When STANDING just isn't enough....

I’ve said before that if you can’t keep going, dig in your heels and just STAND.

I think I was wrong.

When you stop, the weight and the force of the world are coming against you. (After all, if you are walking with Christ, you ARE walking against the current of the world.)

And no matter how hard you fight it, that current can be mighty strong.

In the middle of a trial, you can be battle-drawn and weary. You may long to stop and rest. You may even want to surrender completely to the enemy, as it seems you are on the losing side.

But you aren’t.

That’s where faith comes in.

You have to KNOW that if you are in God’s army, you are on the winning team.

The war has already been won and the battle you are in is so very minute in comparison.

It may not feel so inconsequential though, especially when you are in the midst of it.

It may feel as if the whole universe has come against you.

That’s why you have to keep your eyes on Him and KEEP MOVING.

It’s the only way to keep from falling down.

I’ll admit I’m in the midst of a trial I do not understand at all. I don’t know if I’m lacking patience, faith, or obedience. Maybe I’m being tested. I don’t even know how I’m doing on this test.

I’m probably at about a C+ right now.

I honestly don’t know.

A week ago I completely lost the hearing in my right ear.

Thinking it was a simple fix, I tried a couple of tried-and-true ear opening methods. When those failed, I reached out on social media. I tried a few more things. I even went to a walk-in clinic and was given a clean bill of ear health.

Over the next few days later other seemingly unrelated symptoms popped up and I thought maybe I was coming down with the flu on top of a sinus infection.

On Sunday morning, I laid it all out for the Lord as we partook in the Lord’s Supper. I felt His presence and I knew I would be healed.

Only I wasn’t. Or maybe I was but the healing hadn’t manifested itself.

In any case, I broke down in tears afterward. I was so sure I’d be jumping up and down praising the Lord for restoring my hearing in that service that I never considered otherwise.

I was heartbroken.

I napped Sunday afternoon and returned to the evening service a little less enthusiastic. It was hard to hear, hard to concentrate. But I still believed.

So at the end of the service I called upon the elders of the church to pray over me. I was going to do  EVERYTHING by the (Good) Book.

Once again, I expected to share my delight at being able to hear again.

It still didn’t happen.

I went to bed frustrated, though not angry. I can’t let anger in; it is too hard to let go.

Was I doing something wrong?

I didn’t believe the Lord was punishing me nor did I believe he wanted this for me.

But what WAS He thinking?

I needed more time? More faith? More patience?

If I went back to the doctor, would that be wrong? A lack of faith? Impatience?

Or was it foolish NOT to go? To possibly treat something before it got worse…

I didn’t know.

I did know, however, that I couldn’t just STAND. Because I kept getting knocked flat on my rear and was ready to give everything up, ministry included. How could I help people when I couldn’t hear?

Even the dogs were aggravating me as their barks reverberated in my head, sounding louder in the one good ear and causing a headache. Their kisses, which I normally adore, were as irritating as nails on a chalkboard.

I couldn’t live like this.

I made the decision to see an ENT (Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor). I searched online since I didn’t know one here and found a doctor with great reviews in Mobile.

They were able to see me that afternoon.

What I didn’t realize was that this doctor specialized in auditory issues so I was given a comprehensive hearing screening upon arrival.

The news was not surprising.

Sudden hearing loss in my right ear.

I had that part figured out.

However, I expected him to discover a raging sinus infection the general practitioner had missed, give me some antibiotics, and, WORST CASE SCENARIO, have to surgically clear out my tube.

That wasn’t the case.

He diagnosed me with a non-rash form of shingles which had attacked the right side of my body.

That made sense.

The right toenails I’d ripped off because they felt like they were attacking my feet. The chest pains that I dismissed because they were on the right side only. The increased back pain I attributed to my increased consumption of Christmas candy.

It was all related.

But then came the scary part.

He could prescribe steroids and an antiviral for the symptoms of shingles but the hearing loss might be permanent.

Even worse, he suspected an acoustic neuroma. This is a small, noncancerous tumor on the nerve between the brain and the inner ear. It is confirmed with an MRI, way out of my price range without insurance. Then another hearing test back in his office, extensive enough that I must have a driver.

In the meantime I am praying for healing to avoid all of this. But in the event that it doesn’t come?

I decided I would just accept it.

Which is a little tricky.

Because I don’t accept illness as something God wants.

But if I don’t accept this, at least for now, I will put my life on hold. I will use it as an excuse to stop ministering, to crawl in a hole and have a pity party, and I will destroy everything.

I know.

I’ve done it before.

A few years ago, following back surgery, I quit living. Alienating my family and friends, I lived in a world of television and four walls, angry, depressed, and wishing I was dead.

I will not go back there.

So while I believe in a complete and total healing, I will not sit idly by waiting for it to happen. I am going to keep walking, even if it’s at a snail’s pace, until that day.

It’s a trial I don’t understand, one I may never understand this side of glory, but one I will willingly go through because it’s only a battle, not the war.

The war for my soul has already been won and the price He paid for that was more than I will ever have to endure.

 

 

Standing in the gap...or standing in the way?

I don't give up easily.

