Christmas Love

I have been given significant gifts of relationship for Christmas this year 

gifts my heart doesn't quite know what to do with

how to comprehend, or even write down

how to receive and respond

to the moments of being so overwhelmed by the extravagant love of another

The sacredness...

 " I love you" being spoken 

cherished kisses on the cheek

eyes filling with tears

arms open to embracing

rich generosity of words

handmade gifts offering to me a story

belonging in such a precious community

I am so humbled by the huge capacity for love I see and experience on the street

people of great bravery who love through much pain and hardship

Please pray this Christmas for my dear friends.

Those who battle addictions, homelessness, abuse, 

prostitution, low self worth, trauma, painful realities, 

difficult memories and loneliness.

May they discover the gift and presence of Jesus Christ

and find themselves in community with others.

Sitting in a wordless moment

Her face is stoic

hard and firm

tiny indent marks of pursed lips

chapped and dry

wide eyes black lined

hair pulled up tightly.

Back against the wall

legs slung criss crossing

she freezes a weary glance

fatigue 

we sit side by side

staring ahead of us.

I am given a window into her mind and her heart

as she speaks

with no real attempt at conversation

more the overheard musings, heartaches, and thoughts of a read aloud diary entry.

Trauma's of abuse

molested as a little girl

grieving the losses of many

homeless and lonely

raped and violated

shame in being known

fear in being seen.

She moves through the details, memories, and descriptions of her story 

struggling to keep composure in her reality

face quietly wilting

rolling tear drops

lips trembling

giving into the sorrow.

We sit in silence

she heaves a sigh of defeat

two strangers now connected 

sitting in a wordless moment.

Somewhere to call " home"

Grinning ear to ear

eyes sparkling and full of giddiness

they practically burst

my anticipation builds

the secret dangles lightly in front of me

with joyful eruption

the news tumbles out in excited sputters and squeals.

" We finally got a place"

they sit back with gleeful expressions 

taking delight in my reaction

I am stunned, unable to form words

so instead we cheer together 

celebrating with hugs and laughter 

I stand thrilled listening to new found discoveries, watching their faces light up

buying soap and shampoo for their very own shower

having somewhere to call " home" instead of "campsite"

"Do you think that could have been God?"

Carrying home upon his back

everything strapped and secured

declaring himself a free spirit

a lone adventurer

With wind pulling apart long wavy hair

 eyes of deep blue crinkled at the edges

he story tells, reflects, and shares life

We speak of faith, God, doubts, experiences

 voices of skepticism, mistrust,uncertainty

words begin to mismatch face

with a pause he leans forward

Questioning me if secret telling would be okay

the refuge of a cathedral is spoken of

the seeking of peace away from the chaos

face full of wonder, beauty and bashful excitement

He shares the mysterious invisible presence that sits beside him

suddenly he is not alone, and it feels good to be with

safe, comforting, wonderful

A smile creeps across his face as the moment is recounted

"Do you think that could have been God?" 

Arms,kisses,words,eyes,presence...of Jesus.

Small slightly tucked forward

bent knees, little steps

fingers intertwined together

working to manage constant shaking

eyes drooped she searches faces

with cane clutched in one hand, cup in the other

she endures long days full of rejection,physical pain, and exhaustion

she offers her heart, unconditional friendship  

pouring words of extravagant delight and affirmation 

Her life is simple, profound and powerful

The light, the comfort, the love that expresses itself in pure frailty is beauty

difficult to process, a mystery to behold, forever pointing me to the face of Jesus

I have never left this woman without sensing

the arms of Jesus  somehow holding me

the kisses of Jesus  somehow upon my cheek

the words of Jesus somehow warming and overwhelming my heart

the eyes of Jesus  somehow looking at me declaring me beautiful and special

the presence of Jesus with me holding my hands on a subway ride

" This precious treasure- this Light and power that now shines within us- is held in a perishable container, that is in our weak bodies. Everyone can see that the glorious power within us must be from God and is not our own."

2 Corinthians 4:7

He sees the oppression, the cries, the suffering...

