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.