Actually, if someone tells me not to do something, I usually dig my heels in and do it anyway out of spite.

That's probably one of my less godly traits.

I can be stubborn...and rebellious.

I also have a soft spot for the underdog, be it a sports team or a person.

I figure they need all the extra help they can get.

So it isn't surprising that I can be found on the streets giving all I have, and often getting nothing in return.

Because it isn't about me anyway.

I've pleaded with the Lord to heal people near death, to deliver from addiction, and to show mercy when it wasn't deserved or even desired.

I've begged to stand in the gap and intercede for those I've grown to care deeply for.

But yesterday something new happened.

He told me to walk away.

It isn't the first time I've backed off from someone on the streets. Sometimes they need a little more time in the hole before they hit rock bottom and reach up. Some never do.

But I'm never more than an arm's length away from anyone who reaches out.

Until now.

Scooter, who I've written about several times, has a very special place in my heart. I care deeply for him and I would consider him a friend. Even when he is not doing well (which has been the case for the last three months) he still stays in touch by text and I occasionally visit.

Last week he had his third opportunity to get true help. He had the equivalent of a winning lottery ticket, a free apartment and furnishings, and the opportunity to get off the streets for the first time in ten years. He fell apart (fear?) the first two times this came to pass and got so drunk he was unable to even carry on a decent conversation.

On Thursday we talked about this. He wasn't going to let it happen this time. He knew he had self-sabotaged. He knew he may never get another chance like this. He was ready.

Friday morning he was in that exact same place again, unable to even come out of his tent.

That door closed with the housing organization.

I was aggravated, but it didn't stop me from caring or wanting to help him some other way.

But then Sunday morning came.

I stopped at Tent City to pick up for church, as usual, and even though I knew Scooter wouldn't come (he hasn't been in a few months) I wanted to step in and say hello.

My feet were like lead.

I literally couldn't move.

What's going on, I wondered.  Lord?

That's it, He told me. You are done here. When he texts (and I knew he would) you are to tell him that you don't walk away unless the Lord tells you to and this seems to be between him and God.

I tried to explain, to expound, in my head what else I would say.

No. I've told you what to say. Not a word more or a word less.

I got it.

I hate it because I will be just another person who he feels has abandoned him. But I'm not going to interfere with what the Lord is doing.

After all, He is the reason I'm out there.

I thought I was standing in the gap...

Turns out I was just standing in the way.

My Stalker Died and I'm Not Sure How I Feel About It

I just found out that my stalker died and I really don't know how I should be feeling.

Relieved? Elated? Safe?

He once told me if he couldn't have me, no-one would.

But that was over fifteen years ago, and even then, I didn't want him to die.

I just wanted a normal friendship.

I met T.C. when I was seventeen years old. I was a wild child with the immunity of a daddy in politics, and I was pushing every limit I could find. I fell in with a rough crowd, quickly achieving golden girl status as one of the only females around with all of my teeth and long blonde hair. They called me Goldilocks, Goldie for short.

I was also one of the only ones with a non-suspended driver's license so I frequently rode shotgun. I didn't realize why until the first time we got pulled over.

The driver was in his passenger seat and I found myself behind the steering wheel before we even came to a complete stop. I was so naive.

But while the wisdom came later in life, the heart for those in need came early.

Like the day I met T.C.

I'd gone to his house with one of the older girls I'd been hanging with. She said he got a check on the first of every month so he would have a bag of weed. All we had to do was go and be nice to him and he'd smoke some with us for free.

I was all in.

I liked him and I enjoyed our visit. Of course my main mission in life at that point was to get high so my expectations were low.

A few days later I asked my friend when we were going back to visit T.C.

"Oh, not til next month," she replied. "He only has weed for the first day then he's out til he gets his next check."

Now using guys for drugs wasn't exactly new territory for me but I felt really bad for him. Here was this 30-something year old guy who was being completely used by young women like me.

So I went to visit armed with two grocery bags.

"I've come to cook dinner for us," I told a shocked as I walked through the door.

"I don't have any smoke," he said as I made myself at home in his kitchen.

"That's okay," I said. "I didn't come for the pot. I came for a pot," I quipped as I started cooking.

We had a nice meal and I continued to visit every couple of weeks.

I had no romantic interest in him, but I did develop deep platonic feelings. I think whatever was broken inside of me recognized that something was broken deep inside him as well.

Over the next year I learned that T.C. had survived a tragic childhood. At the age of six, he witnessed his mother's murder at the hands of his father, who then turned the knife on him. The scars were brutal. Growing up in foster homes, he tormented other children and pets until he was returned, repeatedly, to social services.

At seventeen he moved out on his own, receiving a Social Security check for a multi-diagnoses mental disability. He was proud of the fact that the local Medicaid and Food Stamp Offices were so scared of him they granted him lifetime benefits, no recertification necessary.

He got his drugs and his girls when his check came in and once did time for handcuffing a prostitute to the bed for two weeks.

"I can't help it. I'm just crazy," he said. "You better be careful. I might do the same to you. I never know how I will act."  

I called him out on that right away. "You don't fool me one bit, T.C." I told him. "You only act crazy so people will leave you alone. You know EXACTLY what you are doing."