"I have certainly seen the oppression of my people In Egypt

 I have heard their cries of distress yes, I am aware of their suffering

I have been watching closely

I am the Lord

I will free you from your oppression 

and rescue you from your slavery in Egypt

I will redeem you with a powerful arm

I will claim you as my own people, and I will be your God

Then you will know that I am the Lord

who has freed you from your oppression."
( pieces from Exodus)

I am comforted by the heart of God our father
it is timeless, consistent, faithful
his heart draws me to hope, to trust, to have faith

he sees the oppression of my friends on the street in Toronto
 trapped in the firm grips of addiction
bodies being used, mistreated, abused
tormented by mental illnesses
hearts wounded and torn up by grief
those forgotten, homeless, left alone
he hears their cries of distress, he is aware of their suffering
he watches closely
he is the Lord

I must cling to the father though my faith is weak and shallow
He longs to free my friends from their oppression
to rescue those in slavery of many kinds
to redeem with a powerful arm
 to claim each dear one as his own
 to show them he is the Lord

Your presence is essential.

Rage spits unfiltered

eyes brim with fire

harsh accusations condem

attacks upon identity

hatred flares up

ugly words released

lunging violently

threats yelled

degradation muttered 

separately they walk off 

Jesus your presence is so essential

You are Peace

You are Healing

You are Restoration

You are New Life

You are Hope

You are Redemption

You are Forgiveness

You are Reconciliation

The tiniest gate

Her usual stance is harsh and hardened
features full of a fiery irritation
eyes that skitter back and forth
a wall massive built high around her
speech steeped in sarcasm, doubt, discomfort
I approach with my guard up
prepared and ready
she stands defeated, shoulders slumped
eyes holding back tears, hurt
her wall for a moment seems to open the tiniest gate
her words share with vulnerability, shame, ugly reality
she allows for the moment to be truly seen
her act leaves
hurting heart, exposed
wordy confusion revealed
processing cycles and struggles
lost and answerless mindset

The aches of love

Rain pelts down, drenching pavement, pooling grass
inviting a certain cozy warmth heightening desire to hold hot coffee
mug between palms, snuggling up
suddenly the contentedness is replaced with chaos
the atmosphere changes
faces worried, scattered, anxious
there is an urgency
hearts drop as needs are communicated
troubling situations made known
responses come together
level of calmness must manifest as to settle others
eyes full of searching, gentle words bringing tears
hugs that sink in weakness
shattered worth of another
exhaustion defeating
pain, hurt, trauma coloring the moment
struggle aches each one who loves

Surreal survivors

Frayed, ripped jeans, knees clutched with arms to body

sitting, nearly being swallowed by hat and coat as she shivers

I ask to sit, barley hearing voice as it's spoken just above a whisper

 sweet, innocent face intently peering at mine as we speak

I learn her story as she shares carefully

 articulating very slowly, leading me to hang on her every word

with each sentence her chin quavers, allowing herself a fully honest moment

 to tear up and be openly sad

we sit together in the sad, in the alone feeling

for a heavy moment I get to experience life through her eyes

I see the boots and knees of those walking back and forth

I feel the isolation, an awareness of being invisible

depending on loose change and pity of the stranger

knowing a little bed in the dark alleyway awaits

uncertain of when life will begin to get better

:::

With eyes to glowing stones below our feet

we trek into the pitch darkness of the overpass

flashlight in hand calling out into the echo of spray painted concrete

Beholding our friends homes

gathered, collected,set up amongst the messy trash

Out of the stillness two heads pop up from a mattress

sleepy faces, big smiles, kind chatter

sitting up in bed ready to share a box of pizza

Those sweet and savory moments

Oh that sweetness of sharing a little round table with him

paint brushes in hand

little mugs of coffee

creating beauty across from one another.

Arms a smattering of tattoos

voice of honesty

heart soft and humble

eyes wet with tears,

such strength and endurance to survive.

Savor.

Crisp fall wind

her beauty

clutching a plastic bag of bread

ready to feed the birds.

Bundled up

tiny legs crossed in her wheelchair

open arms ready to hug and kiss my cheek

carrying warmth

Savor.

Eyes crinkled at the edges in sweet gazes

sharing joy sparking life

glances of endearment

thick stew.

Words softening hearts

hugs awakening love

sighs speaking of identity

Jesus chats over acrylics 

Savor.

Heads tilted together in giddy laughter

affection spoken in darling phrases

banter

teatimes

sitting in crowds hearing her story

bright smile hemming and hawing bashfully

 Savor.

