoes really are. Here is a man tormented by his addictions, struggling with his relationship with his father, holding onto a dream of publishing photographs, living on the streets of San Francisco.

"May your Kingdom come, on earth, as it is in Heaven."