That was the day he fell in love with me.

Only I didn't realize it at first.

What I DID realize was that he looked at me dumbfounded and said, "You are one smart little girl. I can't believe you are so young." I gave some flippant remark and we watched a little t.v. before I headed home. There was never anything sexual between us.

As the months went on, I started college and a part-time job at a daycare center. My visits with T.C. dwindled down and he was enraged.

Hiring a taxi to drive him to my work, he sat outside for several days in a row watching me.

He sent a mixed tape to my house ("Don't You Forget About Me" from the Breakfast Club soundtrack was featured prominently) along with a letter that said he was going to enroll in every one of my college classes and sit behind me until I talked to him.

I reluctantly told my dad what was going on.

I'm not sure exactly what happened after that, but I'm pretty sure that Dad's job as police chief and the radio silence from T.C. that followed were somehow related.

I didn't hear from him again for a couple of years.

Worried about him and having no good sense whatsoever, I went to visit.

He had nobody and I wanted to make sure he knew that I still cared, that SOMEONE in the world cared if he lived or died.

I told him all about my new boyfriend (and future husband).

He did NOT take the news well.

He started calling and following me again and I had no choice but to cut off all contact. Again.

I really didn't want to.

I didn't want to be yet another person in his life that abandoned him.

But I had no choice.

A few years later I was married and teaching fifth grade when the local tv station ran a human interest story on something my classroom was doing.

The next day a dozen roses appeared in my classroom.

He wanted me to know that he knew where to find me.

I think he received another not-so-subtle warning from the police department.

A few months later I had emergency surgery and was in my hospital room alone, hopped up on pain pills, when I had the stupid idea to call him.

That resulted in an armed guard outside my hospital room until I was discharged and me scrambling to explain how he knew where I was.

My then-husband, unbound by the letter of the law, paid him a visit.  

That was the last time I ever saw or heard from him.

But not the last time I thought of him.

I hated it. I really wanted to be his friend. I really hated the thought of someone, ANYONE, living in this world with absolutely no-one who cared.

I cared.

He just couldn't know.

When I first started working with the homeless, particularly with the mentally ill, I immediately thought of T.C.

How is he? What is he doing? Is he still alive?

I tried to track him down online. I wasn't sure if I would do anything with it, but I wanted to know.

I asked my dad. "Remember that guy?"

"I think he died," my dad responded. Immediately.

I'm pretty sure he was just making sure I didn't open that can of worms, no matter what calling was now on my life.

From time to time I'd think of him, especially when I'd meet someone new on the streets who had no-one.

At least they now had ME.

And if I couldn't still be T.C.'s friend, I could be a friend to them.

Then today I got the news.

My son, now an officer for the same dept. my dad once ran, had remembered me talking about my desire to know how T.C. was doing. He'd be turning 66 next month and I still hated the thought of him celebrating each birthday alone.

My son sided with my dad in wanting to make sure I didn't stir a hornet's nest. "I know you, Mom," he'd protest. "If I find him, you're going to try to save him. You'll say you won't, but you will. I know you." He's right. I probably would have.

But he also knew I'd keep asking until I knew. I can be persistent, especially when it comes to those I care about.

So he ran a search.

T.C. died in 2004.

Alone.

There was no service, no obituary, no-one to notify.

I don't know how long he was dead before anyone noticed. My guess is the landlord went in when the rent was due and found him.

I didn't know how to react.

I wasn't surprised; I'd half-expected it despite the absence of his death anywhere online.

But I was sad.

I mourned his childhood, the one he'd have had if his mother had lived. Or the one he could've had if someone had seen past the actions of a scared, angry little boy.

I mourned his adult life, the thirty-seven years society shut him up in a rental and told him to stay away.

Most of all I mourned our friendship, one I couldn't maintain but never forgot.





 

In a weird way, a compliment...

I pick up homeless guys for church every Sunday. It is usually a different group each week, all with varying degrees of sobriety any given Sunday.

But they are trying, I'll give them that.

And they all try to persuade others to come.

My homeless guys are better than most of my church members at bringing guests.

But last Sunday, something happened that seemed like an insult, but was probably the biggest compliment ever.

One of the guys started telling me about another homeless guy I'd never met.

"I keep telling him he needs to meet you but he just runs off," Brian told me.

Brian is prone to exaggeration so I figured he was being dramatic.

Then I got a little offended.

What have I done that's so bad this guy doesn't want to meet me.

Several others piped up.

"I know him too."

"I tried to get him to come to church too."

"I gave him your card," Pete said.

Pete's always been pretty on-the-level with me so I was curious how this exchange went.

After all, I'd never even HEARD of the guy they were discussing, much less met him.

"What did he say?" I held my breath. (Sometimes I forget this isn't about me. This was one of those times.)

"He dropped that card like it was on fire and took off running as fast as he could."

"That's what he did with ME," Brian exclaimed.

I was silently stewing. How dare he act like there's something wrong with me?

Then it hit me. Rather, the Lord served a gentle wake-up call.

This wasn't about me at all.

This is a spiritual battle.

And a guy I've never met is terrified of me.  

Not only does the Lord know my name but Satan does too.

And he ran scared.