I am learning to savor the sweet moments in life

My thoughts cloud, rush and worry envelopes, and these pieces of sweet are lost.

My heart becomes weary, my mind overwhelmed, I lose thankful attentiveness.

The gifts are missed, the joys, the tiny details of his lavish love overlooked. 

I am learning to find Jesus presence in the simplicity of the moments, in the here and now.

I am learning to see his image, his heart right in front of me.  

I am learning to be okay with the mystery of it all, to just soak it up and enjoy.

 

Your heart so beautiful, your image so unexpected...

Mass of hair placed beneath ball cap

Thick blue liner surrounding bright eyes

red lipstick

little in stature

big in personality

cozying  up in a fresh sweatshirt

looking in my eyes she begins to lavish love upon me

extravagant, unpredictable worth

gentle care for me.

Your heart so beautiful

Your image so unexpected

He straddles a bike slowing to a stop

leaning to one side to speak

that smile, those eyes

tender, compassionate, gracious

peace collects his whole being easily impacting

with genuine expression and thoughtful words

he thanks with humility

Your heart so beautiful

Your image so unexpected

A large christmas tree stands tall in their campsite

fully decorated with a few presents beneath

the humor, the idea, the preparations, the desire to have it there

captivates me

His familiar presence offering joy and deep focus

consideration and beyond sacrificial

Your heart so beautiful

Your image so unexpected

Genesis 1:27 " So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them."

The crushed in spirit...

That sweet young face 

         fear peeking through concrete eyes

       stubborn, tough

 she strives to present herself

     yet still a little girl

        Running from home

    sleeping outside

draped in vulnerability

crushed in spirit

chin tucked into neck

knees propped up

together they ask for money

hood slipped down over eyes

belongings strewn along the corner

cars zooming past merging onto the expressway

silent whispers of exhaustion

defeated, simply sad

honest desperation

 crushed in spirit

Her story clearly spoken

unprotected, violated, neglected

mind recounting details

reflections, realizations, thoughts

haunting memories

 crushed in spirit

I want to have answers I don't

I want to be in control I'm not

I want to fix  hurts and pains I am incapable

I want to have perfect solutions I fall short

"The Lord is close to the broken hearted, he rescues those who are crushed in spirit." 
Psalm 34:18

The tearful kiss.

He sits at a subway restaurant, a few belongings stuffed onto a small table

anguish is apparent.

Layers of thick clothing zipped up to his neck

perspiration drizzling down his visible skin.

Eyes droopy and worn, clear exhaustion

with an alert panic and anxiety to his presence.

I am aware of him seated a few tables over,

however I am stumped a little frozen with what to make of him.

Whatever is going on there is  great depth of need even just visually, I cannot fathom.

Our eyes meet, his desperation with my concern and uncertainty

dropping  head upon extended arm  he mumbles some words to me.

I find myself welcomed to sit at his table,

I am struck by his rawness, his quick trust and vulnerability.

Deep fears and wounds are simply voiced as his face crumbles

abuses, harms upon his life, sickening injustices.

Filthy lies and hatred sinking deep into him, haunting and tormenting

burdens so massive, he feels paralyzed to leave the table and face the world.

Words begin to catch in his throat as stories are shared.

He weeps while welcoming prayer,

One of pleading for peace,

Jesus presence to be known.

True identity

healing somehow, someway

Strength to walk out the door and keep living.

I feel quivery and unsure as I pray,

aware of this man's hurt and disappointment.

I don't want to make anything worse, or say the wrong thing.

My words feel thin, what am I doing?

Prayer comes to a close, eyes open.

Without words he stands up in response.

Timid 

yet courageous,

peaceful

and unhurried.

He bends down and kisses me lightly on the cheek.

The presence of Jesus so tangible mysterious, holy catching us both by surprise.

She stands on the street corner

I see her silhouette off in the distance standing on the street corner

We draw near taken aback by her appearance.

White socked feet tucked into tall high heels,

Skin tight see through dress, fully exposing her body.

Wavering stumble attempting to strut elegantly.

She instantly responds with a gentle polite nature as we approach,

welcoming some basic needs and food items.

Face revealing exhaustion in her twelfth hour of work,

she shares her desire to be stood with for a moment to feel safe even just briefly.

