Looping Back Around

For those who don't know, I do outreach.  My homeboy cooks the food, fifty five plates this time, I take it out with water and other donations made by those whose hearts are for the people in the streets.

I try to never call them homeless, I always refer to them as my people in the streets.  Labels drive me nuts.  My friends are my friends, I've never stuck a label on any of them, not black, or white, gay, or straight, etc. etc.  I'm not a label person.  I love people, all people, we are many different walks, colors, preferences and groups.

I love them.  They are my people.

How are they my people you ask?

I used to be them.

I spent many years without a home, in the streets, strung out, trying to survive.

It's a miserable existence at best.

It's a never ending cycle of needing money for everything and finding a way to get it, or someone to get it from.

It started as an invitation from someone else, because I lost the way of my heart.

I've always gone to the streets, since I left them.

First it was Fishman, every Saturday, two blocks from the Greyhound station in Atlanta, then it was going into the trap inviting people to Hebrews 11.  I can't tell you how many time I've been pulled over, on my way to church, because I was a white girl driving around in the dope trap talking to everyone.  Back then I used to go to the places I was scared to go even when I was getting high and believe me when I tell you I've invited every drug dealer I ever bought dope from to church with me.  They thought I was just as crazy as I was when I was getting high, probably more.

Montgomery is very different from where I come from.  It's a puzzle I haven't figured out yet.

There used to be girls walking up and down the Southern Boulevard.  Where I come from prostitutes are plentiful.  Without prostitutes the drug trade suffers and the addicts suffer as well, because without that money coming in and that kind of traffic, everyone can't get high.

If you know me in my everyday life, you wouldn't think for a moment I know about these things.

Everyone has a story, mine comes out the dope trap.

Then it was Mr. Willie.  Bless his heart, I loved Mr. Willie.  Willie was a 73 year old truck driver who had a stroke, lost his job, lost his house, worked every day of his life.  It happens that quickly.  His sister was stealing his disability checks so he started having them sent to me, so I could bring them to him.  This ensued his being robbed every month, because people knew who I was and why I had come to see him.  

This discouraged me and put me in a place so dark, I quit doing street ministry.  

I was sick of it, still dealing with an addict in my husband, unable to be effective for Willie and I just fell off.

My life kept marching on and I did what I did and the streets didn't interest me anymore and I had a bad attitude about all of it.

I know the streets.

The streets are mean, everyone is trying to get money, everyone is selling something and no one cares about you.  People have no problem getting over on one another to get to what they want.  Robbing an old man is of no account.

I got a message from Willie a few years back, said he had a job, was living in tent city, a place I'm still not going, for the moment.  He's probably 83 now and who knows but I totally loved Willie.  I used to go get him and bring all his stuff to my house, wash his clothes, feed him, hang out with him. He smelled so bad, I will never forget that smell.  There were times when I thought I would never get the smell out of my truck.  I didn't care, I loved Willie.

I've literally had to put cardboard on the passenger seat of the truck, because his clothes were that bad and he'd wet himself so often his clothes were still wet and I have cloth seats.

I'm not telling you this to shame him, I'm telling you this so you can see the depth of my love for him.

I never and still don't think any less of him.  I remember days when I was dirty and stunk.  I remember walking up the street down wind of a girl who reeked of urine, after being in the same clothes for a week or more and in case you didn't know, there's no toilet paper in the streets.  You can steal it from gas stations, but there's still going to come a day when your clothes have absorbed the times you didn't have it.

Love is messy and smelly and dirty.

My heart is overflowing with love and my mind is overflowing with memories right this second and tears are threatening to course down my cheeks but I still have to tell the story.

I hug them.  I don't care if they are clean or not.  I don't care if they are wearing deodorant.  I don't care if they are sweaty.  I don't care when was the last time they had a bath.  I hug them.

Like I said, they are my people.

I don't preach to them, I tell them I love them.  There are many who tell me they love me.  I don't present to them a God who says love me or else.  Truth be told they tell me God bless you all the time.  Some of them are so thankful you just know no one has been kind to them, or they feel like no one cares.