I think that's about the best compliment I've ever gotten!

A Long Hard Look at Myself Through a Small, Round Dental Mirror

I have had a time lately with my teeth.

A broken tooth led to an abscess, which eventually led to a root canal.

It has been several weeks of pure torture.

I didn't realize how much this was affecting my entire mood until my new little puppy went into a full-on panic mode when I began laughing hysterically at a clip from America's Funniest Home Videos.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked my husband. "Do I not laugh anymore?"

"Not in a long time," he begrudgingly admitted.

Taken aback and more than a little ashamed of myself, I vowed to do better, no matter how bad I was feeling.

My efforts were less than stellar.

Quite frankly, I'm a big baby when I don't feel well. I want my mommy and I want everyone else to leave me alone.

But I did have enough wisdom to know not to make any decisions, especially regarding the ministry, while I was feeling this way.

Because I was ready to abandon the entire homeless ministry. They weren't changing, nobody cared, I was wasting my time....

Of course that wasn't entirely true. We'd gotten two people off the streets during this period and I'd attended the graduation of a girl I never expected to complete her rehab stay. Not only did she graduate, she was hired on to staff!

So there were some positive moments.

Lesson: It is so easy to skew your vision based on your mood and mindset.

I did, however, back off a little from some of my "regulars" who frequently regard me as their personal shopper and chauffeur.

"What do they think I am, a taxi?" I'd snap to my husband.

"They aren't any different than they've always been," he replied.

This was true. The difference was definitely me. So I tried to to get out of the flesh and back in the Spirit.

Lesson: It is VERY hard to ignore the flesh when the flesh is hurting.

So I did what is probably considered  a cardinal sin for ministers.

I blocked several numbers.

Not content with just keeping my ringer off, I actually blocked the numbers of my most high-maintenance people. I not only didn't want to answer their calls, I didn't even want to know that they called.

It was a much quieter week and after the first few days, I didn't even feel bad that I'd blocked them.

Then came yesterday.

It was time to return to the original dentist, the one who'd sent me to the endodontist for the root canal. He was to put a permanent filling in before making a mold for a crown. (At this point, I'm wondering why I didn't listen to my husband and just pull the thing weeks ago but I was almost through by then.)

Lacking the refined techniques of the specialist, he bumbled around in my mouth hitting my lip, tongue, and non-numbed gums. Gripping the chair's armrests, I was admittedly jumpy, but pretty still given the fact that I didn't want my tongue drilled down as well.

I can only assume this somehow insulted the good doctor, as he actually got mad at me for being uncomfortable.

"This is between you and me now," he grumbled.

What is he talking about? I wondered. Is he sending the technician out?

I've opted to use the laughing gas, and while I wasn't laughing, I was fairly relaxed, albeit confused.

"There's going to be no charge for today and I never want to see you again. You will find someone else."

Wait, what? What's happening? I dared to open my eyes to see the older gentleman peering into my mouth with the tightest jawline I'd ever seen.

He's mad at me? What?!! Surely the laughing gas has made me delirious. How is this dentist upset at me for being uncomfortable in a dental chair? I mean, right? People aren't relaxed in dental chairs. 

By the time he finished, I was sure that a) I was not hallucinating and b) he was furious at me.

"IN ALL MY FORTY YEARS AS A DENTIST I HAVE NEVER MET A PATIENT AS UNCOOPERATIVE AS YOU!" he screamed as he stormed out of the room.

Unable to hold back tears, I was visibly shaken.

"Wh-wh-what did I do wrong?" I whisper-cried to the sole witness in the room.

"Nothing." She was clearly caught between a rock and hard place. Console the sobbing patient she'd been left with and betray her boss? "You were just a little apprehensive and it made him nervous."

A popular phrase from the 80's immediately popped in my head, one that referred to a fictional detective but also contained a 4-letter word that I no longer use, so I refrained from speaking it.

"Okayyy, but what did I do that was so bad?"

"You didn't do anything wrong. Don't worry about it."

Don't worry about it? DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT?!! Are you kidding me? I've just been left mid-procedure (turns out he WAS finished, just didn't bother cleaning the bits of filling that were all over my mouth) AND banned from a dental office. It's not like I visit the dentist for fun.

The poor guy who was entering the office did a double take as I emerged a hysterical mess. He had to have thought twice about keeping THAT appointment.

I sat in my car trying to compose myself before driving.

I was unsuccessful.

But I didn't want to stay in the parking lot any longer so I drove through my tears.

My first call was to the friend who'd recommended him. She should suffer too, right?! But she was unavailable.

I then called my dad. Daddies make everything better. He would have this guy investigated by the FBI, I was sure of it. But he didn't answer.

I reluctantly called my husband. Now he was feeling the pain of the bill for these procedures already so I wasn't sure how he'd respond.

But like my knight in shining armor he offered to go give the dentist a piece of his mind.

Thank you, but that's okay. I wanted to be angry but I wasn't. I was still too dumbfounded.

What kind of dentist gets mad at a patient for being uncomfortable?!!

I then called my best friend. I was going on an hour post-visit and my crying hadn't even slowed a drop.