I am stunned by her simple request.

Our time is quickly interrupted by a much older man 

He beckons her with no eye contact,

just a lingering stare. 

The moment shifts, she shifts into an experienced temptress before our eyes

our hearts break beholding the scene.

Heart cries

I find a seat on the loaded streetcar,

once mundane moment is interrupted.

Visible irritation, anxiousness, stress moving across his face, 

making for a pretty loud scene.

Bike on the floor, sleeping bag splayed out, 

heightened awareness of the glances pointed to him, and away from him.

Full garbage bags surround, 

a random  paint can releases an unbearable odor keeping all at bay.

He sits among belongings flustered and done,

with a long sigh he shares the grief of his morning. 

Leaning against the back of my seat starting a sorrowful rant of injustice.

We amble on.

Speech moves to a place of sharing his life long grief,

tears quietly collect, as his face turns away. 

"I just feel so alone".

...................................................................................................................................................................

We sit together as a small group on the corner of the sidewalk panning for change.

Each one engaging, authentic and beautifully open to friendship.

I spot a figure off to the side, keeping a safe distance. 

Physical posture of mistrust, fear, cowering in the corner, resisting eye contact.

We carry on, with the intention to leave alone desiring to be respectful.

The approach is one with timidity, pulling backpack off shoulders,

a seat is fashioned shuffling close beside me.

Chin resting upon folded arms, I am studied carefully, as I speak,

Barely hearing the whisper voice,  a little is shared while looking at feet.

Rejection, abandonment, strong fear of people.

Bits and pieces are heard, I strain to listen, themes were formed.

Pained conclusion,  small tear track moving down face,

briefly spoken

" I just want to be loved."

Exploited little one.

Robbed as a child

exploited little one

a trusting daughter

 survive or run

Escape to the street

seems the only way

offering your body

 for extra pay

Vulnerability transparent

innocence mocked

abused and used 

then thoughtlessly dropped

Heart so wounded

young spirit, broken

truths and realities

so rarely spoken

She fights for her worth

even just in her mind

her true self promises

 one day to find

Disgusting, worthless 

not her destiny

one day she speaks of  

breaking completely free

Amazing joy stays

 untainted, unmarred

this dream so protected 

with a beautiful hope, scarred.

"Where the outcast weeps"

Lanky exterior, slight trip in his step,
 skeptical shifty eyes.
Eager readiness to unleash a slew of curses,
bitter sarcasm envelopes his being.
Startling anger, harsh mistrust, selfish manipulation.

My patience is scarce with this individual.

I have mentally labeled and placed him in a box within my mind.

As we interact I am anticipating most of his words, actions and behaviors.

I am correct on most accounts, pretty predicable. 

A story begins to tumble out in little spurts, 

between shifting and topic changes.

His words cut like a knife as I listen,

To his private horror story.

I am no longer looking at a difficult grown man,

I see a little scared boy who was exposed to 

unspeakable atrocities.

A shell of a person pent up more then I will know.

" A heart of stone becomes a heart of flesh, when you learn where the outcast weeps."
- Brennan Manning ( Abba's Child)

She danced with her Jesus.

Illuminate our weekly art afternoon was finished, 

 the peaceful calm of the sanctuary drew me in. 

Wooden benches, stain glass windows, carvings in the wall, a simple cross. 

Carrying an essence of invitation to just be with God.

My fingers played gently on the white ivories of the grand piano.

I Marveled at the beautiful acoustics of the ancient picturesque surroundings.

With a craving for worship, I searched the keys for melodies and pretty sounds.

The gentle whirring of a wheelchair lifting her into the room caught my attention.

A dear friend draws near.

Gathers of perfect wrinkles around  sunshiny eyes, grey soft hair pulled up in a holder, 

an electric smile warming up any cold around her. 

Tiny frame tucked easily in her chair, a picture of contentedness she is.

And with her presence, a holy moment took place before my eyes.

She danced with her Jesus.

Thin arms outstretched, swaying with the music, 

fingers lacing through the air,

 wheelchair spinning in perfect timing through the aisles.

Her face aglow with a pure radiance. 

" I feel like water is pouring over me". 

She giggled with a sweet mystery, 

basking in the serenity of it all.

