a surrender - 45

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

But people kept coming. One night, after we had closed the house, there were two emergency calls. A woman was stranded at the bus station and the security guard was calling to find her a place for the night. The other call was from a nurse at the hospital with a woman fleeing domestic abuse, who couldn’t find room at the local domestic abuse shelter. It was after midnight then. I managed to let them in and provide a place on our couches. And the next morning Heather helped me sort out their stories and find bus fare to get them on their way. Heather was very good with the woman who was fleeing. She was extremely nervous and needed comforting, and Heather invited her into her room and helped her prepare for a bus ride to a safer place. We felt happy after helping those two women.

But they kept on coming. The very next night a woman showed up on the porch late, drunk, but she was shaking, crying uncontrollably. I let her in, and asked if she wanted something to eat. She was ravenous for meat, since she had been living on noodles for quite a while, so I found her some sliced turkey. And sat with her, and listened.

She had been saving money to pay a fine, she told me. If she didn’t pay she would go to jail. Her court date was tomorrow and she’d had the money ready; she had given it to her boyfriend to keep safe. But he had spent it on drugs.

“He smoked my freedom,” she cried.

When she demanded the money, shouting, and wouldn't leave him alone, he’d called the police and had her taken away. But she had been living with him; she had nowhere else to go. So the police left her at our door.

I had to sit with her a long time. She couldn’t calm down enough to sleep; she raged and paced and wailed. She wasn’t sure who she wanted to shoot, him or herself. She said she believed there was a God. And she believed God hated her. She said she now understood how some women turned to prostitution, how others became criminals. And then, sagging in the chair, she cried, “And no one cares… no one cares.”

She said that over and over, and I suddenly realized that her anguish was spiritual. Right in the middle of her loss of housing and possible loss of freedom, she was most troubled because no one seemed to care. Not even God. I didn’t know how to respond to her deep pain, except by listening and trying to be a friend to her.

Continued...

a surrender - 44

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

And the challenges continued. We had sent that couple off to their new apartment with many things that they would need, but they had also borrowed an expensive ventilation fan and had not returned it. I’d been trying to keep in mind Jesus’ words, “Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods do not demand them back.” But others in the house were starting to insist that I do something to get it back. The next day, there was a loud disagreement in our front yard among the lunch crowd and the neighbor called the police. We explained to them that we tried to solve disputes through listening, patience, and our personal relationships with the guests here, rather than resorting to physical force or the police. But they said if we weren’t going to start calling the police, they would file an official complaint against us. And Sammy was still threatening to sue and demanding money. He was getting harder to deal with and wouldn’t listen when we tried to explain that his own drunkenness and belligerence led to his injury. So we just listened and gave him food when he was hungry, blankets, bus tokens, whatever we could offer.

It wasn’t long, though, before the lunchtime volunteers had had enough. Sammy got into a fight and they called the police to remove him, and banned him from the house. He showed up that night, though, when the lunch volunteers were gone. He just barged right in, spit on someone, and grabbed some food, upsetting the women who lived with us. Then he arrived again the next morning. I went out to him and listened to him yell. Then I asked him if he wanted something to eat. When I brought out two sandwiches and some orange juice, and said he could sit on the porch and eat them, he apologized for yelling. I went back inside to finish my prayers and coffee. When I checked later, he was gone.

But Sammy was worrying me. Despite our patience and kindness, he had gotten nasty with Heather and me, attacking us personally. He called us “freeloaders” here. He said any self-respecting man would provide his own place for his woman. And in his angry demands for money he had threatened to damage the house.

Then that night, after dark, Sammy showed up on the porch again. And asked for me. I went out and led him down the block, away from the house. He had been drinking. But he wasn’t aggressive this time. He said he was sorry for causing so much trouble, he didn’t want to hurt anyone and he would stay off the premises. He shook my hand and thanked me and Heather for “trying to see him as a better person.” He was lonely and “just trying to get attention.” He thought he might like to volunteer at the house some time. We shook hands again and I asked if he needed anything. He said he’d be all right. Then we said goodbye and he left.

I could hardly believe it. As I walked back to the house, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was like a weight had been lifted from me. And it was encouraging to see that kindness and patience could have such a good effect, even with someone as hardened as Sammy. 