She gave me the required encouragement ("You didn't do anything wrong.") with the typical bff back-up ("We're going to report him to the board for this.") punctuated by not-quite-cursing swear words like craptastic.

I finally stopped crying.

But I could not stop repeating the phrase, WHAT KIND OF DENTIST GETS MAD AT A PATIENT FOR BEING UNCOMFORTABLE?

I said it at least every thirty minutes. I thought it even more.

I fell asleep on the couch, emotionally drained while my little puppy looked the salty remnants of tears from my face. Awakening with a slight crick in my neck but a buoyancy in my Spirit, the Lord had prepared my heart during my nap.

As the devil does with things that bother you, the darts started the minute I sat up. Reliving the hurt and humiliation of being thrown out of a dentist's office, that familiar thought crept back in.

What kind of dentist gets mad at a patient for being uncomfortable?  

This time that still, small voice was ready.

Kind of like a minister that gets mad at lost people for not living right...

Talk about humbling oneself in the sight of the Lord...

There was no arguing, no justification. He was right. I'd been wrong.

Yes, the dentist had been wrong but he was in the profession to save teeth, not lives.

I'd blown it big time.

I immediately removed the blocks from my phone.

Not sure how to explain my radio silence, I sent a (slightly misleading) text out.

"Hey how's it going? My notifications on my phone were off so if you called or sent me a message this week I didn't get it."

The relieved texts came flooding in.

"I've texted you all week."  "Thank you! I wondered why you never answered."

I was wrong, but I wouldn't dwell on it. The lesson had been learned and it was a tough one.

Thankfully, He is a forgiving God.

I, too, will have to forgive.

But I still have to find a new dentist.

Do The Right Thing?

I attended a funeral this week for the sister of one of my homeless guys.

I'd met her a couple of years ago and we had talked occasionally on the phone so when she ended up in ICU a few weeks ago, I went to visit.

It was touch and go for awhile. with her moving to a regular room for 16 hours before landing back in ICU in an even more critical condition.

But before that happened, I had the salvation conversation with her.

Early in the ministry, I'd decided to hold off on that conversation because the guy seemed to be getting better. The next day he took a turn for the worse and never regained consciousness. I vowed never to make that mistake again.

So the first day that Ms. Becky was alert enough to talk, we talked about her relationship with the Lord. She knew where she was going. She wanted to go to a regular room, but she knew if that didn't happen and she didn't make it, that she would be with the Lord.

I shared that during the open comments portion of the funeral.

I hadn't planned on it, but I felt a strong urging to do so.

If there was ever a time to not heed that call, this service was the one. I was definitely out of my element, and was clearly viewed as an outsider.

But I knew that every time I ignore those urgings, I regret it later.

And it needed to be said.

The family drew comfort in my words, I could tell, and it helped celebrate her life.

Her children had arranged this service in a Catholic church about an hour from her hometown so the priests didn't know Ms. Becky and only read the obituary.

It happens.

You always want a minister who knows the deceased, but that isn't always possible.

So I wanted in some way for her loved ones to take comfort in godly words from someone who knew her.

The service itself was a little puzzling, almost paradoxical.

The lady leading music was a friend of the family's. She could've led worship for T.D. Jakes.

I felt a freedom in worshipping that I rarely have. The spirit was moving and if it hadn't been a funeral, I think I'd have been hopping over pews. (For clarity, I'm normally not very comfortable even lifting my hands in worship.)

But the mass itself was traditional, with the usual rituals of Catholicism.

I wasn't completely out of place in a Catholic church, having gone to elementary school in a Catholic school and later teaching in one.

But some of the responses have changed!

I'm answering "and also with you" while they said something about the spirit.

When did that happen?

But the part that bothered me the most was not about the music, or the communion, or the responsive readings.

It was the message given by the priest about how we know Ms. Becky is in heaven.

"We know she is in Heaven because she was a good person...."

My ears perked up. Surely he's going to clarify that...

"This is how you know you are saved...

...do the right thing. Do the right thing. Do the right thing."

While I didn't directly address his words, I did let the congregation know when I spoke that Ms. Becky knew she was going to Heaven because she had accepted Jesus as her Savior.

It was my attempt to salvage a lost opportunity for many of the family members, one who'd even arrived in hand and ankle chains, to hear the message of salvation.

That evening we preached at a men's transitional home and I shared the experience.

"Most of you wouldn't be here if you'd been doing the right thing to begin with, but let me tell you...you can do the right thing from here on out, but if you don't accept Jesus, if you don't KNOW Him, you WILL NOT get into Heaven."

To quote a dear friend, YOU NEED TO MAKE SURE YOU HAVE THAT KNOW-SO SALVATION AND NOT THE HOPE-SO ONE.

Do you KNOW? Or do you just HOPE you are saved?

There's a big difference.

And all the RIGHT in the world is not enough to enter the kingdom of God.

Blinded by the Light

The other day I heard the song "Blinded By the Light" by Bruce Springsteen.

Though the Manfred Mann's Earth Band version is the one we heard in the 80's, it was originally penned by The Boss.

None of this really matters, mind you, but before writing this post I had to do a little research. 

Like, what in the world are they actually saying?