I can't take my eyes off of her.

The presence of Christ, so thick, so real, so immersed in the room. 

Deep love for Christ, all over her being.

Oh, it's captivating.

We relish the time, neither of us drawing to a close.

All we can do is behold him, sing to him, and just worship.

" Let us then approach his throne of grace with confidence"

Hebrews 4:16

Strange lessons from unexpected teachers

My friend invites me to sit

 A gentle command breaking through my thoughts as I take notice of his familiar face. 

With a plop on the curb we sit side by side,

I am not feeling particularly wordy but the company is undeniably special. 

It's silent, very silent not very typical downtown Toronto. 

We watch the sky as it takes on a bleak and murky nature revealing a predictable storm.

His face unexpectedly crumples as eyes mist over in tears. 

Muttering pain, Confessing guilt, sputtering loneliness 

yelling of the injustices covering his life, whispering self hatred.

Stating plainly his reality that I can do nothing about.

After the emotion has been spent he turns to me droopy shoulders, eyes of anguish.

Together we continue to look at the sky. 

An intriguing peace covers our moment as we sit. 

The pain seems to hang in the air, the ache is exposed, the honesty is clear. 

I have no answers.

I wonder how this person could receive love in this stricken settled moment.

To my surprise what is brought to my mind in this pondering are memories recent and long ago. 

Times where my own heart ache spills over in  tears and pain, 

times where I need my words to be heard regardless of their content,

times of my own unfiltered emotion, 

my raw humanity in the open to another.

A beautiful identifying enters our time.

 Our realities couldn't be more opposite, 

however the simplicity of our common humanity could not be more similar. 

Fixing is not what he needs, fixing is not what I need

Presence is what matters for  him, presence is what matters for me

" No one has ever seen God, but if we love each other God lives in us, and his love is brought to full expression in us." 1 John 4:12

I am invited to be that expression of love in the midst of another's pain, I am also invited to receive that expression of love in the midst of my pain. 

The simplicity & wonder of community...

Community turns up in some of the most unexpected and surprising of ways.
There is a constant tension for me between simplicity and wonder daily. Both are important to recognize. Simplicity in that it arrives in the most regular, basic of forms, not as complicated as we think. Followed by a  wonder that in those basic of forms there is something divinely significant and a piece of heaven on earth is experienced somehow someway.


I see him off in the distance and I can't help but smile. What a sight to behold. Sprawled out on a lawn chair, dishcloth soaked upon forehead, novel in hand, tea in mug having the time of his life. We walk below the overpass to reach his cozy home, and partake in his inviting relaxation. Soon we find ourselves welcomed to sit down and enjoy the peace. As cars zoom above our heads, he beckons us  into a theological talk of Jesus, God, christians and the church. He is incredibly smart, having read countless books of all different genres, we enjoy the friendly yet serious banter as we speak about our differing beliefs.We appreciate him, he appreciates us, and our friendships continue to grow and deepen.
Community found in the hidden thinker.

The girl with turmoil, pain and grief wracking her being who walks through the door and opens her arms with a big hug, craving the familiar relationships she has accepted. The depth of her sensitive heart, the processing of her feelings and difficult circumstances over tea, the settled peace of trusting the people around her. Countless times of sharing smiles and laughter, and the times of sharing through tears and voicing  sadness.
Community found in the burdened sweetheart.

The toothless older woman, with wrinkly laugh lines,wispy white hair and sparkly eyes, who never fails to lavish love in reaching out to hold me from her wheelchair, and call me by name.
Community found in the endearing delighter.

The precious deaf gentleman who pans handing out sign language cards teaching people to communicate with him. His large grin, twinkly eyes,  ready to chat and extend thoughtful affection and genuine thankfulness.
Community found in the easily missed treasure.

His extravagant affirmation, as he speaks encouragement, worth and passion over me. He is a person who no one can get past without a bear hug and words steeped in love.
Community found in the Jesus lover.

His image comes in all forms of the simple, regular, and the seemingly mundane.
His image comes with divine wonder, and exciting mystery.

May we be aware of the community and people he is blessing us with all around our lives, and revealing his very real image.

Peculiar gifts...

It's those moments of sitting in a sort of stunned silence. 

Moments of being  deeply humbled. Unable to do much but receive and accept the profound, peculiar gift that has been just been gently set in my hands. 

