Nicholas

Nicholas, who I wrote about in my last post let me take his photo. The light behind him was unbelievably beautiful. I wanted to capture our moments and the perfect light around him so badly, and I am so grateful he allowed me to to do so!

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On Being and Presence

Sometimes days really don't go as planned.

Rolling with life's punches is something to be learned and leaned into. It provides beautiful opportunities and experiences, but at the cost of control and plans, something that deeply pains my plan-loving self who lives for expectations and having some (at least perceived) sense of control over a situation.

It was one of those days.

I had lovely expectations of going home from a nice meeting in the morning to go for a bike ride or a hike, just to enjoy the spectacular "winter" weather we've been having (sorry not sorry to all the skiers and snowboarders wishing for a real Colorado winter...though I guess this is a pretty terrifying example of global warming so maybe I am sorry).

I hopped on Facebook when I got home (never do that) and saw an invitation to an event that had just been planned for later that day. It pertained to issues of social and racial justice I care deeply about and I just had a feeling I needed to go. Making myself presentable, I grabbed my camera and ran out the door.

Soon after arriving at the event downtown, organizers began walking around the park offering coffee and fruit to the homeless who routinely use the park as a place to rest their weary eyes and catch a moment of respite. I quickly joined them, wondering if I would see any friends from Network.

One of the first guys we asked requested a piece of fruit. I handed him the banana and knelt down to shake hands and exchange names.

"I'm Nicholas."

"Nice to meet you, Nicholas, I'm Katy. How's your day going?"

He started to tell me and I just did what seemed like the most natural thing in the world - sat down cross-legged on the ground and gave him my undivided attention.

I stayed there for about two hours, listening. I heard much of Nicholas' life. He told me about his various struggles and events in his life, many stories were told two or three times. I really said very little in those two hours, I sat and listened. Many times I wondered to myself, how long has it been since he had someone to just listen to him? He probably hasn't talked like this, talked about these things, for a long time.

When the sun had begun to set and my meter was about to run out, I finally tore myself away. I told Nicholas how absolutely wonderful it had been to meet him, thanked him for sharing his story with me. The banana I'd given him hours before was just a peel now, and I offered to throw it away for him.

"That would be the kindest thing you could possibly do."

The mere act of throwing away his trash for him, was the kindest thing I could do for him. That struck me deeply in a way I'm not sure I fully understand yet. Such a simple act.

There was something so unbelievably beautiful about sitting there for hours in the chilly grass with Nicholas. The dipping sun behind him framed his head in light, illuminating his hazel eyes.

There was something about just being present. Time flying by because you weren't worrying about the hours passing, but focused entirely on the moment with another human being.

How often do we do that?

The phone is always there in my back pocket, ready to be attended to the moment I feel the buzz of a text message or Facebook notification. I'm ever-aware of the time and how long I'll be here, when I'll leave, how long I'll be in the next place. My days are often planned out down to the hour, when I'll workout and how long it will take me to drive from one meeting to the next.

Yet some of the most beautiful moments are the ones where I don't know the time, because what time it is doesn't matter. What matters are the beautiful things I am seeing when I'm in nature, or the person sitting across the table from me, the moment I am in.

How much life passes by because I am worrying about what comes next, or dwelling on what has already passed.

Someone said to me recently that God is not in the past or the future, He is in the present.

That paused me. Stopped me to stay in the moment and think about this. I cannot encounter God in the past or the future, the only place I can be with God is right here, right now. Planning to be with God later today is not being with God, thinking of the times I have spent with God are not being with God.

How much God passes by because I'm thinking about if I pleased God yesterday, or if I will find time to pray tomorrow. In all that worrying and planning, I missed the God who is right here, right now, hanging out at this coffee shop with me while I write up this blog about being with Him. Whoo. Irony.

If I could put down the phone, stop filling all my time with mindless activities and stupid TV shows and movies, perhaps I could encounter the God whose greatest desire is to simply be with me.