Continued...

a surrender - 43

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

But in the days that followed, there were a series of disappointments. We heard that a couple that had just moved out of the house (the husband had been sleeping on the porch), who we congratulated and rejoiced with, were now doing drugs in their new apartment. We talked with a woman with two children and found out her sister had pushed them out of the grandmother’s home onto the street, and seemed to be trying to get custody of the kids. While gathering some food and blankets for a friend with a dog, we listened while he explained how his van (his only home, with all his belongings) had been towed in a random sweep to discourage football fans from parking in a restaurant parking lot during the games. And we saw Sammy again, now in a neck brace with ugly red scrapes on his face, sitting in our kitchen after receiving food and blankets—and calmly saying he might try to sue us.

Then we found out that Cassie, who was still staying in the house, had alcohol problems. One night she got some bad news about custody of her kids (who lived with a relative) and, after a month of sobriety, she started drinking again. A lot. Heather and I ended up driving her to her sister’s place. She wanted to get out of the house and it was raining and dark, and we were worried she would go out walking alone, stumbling drunk. During the hour-long drive she started singing softly. A favorite of hers, I think, by Kid Rock. These words caught my ear:

People don’t know about
the things I say and do
They don’t understand about
the shit I’ve been through

It’s been so long 
since I’ve been home
I’ve been gone 
I’ve been gone way too long
Maybe I’ve forgotten 
all the things I miss
Oh, somehow I know 
there is more to life than this

So I think I’ll keep a’ walkin’ 
with my head held high
I’ll keep moving on 
and only God knows why

Only God, only God
Only God knows why

Continued...

a surrender - 42

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

But it wasn’t long before things took a darker turn. One night, two men that we had sometimes seen at lunch showed up late, very drunk, asking for blankets and pillows so they could sleep on the porch. As I went to get those things, one of the guys, Sammy, opened the door and came into the house and I had a hard time getting him to leave. He was ungrateful and angry and aggressive. But I finally left the two of them outside with bedding and locked the door again. Just as I was getting into bed, though, one of the women started yelling that there was a fight. I hurried to dress again and went out. There I found Sammy lying in the driveway, unconscious and bleeding from the head. He had apparently been thrown over the side of the porch by the other guy and fallen ten feet to the pavement. Someone called 911. Paramedics arrived quickly, and also the police. There were sirens and flashlights in our faces and many questions; the police were suspicious of everyone, including me. Then Sammy was taken to the hospital and the other man was taken by the police. Everyone was badly shaken by the experience.

The next morning, Heather and I went for a walk together, trying to work out some of the tension of the previous day. We climbed a tree in the park and sat together. Heather cried. I said I thought our love was especially important here. I said it was like a flower that grows up between the cracks in the sidewalk in a rundown neighborhood. That flower is precious. It is a sign of hope. Heather said she loved seeing flowers growing in the cracks.

Later that week a woman called, trying to find a room for a woman with two young kids. I said I was sorry, we didn’t have a room available. She immediately got agitated. She had called several places and they all said they were full. What was this woman supposed to do, she demanded. Why wouldn’t anyone help her? I said we had couches available, but that wasn’t a good place for children long-term, with all the people that came here every day for lunch. The woman became impatient and angry, she even threatened to “write the editor.” 

That’s when I started to get agitated. “Your indignation won’t get you anywhere,” I said. 

“I just can’t believe that no one will help,” she persisted. 

“Why don’t you take her in?” I asked. 

She paused. Then said, quietly, “I don't know her.”

The woman’s anger drained away then and we began to talk calmly about a way to help them. We finally agreed that the mom and kids could sleep on our pull-out couch that night and then we’d try to find another place for them the next day. The woman seemed relieved and grateful. And, after a pancake breakfast the next morning, we did find another place for them. Those kids were beautiful, with bright smiles and curly hair. And they warmed up to us quickly. When we dropped them off, the little boy asked Heather, “Can you come with us?”

Continued... 

a surrender - 41

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

The weeks that followed were hectic and fun. I remember enjoying coffee and breakfast sandwiches, egg and Canadian bacon on fresh-baked biscuits, with our guests out on the front porch, warmed by the sun after a cold night. I remember not being able to hear while I was talking on the phone, because all the people at supper were laughing so loudly. I remember Heather playing a board game one evening with four boys in the dining room—and trying to keep the two-year-old from stealing the pieces—while the other guests ate popcorn and watched a movie in the living room. I remember a lunch guest happily firing up the grill out back to cook some steaks he had found somewhere. And I remember hearing a young woman crying with relief when she heard she could stay on our couch. She was trying to move away from an alcoholic husband, and four other places had turned her away. I remember watching Heather carefully sew a torn down-filled jacket so we could give it to one of the guests. I remember surprising a homeless couple by inviting them in to eat the pizza I had just made, when they knocked on the door as we were sitting down to supper. I remember hearing a guest offer to come back and volunteer when he and his wife move into their new apartment. He had already cooked for us, washed dishes, and scrubbed our porch, where he had been sleeping.

