I really thought this blog was done.
I hadn't stopped writing; quite the opposite, I was writing more. But this was a homeless blog. And my homeless ministry had ended.
Or so I thought.
After all, it was no longer bearing fruit.
In Luke Chapter 13, Jesus teaches the parable of the barren fig tree.
“A certain man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard, and he came seeking fruit on it and found none. Then he said to the keeper of his vineyard, ‘Look, for three years I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree and find none. Cut it down; why does it use up the ground?’ But he answered and said to him, ‘Sir, let it alone this year also, until I dig around it and fertilize it. And if it bears fruit, well. But if not, after that you can cut it down.’” (v. 6-9)
My own timeline was similar.
What began as a great work had turned into something more secular. I was housing and transporting in the name of ministry but sharing the gospel had been pushed to the back burner. They still got a dose of the Word on Sundays when I picked them up for church, but from Monday- Saturday, nothing changed.
Actually, from the moment I dropped them off after church on Sunday, they quickly and willingly returned to their own spiritual filth. Proverbs 26:11
What was I doing?!!
Then, late last year, a series of events occurred that had me surveying my fig tree.
I completely lost hearing in one ear causing panic and a rush to find answers.
One of the clients in our permanent supportive housing became more than I could handle, given my already weakening state.
And three of my most beloved homeless guys (including Scooter) were given the opportunity to move into an apartment, no strings attached. No job, no money, nothing. They didn't even have to get sober. All they had to do was leave the homeless camp.
AND THEY REFUSED!
I didn't understand.
And I wasn't sure what I was doing anymore.
My heart was still with the homeless and I didn't want to just quit. But I knew something had to change. I asked the Lord (my vineyard keeper) to give me time to get things right. I knew it was going to require some deep tilling around the roots. I was quite aware that some of the problem lied with me and I wanted to get things right.
Reflecting back last month, I told my dad and sister I knew I was about to head down the wrong road to which they both snorted, "About to?! Honey you blew past THAT exit at 90 mph and never looked back."
Well, maybe they were right. I definitely opened a door out of fear and frustration and found the force of all I'd come against for the last couple of years standing there ready for a full-fledged assault.
But this time it was different.
In the past, I'd gotten derailed and then sulked and licked my wounds before I decided to return to serving the Lord. I no longer had that option.
It wasn't so much that I still had a church to stand in front of each Sunday but the words of Sister Ellen from my ordination service. "You are now held to a higher calling." There would be no sulking. No hiding. And no running.
It was time to stand up and fight.
I went out on the streets and told everyone I was taking three months off. I wouldn't be available by phone and I wouldn't pick up for church. I turned my housing clients over to other organizations and I canceled all meetings.
I went back to that place with the Lord where everything made sense. The cross.
I began writing, finally finishing some work I'd started years ago. Bible studies, reflections, devotions. I prayed. I read my Bible for hours at a time.
At the end of three months I was ready to survey my tree a little more objectively. Okay, Lord, I said. You can cut it down. Whatever you have next for me, I'm ready. But in the meantime I'm going to serve you, worship you, and rest.
I was enjoying it. After going 24/7, I appreciated the slower pace. I cultivated friendships. I took time to smell the roses, both literally and figuratively.
And I kept writing.
I decided that this was my new ministry. The Lord was going to use me through my words. I have 18 different titles in varying stages and I was sure this was His plan.
When I got the call asking me to once again chair the review committee for homeless grants, I declined. That part of my life was over. I'd hewed around that tree and it had toppled over.
But she persisted. And I agreed.
It was something I enjoyed doing and I had the time.
At the same time, the men's transitional home we'd been ministering in was about to embark on a new journey with a women's campus. Would we be interested in helping there as well?
Their program is a 9-month Christian transitional home for men (and now women in a separate campus) who are recovering from alcohol or drug problems as they re-enter society through the workforce by living and working in a controlled living environment with graduating levels of privileges until their graduation.
Having already grown close to the founders, we were happy to help. I could write curriculum for the women; I was already writing 6-7 hours a day. Not so coincidentally, I'd pursued a PhD in curriculum and instruction before we moved from Oklahoma to Mississippi, so this would be my way of "doing something" with a degree I was unable to complete.
Two months into my writing for women I'd yet to meet, I felt a strange stirring within. It wasn't as strange as it was scary. I couldn't make a ministry mistake again so I didn't immediately acknowledge it. I toe-tested the water.
Committing only to helping out from time to time, we discussed policies and procedures and plans and growth and problems unique to women. I kept writing, devising a binder of self-study devotions and program rules.
When the binder was 90% complete, I received a call.
"We're interviewing Program Directors this week," they said. "We'd like for you to be a part of this process and to help whoever we hire."
That stirring inside went into full-blown blender mode. No, I realized, the Lord has had this for me the whole time. I just didn't trust that feeling until now. But do I want to commit?
"I'd like to do it myself, " I surprised us all by saying just three days later. "And I don't need a salary."
The last statement might've been shocking to them, but my husband understood.
As a young woman I'd wanted to go see a popular Christian speaker at my home church. Everyone was talking about it and it was a big draw for our town. But with four young kids, I couldn't afford the $35 ticket price.
I made a vow to the Lord right then. If He ever used me, I would not take a dime.
I've still held true to that promise.
We don't take a salary for the church or the ministry. The Lord provided by allowing us to manage a company owned by our associate pastor, a business that quadrupled its business when the proceeds began being used to further the gospel. I can work from home or on the road, taking orders and sending invoices. It is something I enjoy doing and not at all time-consuming.
It has been a true example of Where God Guides, He Provides. (Thank you, Jenni, for reminding me of that early on.)
Once the commitment was made, we went full-force. I met the girls and started working on individual plans. My review committee meeting reminded me that transitional homes fall under homeless status.
My fig tree had life.
It turns out that something I thought was dead wasn't dead after all. I had been so focused on one dead branch that I didn't realize I was no longer looking at the whole tree.
My tree may have withered and fallen over, but it had a strong root.
And like the wild grass that peppers our church lawn, it may have bent over to the point where it looked like it had been cut, but all it took was a good rain to pop back up.
I'm excited for this new journey in my life.
It is new in many ways, but it's also a continuation of what the Lord started three years ago.
I'm excited to see where it goes.
I will continue to periodically share posts relating to the homeless ministry on this blog but I am mostly focusing on the new blog: www.askgigielizabeth.blogspot.com Feel free to follow both!
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