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.