And I remember James. He sometimes slept in our back yard, and we would find his power wheelchair on the porch, plugged in. His legs were missing, just below the knees. We heard James had lost them after passing out on the train tracks one night. He had prosthetic legs that he could walk on, but they seemed uncomfortable to him as he lurched around. I saw him here often, helping out at the lunch meal, cleaning up and mopping. I remember him clearing the table while I ate. But he didn’t have his prosthetic legs on then. He was moving around the big table on his knees, taking people’s plates when they were done and wiping the place clean for the next person. Quietly, on his knees. 

Continued... 

a surrender - 40

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six)

 

there are no heroes

in the kingdom of God  

Our new home was a homeless shelter. It was a big, old house, with the upstairs rooms available to women and children who needed a place to stay. Downstairs there was a big kitchen, where meals were prepared by volunteers, some who lived there, like us, and many others who came for a few hours each week. Lunch each day was served to whoever showed up at the house, usually a pretty big crowd. Breakfast and supper were just for the people living there, the women and children, and us resident volunteers. The idea was that people who came for help were welcomed into our home. We lived with the people we served.

When Heather and I arrived, the volunteers were still preparing to reopen the house after a month-long break. So we had a little time to settle in. Before we were ready, though, while we were still cleaning and making plans, there was a knock on the door. 

I opened the door, and met Richard and Cassie. They said they had nowhere to stay; a pastor had paid for a motel room for two nights but they had to leave this morning, and there was no room in the other shelters. I wasn’t sure what to say. Our house reopening was four days away, and even then we only accepted women and children. But then I had an idea. I discussed it with the other volunteers. Could Richard and Cassie both stay, just until the house opened, if I took responsibility for their needs? The others agreed, and I felt flushed with excitement. I was really helping someone. And so I started down a long, bumpy road with Richard and Cassie.

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a surrender - 39

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter five, "who are my mother and my brothers?")

I didn’t think I would ever have a family of my own. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, it was just that I didn’t think anyone would want to marry me. I had nothing, and thought I would probably always have nothing. And my life seemed so unstable and uncertain, I just couldn’t imagine any woman wanting to start a family in those circumstances. So I just accepted that. And I enjoyed my relationships with people in the community, including my new friendship with Heather. I felt like we were in God’s family together.

In the weeks that followed, there were more long talks with Heather. One evening, we came back to the house after a walk together, just in time for supper. But as we climbed the steps to the big porch, we were so deeply engaged that we just kept talking. I noticed through the window that the meal was starting, but still we talked. Occasionally someone from the table peered questioningly at us. By the time I finally said goodbye to her and came into the house, supper was over. 

Heather wasn’t put off by my life choices, not even the walking. She had actually imagined doing something similar herself once, but had reluctantly decided against it because of the dangers for a woman traveling that way alone. She had a strong sense of the corrupting influence of wealth. She liked what Jesus said about money and power, like I did. And our long conversations about how Jesus lived didn’t leave her feeling scared or guilty, like they seemed to with most other people. They left her feeling refreshed and excited. They left me feeling the same way.

I remember the day she told me to keep her teacups. She liked to serve tea to friends, and had a simple but elegant tea set, hand-painted with blue dragonflies. One day, after sharing tea in my tiny room, the only single room in the house, she left two of her tea cups behind. The next day, when I asked her if I should bring them to her, she said no, I could hold onto them. “I’m sure we’ll be having tea again soon,” she said.

And I remember kissing her, on a wooden bench in the corner of a small city park in the spring. With a tree for our canopy, filled with tender blossoms, occasionally casting their soft, pink petals into our laps.

Soon we were wondering if there was a way we could have a life together, and a family. We didn’t know if it was possible, but we wanted to try to find a way.

And we wanted to try to make a difference in the world. We were young and eager to confront the wrongs we saw around us in society. Wasn’t that what Jesus did? We thought his followers should do the same. I remember during that time copying down a quote by Leon Bloy: “Any Christian who is not a hero is a pig.”