My research led me to the lyrics and further reading explained that the line "revved up like a deuce" referred to a 1932 hot rod.

Furthermore, the entire song was never intended to make much sense, with Springsteen saying he wrote the tune using a rhyming dictionary.

One of the rhyming, nonsensical  verses:

No deep meaning, just words.

I really didn't have an issue with the song. Except...

...for the title lyric.

BLINDED BY THE LIGHT

Cause it isn't the light that blinds.

It's the darkness.

Sometimes it is hard to apply physical concepts to spiritual matters.

For example, I'd never get upset at a blind person for not being able to see.

They're blind. It isn't their fault they can't see.

Yet there are so many walking around in spiritual darkness, blind as a bat, and we get upset with them.

Even the disciples were chastised by Jesus at one point for not knowing what manner of spirit they were operating in. (Luke 9:55)

There are people who are constantly trying to manipulate me. They've learned the buzz words: homeless, stable housing, hungry. Lately many conversations have started with "I heard you were a woman of God..." setting up the premise that if I do not provide the assistance requested, I must not truly be a Christian.

I actually was accused of just that the other day. "Aren't you supposed to be a Christian?" Followed by "I called you for a ride to the store and you said you couldn't take me."

I guess Christian and Cab are supposed to be synonymous. Alliterative, yes. Synonyms, no.

But that doesn't bother me.

This in itself is HUGE. I used to care so much what other people thought of me that comments like that would've thrown me into a tailspin for days.

But it's just manipulation and I lettered in that in high school.

So I just move right along.

I do what I can but I'm starting to guard my time a little more fiercely.

I told someone just last night that I was finally learning to run my own schedule instead of letting my schedule run me.

There's still not a lot of downtime. Just this week were three hospital visits, one wedding, one funeral, and one baptism. Plus we are building a new parsonage with no contractor and no crew so that has kept me a little closer to home.

That, in turn, has cut down considerably on my time on the streets.

Which has upset a few people.

Because it is often like having a houseful of kids again.

If I take one to lunch, the others want to know why they couldn't go.

If I buy one pair of shoes, I have to listen to how twenty other pairs were worse than the ones I replaced.

And to drive their point home (the point being that they are the only one truly deserving of being ministered to) they tell me how fake the others are. How they lie, how they speak "God" around me but live like the devil when I'm not around, how they are using me.

I usually don't respond. At best, I'll just nod.

But the other day I'd had enough.

"I know a whole lot more than you think I do and I don't do anything I don't want to."

That was all it took and nothing else was said.

I could've elaborated.

"You know that Megan Trainor song? The one I hear in my head every time any of y'all speak? I know you're lyin'...cause your lips are movin'..."

Or worse, I could've told them that the "God" speak hurts my heart even more than the lies and I'd rather him them curse than pepper their conversations with phrases like "Blessed by the Best" and "Blessed and Highly Favored."

Just because they don't know what manner of spirit they are speaking, I certainly do.   

But I can't get mad at them for not being able to see.

They're spiritually blind.

And they haven't been blinded by the Light.

They're blinded by the darkness they live in and cannot see the light at all.

What they think is the light is the fake glow Satan has set in front of them.

Can you tell a knockoff Birkin bag from the real one? Are all red-soled shoes Louboutins?

While a designer can easily spot the fake, most people can not. I certainly couldn't.

The things of God are no different.

Well, actually they are VASTLY different. But the concept is the same.

We cannot expect a lost person to know, obey, or even discern spiritual matters. 

We can only guide them, such as we'd assist a physically blind person.

We can pray for their eyes to be opened.

And we must always remember the attack is not on us personally. It is a war that started long before we were even conceived and will continue on long after we are gone, should the Lord tarry.

Blinded by the light?

Never.

And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not. John 1:5

My Hope Is In You, Lord

There's a popular praise song with the lyrics...

      My life is in You, Lord
     My hope is in You, Lord.
    My strength is in You, Lord
    It's in You, it's in You...

But lately, the only part I hear is

MY HOPE IS IN YOU, LORD...

over and over...

Because everywhere I turn I see people with absolutely no hope.

They are in despair, and they cannot find even a sliver a light in their darkness.

You might expect that from people living in homeless camps.

But it's not just the homeless who've lost hope.

There are church members, board members, old friends, as well as new, who are reaching out with tales of loss, grief, and despair.

This week was unusually tough.

I was honored when the first friend called for spiritual guidance. There was a time when I sought out her godly advice as I struggled. A true friendship, that's what it's all about.

Then came three more calls, two visits to the church, and five people wanting to talk privately after meetings.

Just this week.

That's not counting the dozen or so guys on the streets I talked to.

And the theme was the same: hopelessness.

What is going on? I wondered.

Why such despair? Why has the devil convinced everyone that their lives aren't worth living? 

I realized I partly answered my own question. Satan comes to steal, kill, and destroy. At least I recognized the enemy right off the bat.

But why was it so bad? Why so many calls this week alone?

I knew it wasn't about me. The air itself had a damper on it, as if a blanket had been thrown over everyone.
Something had happened in the spiritual realm and many people were caught in the crossfire.