Moments that I am unable to comprehend in it's bigness, but only catch a glimpse of the sheer purity I have just beheld.

On a night of feeling inwardly defeated, physically tired, impatient and undeserving, while striving to be outwardly loving,  I am given too.

She calls my name in the midst of my going through the motions.
 Lipstick bright, liner thickly placed on  tired lids, slightly smudged.
 She looks up at me, I await her response of what she needs.  "Would you please hug me?" She asks with sweet, timid innocence. I smile responding to her outstretched arms.
She whispers in my ear " I'm not dirty, I promise I showered today." Tears gather wetting her eyes as she confides in close speech her sever pain and fear. Wanting me to know and sit with her in it in it.  Trust, unfiltered emotion, relationship, an open heart.

I stood with a feeling I can't put to writing, as a long time relationship expressed appreciation, care and trust for me  as he ran back to give a hug and say thank you. Such intentional eye contact catching me off guard.  Raw depth of sincerity and the genuine cloaking his words and demeanor.
Calm certainty, overwhelming love, that endearing smile.

I leave tonight armful of unexpected gifts, feeling rich, generously given to with a lavish love.

The walking wounded.

Focused eyes, clearly fixated yet aimlessly wandering

layers of grime so familiar, permanently altering skin tone

blackened teeth upturned mouth, smiling easily

tiny frame, skin and bones, torn clothing, hanging loosely

limbs outstretched ready to hold, arm slung around shoulders

words profound honest, rich with meaning tumble out of mouth

this is the walking wounded.

Sit on the grass beside, stories will be told

your heart may hurt as you hear

the ugliness of daily horrors

the details will be sacred

the reality may cause you to feel powerless and weakened

but hear the words it's crucial

treasure the walking wounded.

The bravery of survival

the agony of mistreatment

the isolation  from crushed trust

the premature decay of a young person 

the hiding, self medicating.

the anxious personal protection

the absence of self worth

esteem the walking wounded.

 Acceptance of love and friendship clearly present

 kind, sincere courtesy for others, alive

genuine wisdom offered, articulated generously

 loving heart from the brokenness within so evident

learn from the walking wounded. 

Hidden Gentleman

I sat in the square downtown enjoying some sunshine and a good book among a large crowd when he appeared out of nowhere. 

" I want to meet you". He stated, backpack slung over his shoulder, sleeping bag in hand, smoke hanging from his mouth like an accessory. So we did, with arms extended out to each other for a shake, we briefly spoke. After a simple nod he walked away. I returned to my book, heart warmed in the random kindness of it all. To my surprise he backtracked asked to sit, and proceeded to tell me there were things on his mind he needed to talk about. He spoke of unimaginable grief, a tragedy, a memory of a loved one in his life and a shocking ending. He was weighted by a deep sense of guilt and shame for his inability to protect and the sense of failure as a man. As he spoke  pain came through strongly  his shoulders slumped and he clasped his rough, swollen hands together. We spoke of Jesus, and I asked if he would be comfortable if we prayed for the heavy burden he carries. " Hold on, I can't smoke and pray, this is a holy moment." He mumbled stomping out his cigarette. 

It truly was a holy moment. With head bowed low over folded hands, eyes squeezed tightly shut, he nodded and agreed with my prayer. As the words of his true identity as a man created by God, and the hope and freedom found in Christ was spoken, It was incredible to watch the acceptance of truth wash over his face. The troubled features of a passive, burdened man was gone, the man I was looking at in this moment was 

peaceful and dignified.

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" Hello sister". He calls out sheepishly from the little crate he perches on outside the flower shop panning. This man has been in my life for a long time, and I am excited and surprised to run into him unexpectedly. His speech is a string of curses through a captivating smile and deep set eyes. His special heart is something easily missed if you are a passerby, and make assumptions solely on his appearance, and  random outbursts. This man has a passion for justice and mercy. He is a defender of the defenseless on the street. He is quick to become violent towards those hurting the weak. He is a man who will invite you to sit,  take off his coat, lay it on the ground to fashion a cozy clean spot for you. Yet these things are overlooked as this man thinks he is nothing, his experiences of ridicule, mistreatment,and countless shames cloud his vision.