So we left the community and set out to be heroes.

Continued... 

a surrender - 38

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter five, "who are my mother and my brothers?")

I had thought a lot about family over the past year. I had had a good family experience while I was growing up. And this community offered a good experience of family also, a family that was a chosen one, based on a person’s own beliefs and convictions. Both of those seemed good to me. But I had also experienced something more unusual, an experience of family that had surprised me, because it was among people I had not chosen and had not been born to. People that I had never met, yet who had welcomed me into their homes and had treated me like a brother. People who seemed to know my needs before I asked. People I recognized as family by their spirit and their actions. It made me think of Jesus’ words, when he heard that his mother and brothers were looking for him. “Who are my mother and my brothers?” he replied. And gesturing at the people gathered around him, listening to him, Jesus said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and my sister and my mother.”  

This family that Jesus was talking about seemed to be God’s family. All those who did what God wanted were included in God’s family. It wasn’t their birth that determined it, or becoming part of some organization, or their common interests or convictions. It was God who determined it. Only God could decide who was in and who wasn’t. And the purpose and the nature of this family was determined only by God. “Whoever does the will of God is my brother and my sister and my mother.” Only those who are doing what God wants are God’s family. And everywhere that people are doing what God wants, God’s family is there, which is what I had experienced again and again. 

I remember one of the older members of the community once describing the “life cycle” of human communities. He said a community is like a living thing. It is born, then grows bigger and stronger, then eventually it weakens and dies. I thought about that. It reminded me of my thoughts about organizations, that they all eventually collapse and disappear. But when I thought about the family that Jesus described, it seemed different. It was God’s family. It existed because of God. Its life depended on God, not people. So did it die, like every human organization or community? I didn’t think so. 

These differences of the family that Jesus talked about inspired me and stirred hope in me. Maybe there was a family that would never end, that would always be there for me. A family that I could always depend on, no matter where I was. A family that was open to all. A family led only and always by God. If this could be true, I didn’t think I could be satisfied with anything less.

Continued... 

a surrender - 37

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter five, "who are my mother and my brothers?")

The days that followed were a blur of nurses and tests and no new information. She felt stronger and grew impatient with nothing to do but sleep and watch TV. Her muscles itched to be used. And the hospital had no answers for her. No one had come for her. Maria was faithful, even bringing her daughter a few times, and she liked them both. Missed them when they weren’t there. But she felt an increasingly urgent need to know more, to find her connection, her real life. 

Then, the day after Maria brought her some clothes, she just got up and walked out of the hospital. The sunshine felt good. But she didn’t know where she was going; she just followed the main street, hoping something would look familiar.

She hadn’t walked five blocks when someone approached her. “Ange… Hey, Ange!” She didn’t recognize the rough-looking woman, who was definitely talking to her. “Angel! Girl, where you been?” She didn’t know how to respond. “And what you doin’ out here? You gotta lay low, I thought thas what you was doin’. They’s lookin’ for you.”

She finally found her voice. “Who?” The young woman stared at her, unbelieving. “Whatchoo mean who? You knifed their girl. She dead now. So now they want you dead.” The woman looked around, then pulled her off the street into an alley. “But don’ worry, we got you covered. There’s a place you can go, jus’ let me get holda K and we’ll get you there. They won’ be able to touch you.”

She stepped back from the woman. “I don’t know… I don’t remember….” The woman had her phone out, making a call. “I got her. Yeah. Yeah, I know where it is. Okay.” She took another step back, looking to see if anyone was nearby, and said again, “I don’t know….” “Angel, trust me. You gotta do this. We ever let you down before? C’mon.” But when the woman took her arm, she pulled away. “Wait… hold on… who… I don’t know you.” That stopped the woman, her face darkening. “Angel, quit that. You known me since forever. I know you scared, but you gotta trust me.” When she showed no sign of moving, the woman took a step closer, lowering her voice. “The gang took care a you when your momma flipped and killed your brother an’ herself, and we’ll take care a you now. We the only family you got. So c’mon, we gotta get outta here.”

Her brother. Crying. Something stirred in the dark place inside her head. Slight at first, then rushing over her, pulling her in, gathering intensity until she thought she might throw up. She staggered a little, and the woman grabbed her. The grip was firm and sure. She felt power in the hands that held her, a fierce power in the gaze that urged her to follow. The only family you got. Momma flipped. You knifed their girl. She dead now. Your brother an’ herself. Only family you got.