Perhaps if I could stop being so concerned with pleasing God and all the things I am doing to "glorify Him," I could actually pause long enough to see and feel and experience and be with Him. 

But this pausing, this stepping away from the endless cycle of doing into the so simple but so difficult being requires me to believe that God is not most pleased by my actions, but most pleased by my presence.

Henri Nouwen talks about this, saying,

"I am beginning now to see how radically the character of my spiritual journey will change when I no longer think of God as hiding out and making it difficult as possible for me to find him, but, instead, as the one who Is looking for me while I am doing the hiding. When I look through God's eyes at my lost self and discover God's joy at my coming home, then my life may become less anguished and more trusting. Wouldn't it be good to increase God's joy by letting God find me and carry me home and celebrate my return with the angels? Wouldn't it be wonderful to make God smile by giving God the chance to find me and love me lavishly? Questions like these raise the real issue: that of my own self-concept. Can I accept that I am worth looking for? Do I believe that there is a real desire in God to simply be with me?"

It is so hard to be present with people, to be present to our lives.

I learn this through yoga. It is virtually impossible to practice yoga without being present. The moment your mind wanders to what you'll do (or, more likely, eat) after class...you lose balance, wobbling and toppling over on the mat. You cannot fully engage in the workout if you are not mentally present to the moment you are in. And in that it ceases to be merely a workout and becomes a meditation.

Life cannot be engaged in without being fully present. Relationships with other humans and with God cannot be deep and true and formative without being there, at the table, hands open wide to receive the love.

This comes down to what we believe, what I believe.

Do I really believe that others want to be with me? Do I, am I willing to, believe that God simply desires to be with me?

Am I willing to believe this, that is even deeper of a question. For this belief ultimately is a demand to surrender all control. When I am earning the love of another, whether that is the love of God, a friend, or a significant other, I have control. I can do or not do things that will influence the relationship.

But when that person, or this God, simply loves me for nothing more then the delight they receive from loving me, I have nothing left to give. I am left in a place of simply receiving, knowing that nothing I do or fail to do will ever change or lessen the infinite love I am offered.

As I saw with Nicholas, I wasn't worried about the time, or how long until I could leave. I was truly glad to just be there with him, and hear his stories. That being, that presence, that stillness, was everything. And if I enjoyed the simply being with this poor man, how can I not believe God also loves simply being with me, an equally poor spirit?

I believe, with everything in my being, that God is always present offering His love. He is the Father running towards the son who left home and surrendering all dignity just to be able to embrace his son sooner, before the son had even said a word. The son may not have even been sorry, for all the Father knew, but all that mattered was embracing the son he loved.

God is right here, right now, sitting across the table from me in this sun-filled coffee shop. The question is if I will pause long enough to sit with Him and be loved.

Pass Through Under the Mercy

I get to see Jesus a lot. On Tuesday I got to see Him in a woman named Sparkle.

Sparkle is probably in her 70s, I'm terrible at gaging people's age. She comes into Network often enough that we've developed a friendship, I sat with her for a long time last week and we talked about faith.

It's really incredible to witness truly childlike faith, and I see it the most at Network. I guess there's something about being in a place in life where you honestly have nothing, that you learn to rely entirely on the only One who has ever really loved you. It's a faith that I struggle to access, because I have people and possessions, a home, work, to fill the huge gap loneliness leaves in our souls.

Sparkle has really beautiful faith. She grew up Catholic. She told me on Tuesday she's still trying to work it all out. "I'm really good at giving other people advice, telling them how to trust God. But then I doubt, I don't know how to take my own advice."

Her short, white, frizzy hair was stored under a red felt winter hat that day, grey sweatpants pulled over Ugg-style boots. Her black skin is actually quite smooth for someone who has been on the streets for over 20 years, maybe she isn't in her 70s. I'm so bad at guessing ages.

Sparkle sat over in a chair at a square table near the window. She was talking on the phone loudly and excitedly, drawing my attention away from washing mugs.

"I've got my housing! I've got my housing!"