I am often burdened for the gentleman I meet on the street. Such pain, failure and lies covering up their true identity as sons, created and loved by God their heavenly father, made in his image. These men need to know their worth, need to know there is peace for guilt, forgiveness for mistakes, restoration and healing in identity, redemption in what seems hopeless, and a relationship with Christ Jesus. Please pray for the countless gentleman who find themselves on the street.

Little tough girl

There are profound moments in life that are hard to describe, difficult to fathom, and impossible to forget.

I had one of those moments last night.

With mud gathering on shoes, we maneuvered our way beneath  the overpass being mindful of our footsteps, and calling out for our friends.

Her presence startled me as she made herself known, leaving her group at the campfire to come and greet us.

Young, so very young. 

Magenta hair matted down, tiny body caked in dirt and soot,  the little clothing she covered herself with was falling apart. Survivor in life.

 Adorable. Bright smile, glazed over eyes,  with a vivacious persona she engaged excitedly in conversation. We were welcomed to share the campfire with the group, one of those surreal moments that make your heart ache, and your mind wrestle to take in this reality.

This dear little tough girl. 

A tendency to wander, low self worth, familiar with mistreatment and fighting others to survive.

Such an innocence to her, a naive trust to her, an open desire for family and home.

Beauty. Beauty. Beauty.

I marvel, I am in awe as I see Beauty take on so many forms.

The free spirited teenage girl panning on the corner, with her creatively painted sign, smattering of tattoos lining up and down her arms, crouched on her tiptoes sharing about how special community on the streets is to her, as she speaks of her story.

Beauty.

The young boy who resides under the bridge, emerging with his beloved dog at his side, and a baby raccoon on his shoulders. With tender care for his pets, he is mesmerized with observing his little family members. His open honesty, as he doesn't shy away from ugly truths, but speaks of strength and moving forward despite hurt and pain. Arm dangled around my shoulder, a big smile, he shares his love for us who come to visit him. 

Beauty.

The teenage boy who bravely hitchhikes and train hops around the country, looking for adventures and enjoys meeting new people in his travels. His desire to truly understand things, ask questions, and deeply care for those around him. His passions for horticulture, his merciful heart, his lovely smile.

Beauty.

No Masks.

“ There is a real simplicity and earthiness to the streets. They don’t need our masks.”

-Edwina

I am struck and in awe often of the quick transparency and honesty I see consistently in many faces on the streets.

Humanity in some of the most raw of forms, vulnerability, weakness and true genuine exposure of self.

There really are no masks, it’s all out in the open, not much can be hidden.

The true realness of people intrigue me, challenge me, scare me, and mystify me.  

It is beauty, something to honor, receive as a gift and learn from, that I am sure of.

 I am drawn in…

His scent stings the nostrils of those around him, as he ambles his way through the crowd, to plop down beside me on the streetcar.

Eyes are yellowed and crusted, clothes filthy and ragged, open sores splatter across his face.

 lanky arms reveal a serious deep gash, noticeably untended too.

In his own world. Stumbling and absentminded.

Resting head on kneecaps, then chin upon elbows, he sneaks a peek at me squinting slightly.

Few words exchange, before he leans in close to shake my hands.

I inwardly recoil.

He is hard to take in visually. I am unsure of how to care for this young man, I don’t have the answers in the moment, I don’t know what he needs. 

I am aware of his craving for attention and compassion.

Before I can form another thought,

He bids me farewell, and maneuvers his way through the crowd,

Bumping into most, ignored by many.

He reveals obvious weakness and awareness of his poverty, yet a strength somehow to keep going.

  

  

 With a loud yelp she greets me with childlike love,

Arms slung around my shoulders in a bear hug.

Expressive and full of words

Desire to share and be listened too

“I love you” topples out of her mouth in many moments.

She has a certain freedom to her. Free to be herself, to dance, to play, and to be silly.

Confidence that others will be ready to delight, and affirm.

Her face soon crumples, she softly whimpers. 

Now she feels deeply, her tears and emotions are real.

She sits close to me, laying her head upon my shoulder.

Defeated, and overwhelmed.

She is comforted.

She shows her want to love, and be loved in return.

“ I really like you, I like being friends with you.”

He states in a matter of fact way.

Sharing with a bashfulness,  but full of meaning he communicates expectantly.

