Alive and Well in South Mississippi

41 days since I last posted...

I can't believe it's been that long and yet,

it seems like 401 days...

When I think about all that's happened!

The first week of February I went to Jackson to watch my new grandson as my daughter-in-law went back to work. We called it "transitioning" but I knew the truth: it was my excuse to do nothing but rock and sing to an 8-week-old for 5 days.

Wishful thinking!

I hadn't even made it to Jackson when my phone started ringing.

An apartment building in Pascagoula had been condemned and the residents were being evicted immediately. One of the tenants was a gentleman I'd gotten off the streets four months before.

So in between feedings I was on the phone. With residents, with city officials, with other agencies. I wasn't there when the "big meeting" took place between agencies and city officials. But dozens of others were. They made their presence known, pledged support, and...vanished.

Surprise. Surprise.

People like looking good on paper.

But there were a couple of organizations who remained faithful as well and we were able to push the city's deadline back to the following week.

My daughter-in-law called me Erin Brockovich.

When I got home the REAL work began. Residents were in those apartments to begin with because they couldn't rent anywhere else. They had felonies, bad credit, no jobs...

There were women with six and seven kids in one and two-bedroom apartments with no furniture, and oftentimes, no electricity. They needed more than just a new place to rent.

In the end, we placed all but one tenant and the eviction turned out to be a blessing in disguise for many. It wasn't without struggles, and some manipulation, but we were able to share the love of Christ. And that's what matters.

The week after everyone was moved chaos erupted in Tent City. You cannot continue on in sin day in and day out without it growing, and for the homeless there, the vile nature of Satan was never more evident.

Angry over a minor altercation, one of my guys set fire to a woman's tent.

While she was sleeping.

He'd done this to someone before and the other guy had run off terrified.

Not Marsha.

She was mad and not about to back down.

So the next night, while he was sleeping, she set fire to his tent.

As he came running out, she attacked him repeatedly with a bat.

I've known both of them for over a year and what I saw that next day made me sick.

The struggling souls I've been ministering to were gone and I knew I was looking at the demons that took control.

It was the first time that I left there saying I wouldn't go back.

I've been protected; I've felt safe.

And even though I didn't feel like I was in any danger, even as they tried to talk to me while threatening each other, I knew the Lord was pulling me away.

Quite frankly, I'd only be in His way at this point. Maybe this is the place they need to be to reach up.

I haven't stopped caring. In fact, I've never cared more. It breaks my heart and yet, I am hopeful that their "bottom" will come soon.

As far as the others:

Katie had her baby, a gorgeous and healthy baby girl. She's currently couch-hopping but since her mail is coming here, she keeps me informed of where she is.

Susan is back in the abusive relationship, crying the same stories, and wondering why nothing changes. I don't know what else to do.

But there are good stories too!

 Ronnie has been accepted into a program that will provide housing and the mental health care he needs. I have mixed feelings about setting someone up with secular mental health, but as long as I can't provide an alternative, it's better than him being on the streets.

Eric got into VA housing a few months ago and is still doing well. He's working and has made friends. He quit drinking and keeps his new apartment spotless!

Melvin got a certificate from the mission he's staying in up north. (We put him on a bus right before Christmas.) He'd completed a course and was beaming when he received it. "It's just a piece of paper," the other guys said. "NO," Melvin replied, "It's the first thing I've accomplished in 40 years. It's more than a piece of paper to me!"

I cried myself when he sent me the picture of his certificate! I'm so proud of him.

In the midst of it all, I've been working on taxes for our personal filing, the church, the ministry, and the business we manage. My system was one filing cabinet drawer per org.

That's right. One per drawer.

Not one drawer for the labeled files for each organization.

One drawer for all the paperwork and receipts that I'd go through before the end of the year.

Then the end of January.

Then I started freaking out! Why hadn't I created a better system? Why had I procrastinated?

The problem had gotten so bad that I had no idea where to start.

How often does that happen with spiritual problems?

I enlisted the help of my daughter and nephew and brought 10,000 receipts to Louisiana for them to separate by month. That done, I was able to organize the receipts, calculate, and add to a spreadsheet.

It took nearly a month and I didn't stop once I'd gotten all of 2015 completed. I did January and February of 2016 as well and created a system that should keep that from ever happening again.

It will require a little daily maintenance, as well as some monthly work. But I won't find myself with an elephant of an insurmountable mess again.

I wish I'd have done the same with my weight.

People can tell me I'm still beautiful, I look healthy, blah blah blah...

They mean well and they are trying to make me feel better.

But like my homeless guys, maybe I don't need someone making it better for me. This was wrong.

It isn't about vanity at all. (Though I do hate the way I look, so maybe it's a little about that.)

But it's really about health.

I walked in that optimal health. And because I was rebellious, and defiant, I steadily gained weight, telling God that He should make it go away despite the choices I was making. He didn't and I didn't sacrifice at all.

Now my back hurts, my knee feels like it's ripped in two, and I'm tired all the time.

I can still serve God, don't get me wrong. I'm still ministering. But it isn't the same. It can't be. The pain alone is distracting.

It's easy to rebuke the darts of Satan when you aren't in pain. It's a lot harder when you are.