On various waiting lists for months, years, in and out of temporary places to stay, Sparkle was learning she could finally be inside. Just last week we were talking about how hard it is for someone of her age to live on the streets.

She came over to the counter and I leaned over it to talk with her. We talked about how hard it was to be a woman on the streets. A black woman on the streets. A black, elderly, disabled woman on the streets. "I'm tough though," she told me, explaining that she can hold her own.

As we talked, tears squeezed out of her eyes, sliding slowly down her cheeks. "I'm crying because I'm happy! I just can't believe it. I hope nothing goes wrong..."

So afraid something would go wrong. We talked about her fear. I held out my hands to her, held hers in mine. I reminded her of my favorite Bible verse, that "there is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear."

It's really hard for folks to get off the streets, for a hundred reasons. Not only is it simply difficult to get the proper documentation to get permanent housing, but many folks self-sabotage. There is so much fear of ending up back on the streets, it paralyzes people from actually progressing forward. See, the streets harden a person. You have to be tough, you endure endless abuse - physically, mentally, and spiritually. One homeless friend told me about the bruises his soul receives from people's hateful actions and words towards him, the "homeless drunk bum." (This friend happens to be taking college courses, studies all the time, does not abuse any substances, and we attend the same church). To get off the streets you have to let go of some of that hardness, but in doing so, you lose the protective armor that saved your life. So what if the housing falls through, but now you are defenseless?

This fear, this self-sabotaging, this being one's own worst enemy...it's not something only homeless folks do. It's simply more visible in their lives, in the addictions they can't let go of because those addictions are saving them from something deeper and far too painful and vulnerable to address.

But we are all addicts, we are all lonely, we are all searching for belonging and unconditional love. We are all filling those voids with everything possible. We get promotions that mean we are now worthwhile humans, we wither away when our job isn't good enough. It killed me to work at Starbucks as a college graduate who was supposed to be "doing great things," until I learned that working there and building relationships with my co-workers and customers was a great thing. We stop up the loneliness with friendships, family, significant others. Or pretend we don't give a sh** and are wonderfully fulfilled being on our own. Independence is a mask. Our titles are facades.

And we sabotage ourselves. The fear of being alone causes us to destroy relationships because we are so afraid they'll leave anyways. Afraid we won't succeed in our work, we do a bad job and do ultimately end up failing.

It all come down to fear. Such deep, penetrating fear that if we were to access it we believe it would tear us apart. Fear of losing everything, everyone, and being completely and utterly worthless and alone.

But this fear comes from a wrong identity. It comes from a view of ourselves that says our worth and value come from what we possess and what we can give. That no one could ever love us apart from what they can get from us (this, at least, is the lie I must battle).

But then, there is no fear in love. In fact, perfect love has the power to remove all fear because it is not love based upon merit or earnings. It is love that deems ALL as worthy, all as worth loving, and that to all this great, deep, unfathomable love has been given.

I was so grateful to see Jesus in Sparkle on Tuesday. To talk to her about this perfect love, because I knew I was really preaching this message of deep worth and love to myself, because I too am very afraid.

Wrestling with the Ruler Passionate for Justice

Guys, I'm wrestling.

Every time I see/type/say that phrase I hear it in the voice of my pastors from St. Louis, "I'm wrastling! Are you wrastling this mornin'?"

Well yes, Pastor Tony, this evening, I am.

This afternoon I received word that there will not be justice from Denver's "Justice Department" for my friend Michael Lee Marshall, who was killed while in the Denver Sheriff's custody in November.

I mourned the loss of this friend, who I and other dear friends knew from Network Coffee House. You can actually see Michael featured as the first photo on Network's website.

I mourned yet again a few weeks ago when the Michael's autopsy was finally released, bringing fresh grief and a deep sense of horror at the brutality of his killing. His death was ruled a homicide, which essentially just means he did not commit suicide. Even death by lethal injection as a result of the death penalty is considered a homicide on the autopsy report...which says something very significant about the death penalty, but that's another topic for another time.

