Yesterday I was having these migraines most of the day, and they got progressively worse as the hours went on. This could be because of my current eating and sleeping habits (which I now know will lead to "reperfusion injury," but in an effort to pass my classes, hang out with friends and family, and spend more time painting and collaging and reading for fun, I have chosen to suffer the consequences for the time being), but it might be because of my tendency to over think things frequently. In any case, I took some more medicine yesterday and got lots of sleep in my warm room, with my only fear being that the building could catch fire and I might not wake up to it, and definitely wouldn't want to wake up to some "Public Safety" officer telling me I had to exit the building so they could issue an all-clear. And let me tell you-- it was only a minor fear.
Heidi ("D") never ended up coming by the other day. We were supposed to meet between 8:45 and 9:15. The place didn't open until 9, but I was there a few moments before and stayed until 9:45. I figured she couldn't get out this way, or her appointment ran long, or she ran into some trouble, said a quick prayer for her, and walked on to chapel. But last night, in those times I would wake up for a few minutes and then fall back asleep, I started to think about Heidi. She's been on the streets now for only two months or so. She's still learning her way around. I met her her first day on the streets, when aid from friends had run out, and I've seen her through the "this is just temporary" stage where she carries around some nice stuff still... through at least two separate robberies where they took what she had on her and she barely escaped sexual assault... through at least one sexual assault... and now the winter's cold (which lasts for at least six months in this city) has arrived and I don't know what's going to happen to her.
When I fall asleep, I don't have to worry about sleeping with my bag clutched to my chest, hoping that my arms lock in such a way that I would wake up if someone were disturbing me. I don't have to worry about being woken up by dogs or by drunks pissing on me or my stuff, or by some cop telling me it's time to move along now. When I have a headache, I have the aspirin or Excedrin or Ibuprofen I need to make it go away-- I can sleep with a rag over my eyes, and know that I can adjust my room's temperatures to whatever it needs to be for me to get the best sleep. And I don't have to worry about being woken up to a sexual assault.
Almost five years ago, I was sitting in a missions school in Los Angeles, listening to some speaker talk about doing ministry in the midst of the homeless and the disease-ridden and the dying. I asked then, how in the world we are supposed to help and I remember being given some answer about trying to help just one at a time; it rang hollow to me then, because I knew how overwhelmed I got when I walked past every single person who was honest enough to admit he or she had a need.
Some five years later, I'm here in the city; I've lived downtown for twenty-one months now. And still, every time I see someone honest enough to admit he or she needs help, everything inside sorta crushes. I know why I got that answer-- it was the only answer that made sense to the guy. And after all these months, it's the only thing I'm capable of doing. I can't change the city laws or the government to allow for adequate housing or better programs, and I don't even know what those things would look like. I remember meeting Mike, a homeless friend who told me that if I really gave a damn about their lives, I would leave my comfortable home for a year and go and live on the streets, because until I did, I'd never have a voice worth listening to.
I want to reach up and pull an answer out of the sky and give it to you all as the perfect way to do ministry to the homeless, but I can't. I still have no idea how to effect change in an entire population. But I think that allowing the problem and questions to wake me up in the middle of the night is a start. I think that promising to be waiting for D every time we say we're going to meet up, in case she actually can make it to one of them, is a start. I think that taking the money I would be giving to some Jubilee, and sharing it with the homeless in the same Spirit, is a start. And I don't know much about finishing races, but I know what the next step looks like, and I think that maybe I'm just going to focus on taking the next step for now.
And God, please watch over these friends, cause it's getting dangerously cold and I'm worried for them.
18.11.08
So last week on the train...
I was sitting there, albeit with an "abortion is mean" patch over the hole in my pants knee (well-- it used to be over the hole; now it's merely another part of the fabric around an ever-enlarging hole), when these two guys walked on the train. Now, not being a person particularly given to stereotypes, the fact that they were male wasn't quite enough to make me do much more than smirk and wait to see what interesting things were awaiting me.
Sure enough, we weren't more than
*Author pauses at this point to remind the readers that she sent this link to people over the age of 18. If you are under 18, or you are offended by what is commonly referred to as "language," then this is probably where you should stop reading. Really. Because while I could change the words of what was being said, I'm exercising my right not to.*
Sure enough, we weren't more than thirty seconds in our ride together before the one guy looks over at me and says "Abortion is mean."
"mm-hmm," I respond.
"No-- seriously. It is. Thanks for getting the word out."