I've made dietary changes. I've started walking again.

But like that mound of receipts, it seems like too much to ever get to where I want to be.

This time, when NOT IF, I get this under control, I'm going to keep it there.

I am humbled once again by how much farther I am from the image of God than I thought.

Texting with Satan

We met Dalton a week after we moved here.

He was walking down the street, dirty and haggard, and I offered him a meal. We were doing a fish fry benefit for a local ministry and plates were $7 each. He said he didn't have any money and I told him that I asked if he was hungry, not if he had money.

From there a friendship was born.

Even though I discovered that he was not homeless, having inherited an aunt's house, he had no money, no furniture, and no groceries. I included him in my homeless ministry.

I picked him up for church every Sunday for six months, until he got his truck running and began driving himself to church.

He would have periods of time when he would start to back away, but I'd always find a job for him in the church and make sure he felt needed.

He liked to text and we had frequent text conversations. It was obvious from the start that his cognitive function was oddly paradoxical. Aware of historical and world events that only Jeopardy champions could recall, in some ways he was brilliant. But he also showed signs of a stunted mental growth and severe social disorder, similar but not quite the same as Asperger's. A diagnosed schizophrenic, he went to a psychiatrist twice a month.

I didn't care about any of that nor did it scare me. We're all a little crazy, I figure, and the root of ALL illness, physical or mental, is spiritual anyway so I knew one day he'd be set free.

We've been friends now for a year and half, and even though he stopped coming to church a few months ago, I've continued to help him and engage in some interesting text conversations.

He grew up with a drug-addicted, prostitute mother who was in and out of jail, grandparents who despised him, and a largely absentee father. I was the first real friend he'd ever had, he told me.

The text talks aren't unusual; I receive several every day. Many guys touch base just to stay accountable, or to know that someone out there truly cares.

But Dalton's texts started getting much darker a few weeks ago.

Attacking Christianity, church, and bizarre things like the moon and kittens, his rants were often left unanswered.

I knew I would be carrying on a conversation with the devil.

Only when he'd reach out and ask for help in clearing his mind would I respond.

But he was like a child, trying to see how far he could go.

He kept on. And on. Attacking the Bible, attacking Christians, trying to provoke an argument.

Last night, he crossed a line. He attacked my husband and the message he preached from the pulpit. (The sermon was about Paul.) I'd heard Dalton argue before that Paul was basically the devil but this time when he attacked Paul, he attacked my husband as well.

What was I supposed to do?

Turn the other cheek? Take a stand?

I wasn't going to get into another text marathon with him. Those never ended well. He always had to have the last word, and as soon as he seemed to receive help, he'd go off in left field somewhere.

I felt like a mom who'd finally reached her wit's end. That's it! I thought. You wanted me to get to this point. I'm there!

My reply was short and succinct. I'm sorry you feel that way about my husband. Goodbye.

I honestly don't know if I did the right thing.

Because it's still bothering me, I'm thinking I didn't.

I can only pray for guidance and clarity in my future steps.

Pitching Your Tent Toward Sodom

This morning's sermon was on Genesis 13:12 and how Lot pitched his tent toward Sodom.

I'd already known the title of the sermon and some of the points. I try to act as an attentive audience as my husband prepares his notes throughout the week, but if I hear too much of a sermon beforehand my mind tends to wander to grocery lists and meal menus during the service.

So even though I knew the gist of the message, I didn't know the details. Nor did I know the conviction that would accompany it.

I'd like to think of myself more as Abraham, leading the nations and following God faithfully.

But during the sermon I saw myself as Lot, receiving the fringe benefits instead of earning the wages.

But I don't pitch my tent toward Sodom, I meekly declared to the Lord. I am not living in sin, nor am I fixated on living like the world does. Of this, I was confident.

No, He said. You've pitched your tent on a carousel. In my mind's eye, I saw one of those little merry-go-rounds that make for great incentives in getting kids to behave in Wal-Mart. I've spent many post-shopping trips with kids and grandkids on the little horses, rewarded for patiently sitting in the cart throughout my shopping, while I impatiently waited for the cycle to end.

I could clearly see the things of God on one side and the things of the world on the other. And me, right there on the carousel, spinning dizzily around and around as my focus shifted.

He was right. That's exactly what I do.

My Sodom may not be sex and drugs, but it's love of money, and secular music, and tv shows that poke fun at sin.

What happens when the music stops? Where are you facing? He continued.

Somewhere different each time, I realized. Sometimes toward the Lord, sometimes toward the world. Yet others times I ride without ceasing. Around and around.

They call that being double-minded.

Here's the thing. As long as I want to stay on that carousel, He's going to keep feeding it quarters. That's His permissive will.

In His perfect will, I take my tent, face it toward Him, hang the OUT OF ORDER sign on the carousel, and cast not my eyes on the world ever again.

Did we learn nothing from Lot's wife? She turned into a pillar of salt.

We just turn into pillars of unrighteousness.

Where is your tent pitched? Near God, but facing the world? In the world? Facing God and with your back to the world?

Or are you like me, on a carousel, praying that the music doesn't stop when you're faced the wrong way?