So as I mourned again today, it was not fresh grief, but something slowly built and deepened like the deep cracks embedded in the hands and feet of my homeless friends - cuts never allowed to heal continually broken over until they will likely never fully repair.

The Bible states with abundant clarity God's hatred of injustice and His deep care for the poor. Proverbs, the book of wisdom, declares, "Whoever oppresses the poor shows contempt for their Maker." Those who spend themselves on behalf of the poor will have lives that light up the darkness and cast away the night. 

As I read through the prophet Isaiah's words tonight, I was struck by the promise of a ruler who was passionate for justice, one who would set things right. 

"'When this is all over,' Judah answers,

'the tyrant toppled

the killing at an end,

all signs of these cruelties long gone, 

a new government of love will be established

in the venerable David tradition. 

A Ruler you can depend upon

will head this government, 

a Ruler passionate for justice, 

a Ruler quick to set things right.'"

-Isaiah 16:4-5 The Message 

Oh! My first emotion was joy. A Ruler who is passionate for justice? One quick to set things right? This is a promise that brings hope, it means these injustices and these power-hungry people taking advantage of the weak, poor, and powerless will not rule forever.

But then I think more and find to places of wrestling...

Why, if true religion is to care for the widow and orphan in their distress (read: care for the poor,  marginalized, and oppressed), are so many people who call themselves Christians failing to follow Christ's religion? 

And why, if God is one quick to bring righteousness and bring justice, does our world look so very wrong? Why is there still such great injustice? Why was Michael Lee killed? Why did he have to live in a world where being black, homeless, and mentally ill was a death sentence? 

These are not popular questions, there is no answer. I'll be the Christian that admits, I do not know.

And I can tell you also that no other Christian actually knows the answer to "why is God good but the world full of evil?" Everyone has an answer, but no one actually knows. If we did, we'd understand God, and I just don't think it's up to me to understand and answer for God.

So here's what I'm wrestling over. 

Perhaps (some of) the answer to my second question is found in the first. I believe in God's sovereign love, He grants us free will. And as we all learned from Batman, "with great power comes great responsibility. And perhaps we have misplaced, misused, and greatly abused this powerful gift of freedom. With it, we have not chosen the right path of generous love, selves spent on the poor and oppressed, and the choice to see first with compassion and last with judgment (as a side note: I believe if we were to truly lead with compassion, we would never get to judgment). 

Perhaps we can never know the answer to why God does not stop all bad things from happening. I could theorize and have ideas of why I think this is, but this isn't the time or space for such thoughts. Rather, I will share my choices when faced with these thoughts I wrestle through. 

First is that I will choose to believe that God is loving and that His very being is good. I will choose to believe that God is passionate for justice, that He is in the process of righting all wrongs, wiping away all tears, and setting every captive free (another blog post will be about who exactly is the captive, and I think it's a broader term than we'd like to admit). 

Second is that I will choose to live the life called for in Isaiah 58. I will not fall by the wayside, so entrenched in my internal debates and wrestlings that I am paralyzed from action. I will choose to spend myself on behalf of the poor. I will choose to fight for the rights and lives of those marginalized, whether they are oppressed because of their poverty, sexuality, skin color, religion, gender, or more. I will choose to share my food with the hungry, invite the homeless poor into my home, put clothes on the shivering ill-clad, and be available to my own family (Isaiah 58, paraphrased from The Message).

So at the end of all this wrestling, this thinking, these prayers, is a choice.

What will you believe, and how will you choose to live? 

I implore you, do not be among those who pretend to do what is right, who say the right things and go through the right religious steps all the while failing to see the poor human being on the street corner, holding a cardboard sign and asking for a little help. 

"Cardboard Sign"

by Katy Owens

Cardboard doubles

as shredded sheets

"Spare a little change,

trying to make ends meet

Just seeking refuge

from the cold and sleet"

Well, the Savior didn't have a place

to lay His head

So maybe they're closer to Him

than I am

But people see the signs

All they do is stare

Wonder, what's he done

and where's she been? 

