Dancing light in the air of the dark night…..

“Dance, when you’re broken open
Dance, if you’ve taken the bondage off
Dance, in the middle of the fighting
Dance, in your blood
Dance, when you’re perfectly free.”
-rumi (quote sent to me from my friend Chelsea)

I love the way the colored lights dance in winter’s night air.
I love the way they are suspended – floating in the peaceful dark of night
The trees on which they hang become invisible at night
The lights are left visible – left to dance in the darkness
The lights sparkle, twinkle, delight in the season, delight in Christmas time
The lights dance at night – care free they float, care free they shine
Unbothered by the freezing air – air cold enough to chap the face and burn the lungs
The lights dance in the air of the dark night – for their own delight – mostly no one watches – mostly no one notices – but even when one does they are unbothered – unchanged.

Dance on lights in the darkness
Dance on Christmas sparkle in winter night
Dance on and let me notice, let me watch, let me share in your freedom, in your delight.

Spring Street

Lyrics to Keith Naylor's Song: Spring Street

"Hey mister do you have a dime?
Do you have a dime?
That’s all I need for my train fare.

I lost my job and my wife’s real sick
And my baby owes more than I can pay

And I smell the scent of Listerine
And the baby steps of a well planned scheme

And I wonder
Oh I wondered why my God is here,
I wondered why he needed a beer in the winter

Hey Jesus with your worn out clothes
And your scattered mind
What you doing on Spring Street?

Of all the people you could be
Do you have to be a disguise so distressing?

So I held out my hand to my new found friend
Side by side we walked to the Crystal

As we talked and as we ate
He forgot his scam and I lost my hate for the winter

I smelled the scent of love unseen
The longing of a heart that clean
And I wondered
I wondered why my God was here,
I wondered how he took my fear
Yes I wondered

Hey Jesus with your worn out clothes
And your scattered mind
What you doing on Spring Street?

Of all the people you could be
Do you have to be a disguise so distressing?

Hey mister do you have the time? Do you have the time?
I think I’m late for my train here
Thank you so much you’ve been more than kind and if you don’t mind
Could you spare me a nickel?

I spelled the scent of Listerine
And I gave the man the last of my change and I wondered

I wondered why my God was here
I wondered why he let me near
Yes I wondered

Hey Jesus with your worn out clothes
and your scattered mind
what you doing on Spring Street?

Of all the people you could be
Do you have to be a disguise so distressing?


I turned and walked away to my car
Met a man I had seen before and he asked me
Hey mister do you have a dime? Do you have a dime?"

Living in the city people often ask me for dimes, or quarters, or nickels, for bus fare to somewhere they desperately need to go. If i have any change on me (often I do not) I usually give it. People often say its stupid to give them change - that they are just using me, manipulating me, scamming me. I guess I figure its just a quarter or a nickel or a dime. I guess I figure I'm okay if they are using me, manipulating me, or scamming me because that's not for me to judge - I am to give what I have and often feel guilty I do not give more. Jesus asks us to give more than is asked of us - a quarter, dime, or nickel doesn't seem like much at all especially when that's all they are asking for and to be honest i don't give more.

Brokenness doesn't fit into boxes

I work with urban youth. Youth that have the odds against them, youth that have had to lived through more evil than I know, youth that are desperate for love, for attention, youth that astound me with their resiliency, youth that have protective walls built around their hearts like mighty fortresses.
The non-profit I work for talks about how we need to quantify our positive results of our program. We need to prove with numbers the positive life change our program has created in the youth, we need to prove with numbers how we have “helped” youth in our program to be successful.

But brokenness never fits into boxes.
Brokenness never fits into numbers.
Just as life doesn’t fit into boxes either.

Life change in never linear the the outlines of a box.