Some don't know the Lord. And quite frankly, maybe they should be worried. Because even if the circumstances change and they become happy again, without Christ they are going to die and go to hell. To try and cheer them up would be like putting a band-aid on a 10-inch bone-deep cut. Pointless.

For those, I share salvation. I don't force it because HE doesn't force Himself. But I do share my story. "For me, it all changed when..." Then I let the Holy Spirit do the rest.

It's a little harder with other Christians.

They KNOW a better life. They have had hope...but now it's gone. Some are trying to get it back; some stopped trying a long time ago.

WHY? I began praying in earnest for an answer. That's when the song lyrics began playing in my head.

My hope is in You, Lord...

We've forgotten that our hope is in HIM. We've placed it in our jobs, money, our kids, our possessions..even our PHONES. We've tried to fix external circumstances to heal an internal void. We've tried to use physical measures to fight a spiritual battle.

Our hope is in HIM...

I wish I could just make it better. I can share my own experiences; I can pray. But ultimately, with every single one of them, it boils down to their relationships with God. Whether it's anger at God, hurt with loved ones, or fear over hard circumstances, we, as Christians, must let go of the strongholds and have faith in Him.

Even when we are mad at Him.

I never understood that concept until I married my best friend. Now, even in the midst of a fight, I find that he is the one I want to turn to. A little weird (and often I'm too stubborn to admit to him that I need him) but he is my husband, my best friend, and I trust him to help me through EVERYTHING...even the problems HE caused!

So we must learn to do the same with God.

Be honest with Him..

Okay, God..I don't get it. Why did you let this happen? But I trust You and I know you are the only one who can help me through...so even though I'm mad at You, I need You..

Right now, everyone...pick a side!

Team A "I'm feeling hopeless" (That's okay. We have ALL been there.) Commit to ONE WEEK of focusing only on your relationship with God. Read your Bible for at least five minutes each day. Go to at least one service. Turn off the music that feeds those demons (you know what I mean) and listen to something uplifting all week. Treat yourself to something whether it's an ice cream cone, a movie, or a bubble bath. Call someone who will encourage you. (Don't have anyone? Call me...228-623-0387) Talk to the Lord or if you find that difficult, write a letter to Him.

Team B "I'm okay." (On this team, you may be barely treading water or on top of the world.) While you are welcome to do any of things Team A is doing, your job here is important. PRAY DAILY FOR TEAM A.
This is important and I'm counting on each of you. The world is full of hopeless people right now and we are going to pray them into the kingdom of light. Some need salvation, some need restoration, some need healing. They all need YOU.

State of the (Homeless) Union Address

Just a little update on my life, the ministry, and my friends on the streets...

My New House
First, we have broken ground on the new parsonage. (Yay!)

For the last two years Dale and I have been in a little trailer, beautifully remodeled AND the reason this entire ministry exists, but also small with no doors to the bedroom or bathroom and windows that, despite our best efforts, cannot keep the pouring rain outside during a storm.

So I am excited about our new house.

I'm not a very good helper, though.

We are doing the majority of the work ourselves and I have volunteered to make the lemonade. Though I was drafted today to hold the croquet mallet (sledgehammer), the bubble thing (level), and the string. (That one I got right!) I hope to recruit more help soon. All my homeless guys have offered to help for a home-cooked meal. We will take them up on it at some point.

The main conflict with getting the homeless guys to help is not what you'd think. It is that I'd have to stay home.

I haven't done much of that lately!

The Vet and the Film Crew
Last week a film crew came over from California to make a documentary on ending veteran homelessness.

One of the main subjects was the former navy cook who'd been in tent city for several years before I met him. He's now in his own apartment, working a job, and has been out of the woods for almost a year.
It was great to see them film his story and to know the part I played in that.

Another part of the film was to shoot the homeless camp Jed had been in and to interview some of the homeless still residing in the camp.

The increased awareness of those that remain helped expedite the efforts to get them housed.

Army Vet
One newly arrived veteran will be housed in a couple of weeks. I took him to get an ID, his papers from his impounded vehicle, and set up an interview with a veteran's organization who will coordinate the rest.

The Parolee
Another guy, newly arrived as well, has some legal issues that required help with transportation and paperwork or he would be immediately remanded to the county jail. He'd come to church the Sunday before the Sheriff's Office called us so I helped him as well. He is currently waiting on what's called an Interstate Compact so that he can finish out his probation in another state.

I don't know exactly what I think about his plan to go to Indiana. I thought I'd seen it all, but apparently I was wrong. He told me he had a wife there and he wanted to go home to her. I was all for putting him on a bus to be with his wife. They've been together over ten years.

Then I found out they weren't married.

THEN I found out he'd never actually seen her in person.

She was his pen pal while he was in prison.

What makes a woman initiate a relationship with a stranger in a prison doing 20 years?

But they claim to love each other. I think she's lonely and he has nowhere to go.

But he's not dangerous and this plan is better than him living in the woods.

So we are waiting for approval on that transfer.

The Katrina Couple
Another delicate situation I'm trying to handle is a couple (not blood related, but more like grandparent/child) who've been together since Hurricane Katrina. They met in a shelter and he's been her caretaker ever since. She gets a disability check; he hustles for his cash.