I couldn't cast the stone

cuz my record ain't clean

No one gave me

the judgement rod

And you, sir, don't look like God

Driving by

rolling up your windows and

down your nose

"Probably for drugs,"

your judgments say

"Lazy bum will

squander it away"

As if you and I

never fail, please don't forget

we've just been given

a better circumstance,

missed some unfortunate

happenstance

Do you squander love?

Waste your privilege? 

We're all the same

Skin bones and blood

And I know I'm

begging for change

on the streets of human love

Forgetting I've been given grace

from the Divine

Covered by love that looks like

water blood and wine

Maybe my friend

the "homeless bum"

is really a bit closer

to the One

Tamir Rice

I wasn't going to say anything, because it has all been said. Because my news feed is bombarded with tragedy already and I sometime just feel too overwhelmed by the brokenness and sadness to engage. 

But then I realized, some of you might not know. 

You might not have heard that just over a year ago a 12 year old boy was killed in a park and that now his family has had two Christmases without their son. You might not know that he was just twelve years old, and that's just the same age as my baby brother, my little best friend. You might now know that he was playing with a toy gun, and that the officer who shot him took not even a second to evaluate that it was a child in the park, that the gun was not real, or to even tell the person he thought was an adult to drop the weapon. Window halfway down, less than two seconds, the 12 year old boy with a toy in a park is gone. 

You might not have heard that the state of Ohio is an open carry state, and since the officer claims to have perceived Tamir Rice to be an adult, it would have thus followed for it to be legal for him to have a gun. And you might not have heard that the police officer who shot the 12 year old boy had been deemed unfit for duty in the last police department he had worked at. 

And then two days ago, maybe you didn't hear, it was ruled that the police officer will not face charges for the killing of Tamir Rice. Not the killing, the murder.

He was 12 years old, playing in a park with a toy gun in an open carry state and killed by a police officer who was "recommended to be released" because he could not control himself or follow orders.

My brother is 12 years old. He's white. Tamir Rice was black. So my brother can play in a park with a toy gun and the officer won't shoot him on the spot. He'll probably ask him to drop the weapon and treat him like the human child he is. Because he's white, my brother would live.

Tell me again racism doesn't exist. Tell me again that our system isn't broken, systematically oppressive and racist and unjust. Tell me again, and I will keep telling you the stories.

From Martin Luther King Jr:

“There comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must take it because conscience tells him it is right.”

“Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.”

“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.”

"The time is always right to do what is right."

The Unexpected Prophets, Part 1

Some of the most influential and shaping things I have heard were not from well-known speakers on stages or platforms, but from passing comments made by unknown prophets - folks full of humble wisdom. 

It always seems to be the most unexpected moments and words that stick in your mind, resurfacing in at unlikeliest times, challenging you to reframe your perspective and move forward with a different understanding, perhaps a broader understanding that allows you more freedom to move and breathe and believe.  

I've found that happening to me, continually my worldview is challenged, my opinions shift, even if ever so slightly. These movements in a new direction are gradual, until one day someone tells you how much you have changed, and you pause to revisit all the moments that carried you this new way.

We all know life's a journey, there are however many thousands of inspirational quotes and pretty Pinterest-worthy text-images about life being about the adventure, the journey along the way, not the destination. It's a nice thought, that I wonder how many of us actually believe. 

I think faith is like that. That journey-thing.

People talk about how faith is just about the journey, not the final destination. But behind that quotable statement, the person behind the curtain is still trying to figure it all out, still trying to find all the answers, still trying to KNOW. 

But what if we can't know? What if God is unfathomable and the journey of faith is finding that you can never really understand, that there is nothing concrete to discover, and that all the things you think you know are part of a vast mystery? What if that is the beauty of God, that He cannot really be known? 