Brokenness never comes out at convenient times, in convenient ways. Brokenness instead comes out when I’m dropping a girl off after programming and she tells me about her aunt who is her guardian who is an angry drunk, who smacked her the other night several times so she had to have her sister come and pick her up and take her to St. Paul for the night resulting in her missing school. It was while dropping her off at home, when I was in a hurry to get home myself on a Friday night that she shares with me that her aunt gets drink every other night.

Brokenness never fits into boxes – I have a one to one with a girl and she tells me everything is okay, everything is fine. But later that night after programming and I’m dropping her off last, upon her request, she tells me that she’s dreading thanksgiving because she has to see her mom (she lives with her aunt) who told her she had stopped drinking but she found out that was a lie when her mom called her drunk twice.

Brokenness never comes out at convenient times, in convenient ways. It comes when were having a community thanksgiving in my house with 30 people and she tells me they don’t have any food in their house, they’re not celebrating thanksgiving, and her aunt broke her leg when she fell down the stairs while she was drunk.

Brokenness doesn’t fit into boxes – easy to take care of, easy to help, easy to organize, instead brokenness is messy, spills out of boxes, seems insolvable, calls for attention when one is tired, when one doesn’t want to deal with it, when one isn’t expecting it to spill out.

But therefore, I must try to be open to the messiness, the inconvenience of it’s presence, I must try to be okay with its intrusiveness, I must try not to be overwhelmed with the lack of solutions or my inability help.

Because just as brokenness doesn’t fit into boxes, neither does anything else in life. Love doesn’t, healing doesn’t, growth doesn’t, instead love, healing, and growth seem to be present and happen in unexpected moments, at unexpected times, in ways outside of the box.

Late Night Call

The phone rang at 11pm last night while I was up talking to my housemates. I looked at my ringing phone and debated with myself if I would pick it up or not. I knew it was a youth – I didn’t know which one but I knew it was a youth calling me – for they call me at all hours of the day and night. I hesitated to pick it up – I wondered what crisis awaited at the other end – I wondered what frantic youth was calling me this time. I hesitated to pick it up not sure if I was ready to help in another crisis because the crisis often seem endless.

Finally on the last ring – I decided to pick it up – it’s better to know than to wonder.

“Hello?”
“Hi Shanna.” She said warmly and completely calm.
“Hi, what’s up? How are you? Are you okay?” I ask trying to get to the root of the crisis as quick as possible, to find out what’s going on.

“Nothing, I’m good. I’m sorry to call you so late but I just wanted to call and tell you I’m sorry again. I feel really bad about what I did and I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Total remorse and sincerely in her voice.

I was completely caught of guard. I was completely touched by her apology. She was referring to Tuesday night when she accidentally shut my fingers in the door (they’re fine by the way – just hurt a little). She felt so badly about it that she had already apologized about it on the way home but just wanted to call me again to tell me she was sorry. She told me she couldn’t go to sleep till she called and apologized and made sure I was okay and wasn’t mad at her.

I reassured her I was fine, reassured her that I wasn’t mad at her, and reassured her that I forgave her. I told her how much her call meant to me, how amazing I think she is and hung up the phone.

The total late night phone call lasted 2 minutes.

I hung up phone completely touched by her late night phone call. This girl has so much craziness in her life, so much constant crisis. But she called to apologize, to make sure I was okay. I was touched by her love, by her care, and by her late night call.

First Chance.....

My pastor last Sunday talked about a documentary he had seen entitled “Homeboy Industries” which was about this priest who tried to help men in LA who had rough pasts, men who had spent time in jail, done drugs, been alcoholics, men who had a hard time getting jobs because of their pasts. This priest spends his days working with these men helping them to secure jobs and more than that get a secure hold on their lives.

In the documentary the interviewer asked the priest – “So you believe that every person deserves a second chance?” The priest answered, “Yes I do, but most of the men I work with have never been given a first chance.”

This response struck me. This response I think rings true for many of the youth I work with – they have never been given a first chance – life has not offered them a first chance.