He is sweet, tenderhearted, innocent in his desire for friendship.

His oblivion to social ques is endearing.

He communicates with the simplicity of a small child.

What a depth to his words and his heart.

He shows authentic loyalty, and joy in finding a friend.

Rough, sprouted beard tickles my face, as he beckons a hug.

He offers an abundance of care for those around him.

It comes in forms of bumping fists, gracious gazes, exuberant hugs, verbal affirmation, tenderness with many, and a presence full of warmth. He loves through deep soul unrest, as he grieves painfully. His eyes quick to fill with tears, words describe his hurt,  emptiness,  struggles and challenges. In the midst of this he pours forth care for others. 

He shows a stunning humility, and a huge heart.

He is big and tall in stature, looks of intimidation at first glance. 

Eyes full of an intense focused nature, caught deep in thought, seemingly unapproachable.

Until that is you make eye contact, his small smile is coaxed quickly out of him.

He creates a hospitality better then most, as he gives you his full attention, asks life questions, and responds with a soft spoken voice, that can only bring ease.

Interesting thoughts, and watery eyes as he speaks.

 He causes others to hang on his every word. 

He is a man who struggles profoundly, yet loves unreservedly.

What strange, unexpected and random treasures I am finding among friends, as with such bravery, and trust they go through life without a mask. With unusual openness, acceptance and  love in their lives.

I am being taught as they  share themselves with me, and welcome close relationship.

That sweet name.

She sits on the edge of the booth, eyes darkly clouded over.
A hardened composure, and a speech full of real anxiety, such  burden.
Hopelessness in her mindset, exhaustion in her movement, pain far from the surface. 

There are few moments I treasure more on the streets, then that of offering prayer for a person, and having it welcomed and accepted. 

Oh, the beauty of her whole exterior shifting to a place of relief.
She eagerly opens her hands to hold mine across the table.
Her eyes pinch shut, bowing her head.

We pray together.
The name of Jesus is spoken.

I behold the tears of a dear woman stream quietly down her cheek.
Her strength fades to weakness, her fear melts to peace, her isolation invites relationship.

His name is comfort. His name is healing. His name is hope. His name is restoration. His name is love.

That sweet name.

Bringing Beauty.

They sit together on the corner of the street in their wheelchairs. 

At their feet splays dozens of handmade jewellery and dream catchers.

 Each carefully designed and intricatley crafted with story and purpose from him, 

the humble shopkeeper.

His features are so gentle, 

open with true warmth. 

He listens intently, genuine in his hearing of people.

 He is calmly passionate in an engaging way. 

By his side a darling woman.

 Who, with a sense of bashfullness shared her love for drawing and poetry.

With a hint of pride showing me a photo of her piece.

She affirmed delight in his work.

He built up confidence in hers.

Together they were absolutely charming company to behold. 

" Hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted within them.

Some sat in darkness and in the shadow of death, prisoners of affliction and in irons.

They reeled and staggered like drunken men and were at their wit's end.

Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress.

 He turns a desert into pools of water, a parcheld land into springs of water.And there is lets the hungry dwell.

He raises the needy out of affliction.

Let them consider the steadfast love of the Lord."

( Taken from  Psalms 107)

 

 

There is a deep hunger and thirst in our city.

Precious souls faint and exausted.

Invisible, sitting in many different types of darkness.

Prisoners of afflictions.

Dear ones reeling and staggered.

 

 

The young girl in need of food and water daily

But, her hunger for love from men is stronger,

her thirst for acceptance and worth

is much deeper.

 

The older woman sleeping on a stack of dirty blankets  so physically needy,

  weary eyes spilling over with lonliness cut off from her family

Faint and exausted.

 

The young man who has been abused as a child,

now facing a vulnurable adulthood, offering his body to older men.

Unfathomable darkness.

 

The older man's life of affliction led to an addiction.

He feels hopless and worthless.

He is reeling.

He is staggered.

 

 

 

These precious children are the beloved.

They have been created and formed by their maker, father.

May they cry out to the Lord in their trouble, may they experience deliverance from their distress. He is able to turn their deserts into pools of water. Their parched land into springs of water.He provides a place for the hungry to dwell.He longs to raise them up out of their afflictions. May they come to know the steadfast love of the Lord.