I don't tell them you've got to do this or you've got to do that, I just go out there and be me.  I ask them if they want some lunch, are they hungry, I bet you could use some cold water right about now.  I don't try to church them at all.

I know, somewhere in the back of your mind, you're asking yourself, "well isn't that the point?".  No it isn't.  I have something they need, something more important than the food and the donations and the give me give me give me, because they want whatever it is because they lack so much.  Whether they realize it or not, I look like Jesus.  I'm being Jesus, but even greater than that I am being kind to Jesus.

I'm a very bold person, so you can't imagine how humbling that is for me, the things it does to my heart, the things I take away from the experience.

Today I saw Julio, atleast that's what I think his name is, it could be Carlos, it could be Juan, the book I had his name written in left with my car.  I used to know his name, I still remember his shoe size, what size shirt he wears, what size pants he wears and that he is from Cuba and his lady likes pretty things.  I've known him since the day I hit the streets in Alabama, see him everywhere I go, wouldn't even consider hurting his feelings and insulting him by asking him his name again.  Every time I see him, I treat him like he's my oldest best friend.  I tell him I love him and I hug him and he hangs around and talks with me the entire time I'm where ever we've run into one another and I hug him good bye and tell him I love him again before I leave.  I'm not saying his name isn't important, I know him, I love him, he's been there from the start and he is my people.  What's more important?  Knowing his name?  Or knowing what his needs are?  

There are many people I see all the time, I don't know all of their names yet, doesn't affect my love for them and they probably don't even care.  They are looking for me, they are depending on me, they know I am coming to them, they know I have something for them.

I love each and every one of them.

There's a girl out there right now, I'm not going to tell you her name, but she rents a storage unit from me and I've seen her the last three times I've gone.  She knows I love her and she doesn't have to be ashamed.  She did have a car, don't know what happened to it and someone staying at my house, I won't say her name, made this big deal about how she smelled, sprayed the house down after she left, kind of pissed me off about the entire thing and this is before I knew the girl was homeless.

I'm sure she knows who I am, but I haven't spoken to her in a way where others would know we know one another and I haven't treated her any differently than anyone else and I can tell that's good with her.

It's not something to be embarrassed about, it could happen to anyone.

I don't care what she smells like and I love her even more knowing she's in the situation she is in, because I've been there.

I've been asking them for their dirty socks, so I can take them home and wash them.  They won't give them to me, they are embarrassed.

Today, I had 55 plates, toothbrushes, toothpaste, socks, sweat rags, plenty of water and a message from my pastor about people who are committed, people who volunteer, a king who is just being obedient and serving without even knowing he's a king and a mission.

I'm nobody special.  I want to be, but even then it would be empty without Jesus.

I've told you all this to tell you, after I'd gone everywhere I go today, I decided to loop back around, because I still had a cooler full of food and didn't want to waste it.  If they ask me for more than one I give it to them, because I remember being that hungry, they aren't just being greedy.  In looping back around I saw everyone I missed in the first place and my heart was so full to be told I was loved and they were glad to see me and for all the food to be gone.

I had stuff to do, a birthday party I was late for, a four year old wanting the toy I'd bought him out of the back of the truck, I had stuff going on just like everyone else does, but this one thing was so much more important.

People tell me "you're doing a good thing," all sorts of other stuff and I really don't know how to respond because I don't even want them to see it that way.  I want them to really see I'm being Jesus, it's not me it's Him, it's His heart, it's what He called me to do and it's so not about me because I didn't even want to do it to begin with, this time.  I love my Father and I want to please Him but I'm not working at doing that, I please Him all the time.

He's using me, the place I've come from, the things I know, the heart He's place in me and that heart is really His heart.  In doing that I get to be kind to Jesus as well as look like Him and love people who need His love so desperately.

I scream send me God I'll go and because He loves me so much I get to go and I get to love so many wonderful people because of that willingness.

I am Mary, choosing to sit at the feet of Jesus and I still get to have Martha's part in the effort.

The scripture portrays Martha as being worried and wanting Mary to help her and being all caught up in the effort.  I get to be both women and love the entire process, without expecting anything from anyone except God.

I don't have to work for His love but His love is so grand I just have to do something!