They have not been given a first chance to succeed, to love, to walk down a healthy path, to not give their bodies away, to not do drugs, to not drink, to not steal, to not believe their worthless, to not believe they can be loved apart from sex, to not believe that they are capable of good.

Instead these youth were born into families without fathers, mothers, into families held captive to drugs, alcohol, poverty, and sex. These youth were born into families of generations of people who weren’t given a first chance.

I do believe that all people deserve a second chance, but I think so many that we think need a second chance were never given a first. I want to help them have a first chance.

Orphans of my Hood......

An elderly woman of the church stood up last Sunday and told the story of two Americans who were working with women in Rwanda. One day they were all sitting in a circle and going around the circle with each woman stating how many children of her own she was caring for and how many orphan she was caring for. The number of children these Rwandan women were caring for was staggering especially with such little resources. The last Rwandan woman in the circle to share turned to the two American women and poignantly asked “How many orphans are you caring for?”

How many orphans am I caring for?
How many orphans am I caring for in my hood?

How am I loving, reaching out to, caring for, having visible compassion for the children in my neighborhood who are like the orphans of Rwanda, the children who feel alone, who feel unloved, who feel abandoned, who need love, who need to be touched and cared for, who need someone to “suffer with” them?

How many children am I caring for here in South Minneapolis?

Hope

HOPE

What does hope look like, feel like?
How does one possess it?

Is it an attitude?
Is it a person?
Is it optimism?

Hope –
That love will win in the end
That redemption will come
That the pain and suffering is not3 in vain
That the hurting will stop
That there is greater beauty to behold
That the greatness within them will be released
That they will reach their potential

Hope –
The sun will come after the rain
The warmth will come after winter
The smile will come after the tears

Hope-
We are not alone
We are loved without strings
God is present
God is present in the midst of suffering

Hope-
The poor possess more than the rich
The wounded have greater depth than those scar free
Loving others is always worth it
The hard road has greater meaning

Hope-
I do not have to carry the burdens of the world alone

Hope-
The sun rays bursting through the clouds
The belief in remaining goodness

Hope-
In the Lord
In Christ
In God
In his unfailing love
In his word
That he will continue to deliver us
In the living God

Hope-
Of Glory
Of salvation
Of eternal life

Hope-
always waiting for that which is far off
not to be seen but believed

Hope-
Produced by suffering
Suffering produces perseverance which produces character which produces hope.

Love always hopes!

The Sea of Need for Love and Affection....

“How little do we really know the power of physical touch. These boys and girls only wanted one thing: to be touched, hugged, stroked, and caressed. Probably most adults have the same needs but no longer have the innocence and unself-consciousness to express them. Sometimes I see humanity as a sea of people starving for affection, tenderness, care, love, acceptence, forgiveness, and gentleness. Everyone seems to cry: ‘Please love me.’ The cry becomes louder and the response so inaudible that people kill each other and themselves in despair. The little orphans tell more than they know. If we don’t love one another, we kill one another. There’s no middle road.” – henri nouwen p. 44

It’s not a new thing to be overwhelmed by the needs of the girls I work with. In facts it’s a normal thing – something I think for the most part I’ve become used to.

But there are moments or days or weeks when the need overwhelms me – causes my head and stomach to ache – causes tears to flow from my eyes…..

This past week was one of those weeks…… those weeks that break my heart, that cause me to cry out to God and ask WHY? To say DO SOMETHING GOD! To wonder if God is using me for anything at all?

This was one of those weeks that causes me to cry out to God WHAT IS THE POINT? WHERE ARE YOU?

It started on Monday – met with 2 girls – one is depressed, failing classes because she’s too depressed to have motivation to do the work, spends large amounts of time alone in her room letting herself sink deeper into her own despair. The other one lives in a house too full of junk to move with her elderly auntie and grandmother and an older cousin who just moved in and only speaks harsh words to her – her only current goal is to be out of the house as much as possible.