“Angel… Angel!” She looked into the eyes of someone who knew her, who was holding her up, who would protect her. Her sister. Who knew her. “We gotta go. Now!” She felt like she was falling forward as they started to move, out of the alley and down the street. She stumbled, but the strong hand kept her upright and moving. 

The cars and people and storefronts flashed by them, indistinct, a wash of color. She fell faster. Then a sudden cry startled her and she tripped hard and hit the pavement.

When she looked up there was a child. A young girl, with tears in her eyes, her mother bent over her. Lifting her and gently brushing the dirt from her dress. “It’s okay, honey. See? Good as new.” The girl wiped the tears, then for a moment their eyes met. 

“Ange, c’mon!” She was lifted from the pavement by the strong arms, but then she didn’t move. And this time she answered the fierce gaze with a shake of her head. “You got the wrong…” She pulled away from the insistent grip. “I’m not who you think….” She turned and started the other way, ignoring the shouts.

Within a block, Christie found a pay phone. She pulled the phone number from her pocket.

Continued... 

a surrender - 36

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter five, "who are my mother and my brothers?")

After that, we would occasionally take long walks down to the lake and talk. Often about life in the community, or about Jesus. She was also very inspired by his life and teachings. Sometimes we talked about writing too, and she helped me with some of the stories I was working on. 

One of ones I liked best was called “Angel”:

“… finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it….” The rhythmic voice pressed into her head, then droned on, buzzing in the fog that surrounded her. And slowly the darkness lifted. Light crept through the haze, spreading with a pinkish glow, and then her eyes opened to life again.

As her vision found its focus, she saw the shape of a woman, her face averted. Then the woman suddenly turned, looked right at her, and smiled warmly. The droning voice clicked off. The woman’s voice was softer and richer. “Hello, honey. My name is Maria.”

She was in a hospital room, attached to beeping monitors and tubes poked into her arms. She didn’t remember how she had gotten here. She didn’t remember what had happened to her. The woman, Maria, told her that she had been in a fire, that she had saved Maria’s daughter and had come back for Maria but was unable to free her and was knocked out when part of the ceiling fell on them. She had been fearless, the woman said. A hero. Firefighters had arrived in time to pull her and Maria out of the house, but they had a hard time reviving her. Maria had been praying for her life. She tried to speak, croaking “I…,” then stopped, surprised at the strange sound of her own voice. The older woman nodded, waiting. “Who…,” she began again, then faltered, her voice dropping to a whisper, “do you know my name?” 

Christie. Maria told her she overheard the paramedics asking many questions when they got her breathing again, to make sure her brain was okay, but she had only answered, “Christie, Christie.” She didn’t remember that name. But when the orderly came and Maria had to leave, she saw it. The orderly removed her shirt to bathe her, and there on her arms were dark tattoos. On one arm a rose etched in red, drawn with blood dripping from the petals. And the other arm was wrapped with a band of thorny vines woven together, with elaborate lettering above and below: Domine Iesu Christe miserere mei peccatricis. She didn’t understand the words. But she saw the name.

After her bath, she slept. When she awoke, Maria was there again. This time the older woman spoke of herself and her daughter. They were leaving soon, moving far away to live near Maria’s relatives, where they would be safe. Maria was sure that the fire had been set by her ex-husband, and she wasn’t going to give him another chance. They had nothing left here anyway. 

“Where do you live, dear?” She couldn’t answer. She didn’t know where she lived, or even if she had a family looking for her. It was a horrible feeling, as if she had been thrust into a place where she didn’t belong… yet in some unknown way, she did. She needed a connection badly, a connection to her lost life. Something Maria couldn’t give. Something the hospital couldn’t give, either. The orderly had told her they had no identification for her, assuring her, though, that the memory almost always came back in time. “I don’t know.” It was all she could say to Maria, her voice trembling. “Oh honey, I’m sorry. Don’t worry about that. I’m sure that will be taken care of. Someone’s looking for you right now, you can be sure of that.” Maria took her hand. “And you’re always welcome with us, any time, for as long as you need. It’s just me and my girl now. We owe our lives to you.” The older woman’s eyes were wet. She began to look through her purse. “We’re not leaving for a week, if I’m not here call me, for anything… you could even go with us. You’re family now.” Maria gave her a slip of paper with a phone number on it. “But I’m sure someone will come for you soon.”

Continued...