I look up at him, surprised to find some good looking kid on the other end of those words who, to be fair, didn't look like he wanted to get in my pants, but rather make a new friend. I smiled and we began talking. Highlights of the conversation:
His buying two "student tickets" (one for him and one for his friend), despite telling me that he's 20 and "can't believe that shit still works" and "I'm a good liar-- no one ever questions me. That's why I'm a good telelmarketer."
His asking me if I listened to a number of bands, including Bright Eyes, Mest, and some forty other groups/singers I'd never heard of. I wrote down his favorites and said I'd look them up (and I will).
His telling me he's a tagger, but only tags things like "peace" "love" and "hope." That conversation went within seconds to "I smoke pot-- do you?" (my answer was " no"-- his response: "do you want to start?" My answer remained "no.")
We discussed war for a little bit... He asked where I lived and I said downtown, but when he asked what school I went to, I told him I wasn't going to say. In reality, it was because I don't like having to deal with everyone's preconceived notions about people who attend this school. But he took it as a step of wisdom in not giving him all my information, which I suppose is a smart idea as well.
He invited me to a party... I said I wasn't sure I would go.
He gave me his number and made me promise I'd call him, even just once.
And then... he invited me to the party again.
And while he and his friends gathered their belongings to get off the train, he said "Hey look-- it's not all about sex for me, okay? I really want you to know that. And I promise you, if you come and hang out with us, I won't try to fuck you."
His face was full of such earnestness, I didn't pause to point out that this was coming within mere minutes of his admiration of his own skills at lying.
Sometimes life is just so full of fun, you know? And sometimes our own honesty can be our downfall. I was thinking about how different my days would be if I would just be that honest with people all the time, letting them see my own contradictions, because I know that I have them. There's something childlike in that. Something I think I want to see more in my life, in place of all the games to try to keep the right faces up to the right people. I want to figure out where I'm not honest, and I want to change.
"D"-- Heidi from earlier stories, said she's gonna try and come by in the next hour or so, so hopefully we'll be hanging out, which will be nice.
Sure enough, we weren't more than
*Author pauses at this point to remind the readers that she sent this link to people over the age of 18. If you are under 18, or you are offended by what is commonly referred to as "language," then this is probably where you should stop reading. Really. Because while I could change the words of what was being said, I'm exercising my right not to.*
Sure enough, we weren't more than thirty seconds in our ride together before the one guy looks over at me and says "Abortion is mean."
"mm-hmm," I respond.
"No-- seriously. It is. Thanks for getting the word out."
I look up at him, surprised to find some good looking kid on the other end of those words who, to be fair, didn't look like he wanted to get in my pants, but rather make a new friend. I smiled and we began talking. Highlights of the conversation:
His buying two "student tickets" (one for him and one for his friend), despite telling me that he's 20 and "can't believe that shit still works" and "I'm a good liar-- no one ever questions me. That's why I'm a good telelmarketer."
His asking me if I listened to a number of bands, including Bright Eyes, Mest, and some forty other groups/singers I'd never heard of. I wrote down his favorites and said I'd look them up (and I will).
His telling me he's a tagger, but only tags things like "peace" "love" and "hope." That conversation went within seconds to "I smoke pot-- do you?" (my answer was " no"-- his response: "do you want to start?" My answer remained "no.")
We discussed war for a little bit... He asked where I lived and I said downtown, but when he asked what school I went to, I told him I wasn't going to say. In reality, it was because I don't like having to deal with everyone's preconceived notions about people who attend this school. But he took it as a step of wisdom in not giving him all my information, which I suppose is a smart idea as well.
He invited me to a party... I said I wasn't sure I would go.
He gave me his number and made me promise I'd call him, even just once.
And then... he invited me to the party again.
And while he and his friends gathered their belongings to get off the train, he said "Hey look-- it's not all about sex for me, okay? I really want you to know that. And I promise you, if you come and hang out with us, I won't try to fuck you."
His face was full of such earnestness, I didn't pause to point out that this was coming within mere minutes of his admiration of his own skills at lying.
Sometimes life is just so full of fun, you know? And sometimes our own honesty can be our downfall. I was thinking about how different my days would be if I would just be that honest with people all the time, letting them see my own contradictions, because I know that I have them. There's something childlike in that. Something I think I want to see more in my life, in place of all the games to try to keep the right faces up to the right people. I want to figure out where I'm not honest, and I want to change.
"D"-- Heidi from earlier stories, said she's gonna try and come by in the next hour or so, so hopefully we'll be hanging out, which will be nice.
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