Then came Tuesday – met with 2 girls – one who’s dad is choosing to love his girlfriend over his own daughter – the other who’s mom is in rehab and lives in a crack house.

support group night – where one 14 year old girl shared about having sex this past weekend – her second time ever. She shared about feeling like a hoe – shared that she thinks herself a hoe now – she shared that she doesn’t really love the guy and he doesn’t love her either – everyone else joined in about what defines a hoe and who is one and who is not – 2 more girls sharing about sex they’ve had recently and one who going to soon – another girl talked about getting drunk with her friend and her friend’s parents, she’s severely diabetic and too much alcohol could literally kill her – but she doesn’t really care about that too much.

Then came Wednesday – met with 4 girls – one talked about smoking weed every other day – smoking crack once or twice – and wanting to smoke mushrooms soon – one talked about her 16 year old cousin dying the week before and her aunt who is in a coma – one talked about her brother’s gang involvement and one talked about being deeply involved in a gang throwing up signs and what not.

Then came Thursday – met with 4 girls – one got kicked out of her dad’s house and so she’s living with her friend at the time being – one who says all the time that she’s a bad kid, who sees herself as no good – one who plays she’s dumb and innocent but messes with sex and other things to fit in – one who talks incecently constantly calling for my attention like a 2 year old who wants someone to watch her say her abc’s

So much need – so much more than is ever shared with me – so much more than is ever recognized – but there nun-the-less.

But what am I to do in a world of need, in a world of hurts so deep, wounds so fresh, cries so deafening, so many hands outstretched to be grasped,

The sea of need for love and affection is so great – that all I can do with writh with the pain and weight of it all and cry to God on their behalf.

Their Hauntings......

Their stories are their hurts which are their hauntings.

They replay the horror over and over again in their minds. They relive the horror inside their heads daily even now several years after they experienced it.

They hate the dark, they hate being alone, both of which allow the haunting to come stronger

All their hauntings involve guns, shooting, blood, and death.

For one it was hiding with her aunt in her bathroom downstairs when the intruders, the enemies came and shot and killed her uncle. She remembers the sound of the gun shots, she remembers the screams, she remembers sight of her uncle’s dead body lying on the floor and the blood around him.

For one it was riding the back seat of her cousin’s car with her dad and little cousin by her side while her older cousin and his girlfriend were in the front. She remembers the other car pulling up and her dad lying on top of her and her cousin to protect them. She remembers the sounds of the gun shots, she remembers the screams, she remembers the sight of her older cousin’s dead body lying on top of the steering wheel and the blood coming from her dad’s shoulder that had been shot. She remembers that moment every time she sees the scar on her dad’s shoulder to this day.

For one it was hiding with her aunt in the kitchen when the intruders, the enemies came and shot up her house. She was too young to remember many details but she does remember the sound of the gun shots, the sound of the screams, and the sight of the blood coming from wounds.

These girls are haunted by these memories – these sounds and sights that cause them to lie awake at night in fear – fear in the darkness – fear of death, the death of themselves or close family members – memories that cause them to have violent nightmares when sleep finally does come.

One girl who is haunted made the comment “people just can’t let stuff go.” But it’s nearly impossible to let something go that haunts you, that has haunted you since you where a small child.

Tangled Web of Desired Love

She adores her older brother, worships her brother, desires love from her brother
She would do anything for him if it would cause him to love her

She wants male affection, doesn’t really matter who it is, just someone to tell her he love her, to help her believe that there is someone that loves her
She would do anything for him, any him, if it would cause him to love her.

Her brother wanted sex, didn’t care about love just sensual pleasure.
He asked her to arrange it with her best friend
No true love to give to either – just pleasure for himself.

She did it for her brother, for his love
She did for her best friends brother, for his love,

Both gave in one to her brother the other to her best friend’s brother –
Both left without love

The desire left unfulfilled, a sexual act done, and a sister who offered her brother her best friend for sex.

This is the tangled web of desired love.