He's been to church a few times and previously asked for help with his drug use.

She comes to church every Sunday and believes he does no wrong.

But apparently the drug use is out of hand again because rent hasn't been paid for two months and they are being evicted.

The cockamamie stories he's given sound like a page from my old playbook and I told him so. But she believes him and I'm not sure how I can help. I have delicately approached her about changing the payment disbursement to a paper check (instead of the debit card he has possession of) and I've been staying in contact with the landlord, but this is a tough situation.

Obviously he has managed to pay the bills for years, but two months in a row is a pattern you can't turn a blind eye to.

I want to continue to help them BOTH so I must be careful.

Scooter
In another heartbreaking, confusing, and also infuriating situation, Scooter finally has a chance to get out of the woods after ten years. To make a long story short here, he's scared. He's almost institutionalized to a life on the streets.

After begging for help for months, I found a resource to help him move despite having no foreseeable income. Excited, I gave him the news last week-end only to have him attack me with a ferocity I've never seen.

"You just want to make yourself look good."

"You want to put me in another kind of hell, with your rules and your idea of what my life should be..."

The rant went on and on.

I recognized the fear, but I'm human and I make mistakes.

My response was definitely a mistake.

Controlling my words but not the spirit in which I was saying them, I threw it right back at him, "I will not make you do anything. Move out or stay in the woods. I don't care. It's your life. You can stay there and die like Mr. Roger did if you want."

Of course the apologies came from both ends the next day, but the fact remains.

He's scared he can't reacclimate to society and I'm scared he may be right.

The Nursing Home Resident
Jay went to a nursing home after he was released from a lengthy stay in the hospital. Before that he'd been in a homeless camp, unable to move. He was urinating and defecating on himself and the other guys were begging me to help. Before I could get there, they'd called an ambulance.

Three months later, he is much better. We are working on getting him into government housing. But as you can imagine, that is no easy (or quick) feat. He's growing impatient and is slightly confused about things. He calls daily and I try to visit every three days. I call my kids every time I leave and beg them to never put me there.

Santana
Santana got permission to go back home and we put her on a bus last week.

That was one of the hardest things I've seen yet.

Not Santana, who manipulated to the very end, but the others in the bus station.

Two girls, in Pretty Woman-type outfits, were in line in front of us. The one applying another coat of bright red lipstick was no more than 17. The other, in her early 20's, had on a black leather miniskirt with thigh high stiletto boots and an invisible sign reading For Sale.

I wanted to cry. Actually I did start crying because the despair I felt in the whole bus station was so overwhelming I couldn't stand it. With spiritual eyes, I saw addicts, runaways, throwaways...I wanted to do SOMETHING.

I prayed, I BEGGED the Lord for a word to give the girls. I know they thought I was looking at them with judgment; I could see it on their faces.

But it wasn't judgment at all, it was compassion mixed with helplessness.

I wanted to at least say GO HOME!!

But I never got a release from the Lord and I didn't want to interfere with whatever the Holy Spirit was doing so I just continued looking around the room, trying not to interfere with the spiritual battle taking place in front of me.

It's nice to know you are on the winning team...

Mother-Daughter Duo
These are tough, especially when you are dealing with street people.

You think your own mother-daughter dynamic is tough?

These two reached new lows this week, trying to manipulate me into cutting the other one off and helping only them.

It backfired when I told them both they were receiving their final rent payments.

I was done.

Texts after texts had been coming in with completely conflicting stories. I didn't have the time or inclination to sort through them, even though I knew the truth probably was somewhere in between.

What the daughter didn't realize was that I already knew the things she was telling me about her mother. I guess she thought I'd be appalled. She didn't really know me.

The mother didn't realize that I really didn't care WHAT the daughter was spending her money on, as long as she paid the agreed-upon utility bill.

The rest was just a waste of my time.

But miraculously, when I told them both they were exiting the housing program, they came together to create a document citing "misunderstandings" and a unified story.

Sweet! My bluff worked...

I don't think either of them realized I'd raised four teenagers at the same time....

My Birthday
I've tried to keep my schedule fairly light next week as I prepare for my birthday party!

I've reserved a pavilion at the park across from two of homeless camps and I'm having a big fish fry for the homeless.

I've mailed invitations to friends and family, handed out invitations at church, and am still delivering to everyone on the streets and the soup kitchens.

I've ordered a giant chocolate cake (with vanilla cupcakes for the non-chocoholics) and we will be serving fried catfish, potatoes, onions, squash, and hush puppies. (This is what we cook for benefits.)

I'll go the party store and get decorations this week.

I don't mind doing the planning for my party because it isn't really FOR me, it's for EVERYONE and I am so excited to be able to do this.

I was so excited that I created a little poem to go inside with the invitations!

It was birthday time…

now what would I do?

Go to the movies, the beach,

or maybe the zoo???

No, it was a party I wanted

A big, humongous bash!

A party with family and friends

Making memories that would last!

But it wouldn’t be complete

Without my friends from the streets

So a fish fry for the homeless

Became the center of this feast!

Join us on this day

For fun that just won’t end

No gifts, no cost, just come on out

And feel free to bring a friend!