Christianity talks about knowing God, goodness I use that phrase all the time! And I believe God allows us to know Him in part, and I also believe part of that knowing is surrendering to the unknowability of God. 

“The argument is made that naming God is never really naming God 

but only naming our understanding of God. 

To take our ideas of the divine and hold them as if they correspond 

to the reality of God is thus to construct a conceptual idol 

built from the materials of our mind," 

says author and philosopher, Peter Rollins. 

What if God is a mystery and faith isn't about knowing more the older you get, but knowing less? What if wisdom isn't about possessing more knowledge, but developing the humility to acknowledge you don't know?

This was the idea presented to me through an offhand comment made by the husband of someone I know through mutual friends and the beauty of Denver's network of servant-hearted, Jesus-loving folks. 

It's so clear, sitting at a round table at a fundraiser. We were towards the back, a table half-filled with people, but full of depth in conversation. I don't remember his name, and I have no recollection of what our conversation was about, or what brought us to the topic of our journeys with Jesus. But I remember what he said. 

He said when he was younger he thought his faith was all about knowing more about God, and expected that as he grew older he would eventually know everything. "But the older I've gotten, the more I see how little I know, and the more God is a mystery to me." 

How beautiful. This being a child, simply in awe of the love and beauty of the Father/Motherliness of God and not feel the need to know everything to be safe in His love. 

God is with us. He is not for, He is not again, He is with. Can we allow that to be enough? 

He is unfathomable, He is not completely knowable. But like Mr. Beaver tells Lucy in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, "‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.” 

And again later, "“He'll be coming and going" he had said. "One day you'll see him and another you won't. He doesn't like being tied down--and of course he has other countries to attend to. It's quite all right. He'll often drop in. Only you mustn't press him. He's wild, you know. Not like a tame lion.” 

         He's a mystery,

         This wild, untamable God.

         He's safe, 

         This sacrificial, surrendering Lord.

         He's calling, 

         This mother waiting to hold her child.

         He's faithful, 

         This running, open-armed Father.

         He's near,

         This heartbroken, Friend.

         He's scary, 

         This unknown, unfathomable Spirit.

         He's good, 

         This merciful, steadfast King.

         He's kind,

         This God who sees and knows. 

         He's a refuge,

         This Spirit with sheltering wings.

         He's everywhere,

         This God whose name is Love.

         He's a mystery,

         This God inviting you to simply abide.

                        (Original poetry by Katy Owens)

Will you let go? Surrender to the mystery? It may be the only way we can ever "know" this crazy, loving, mystery of a God. 

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“Here God is not approached as an object that we must love, 

but as a mystery present in the very act of love itself.” - Peter Rollins

Reality and Restoration and Stuff on the Streets

He usually wears a smile and he has a different earring every time I see him. Every finger wears a ring, contrasting the dirt under his nails and worn hands. I don't think we've ever had a conversation, he's usually muttering to himself as he pours a cup of coffee, stirs in creamer, and dumps way too much sugar into the cup.

Michael Marshall.

Just another homeless guy. Likely judged by most who see him on the streets and assume he's a drug addicted alcoholic who shouldn't be helped or humanized because he deserves what he gets.

Michael Marshall.

A friend. A regular. A favorite. Known by those at Network, staff and clients. In fact, when you go to the Network website, his smiling face, filled with laughter, is first to greet you. You'll see him in the Network video, sunglasses on, earbuds in, head shaking to the music we can't hear.

Michael Marshall.

A brother. Someone with family who cares.

Michael Marshall.

Not a nameless face with a cardboard sign on the street corner. He has a name, he has family, he has friends.

Tonight I received this text,

"Hey friends, sorry to interuupt your Friday evening... Something ugly has happened to one of our regulars and favorites..."

From one of the directors over at Network, linking us to a news story telling us of Mike's arrest and violent encounter with Denver police, resulting in him having a "massive heart attack." He is now on life support in intensive care at Denver Health.

I could say so many things. I could talk about how horrible it is that our system is not set up to care for the mentally ill. "According to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, 20 to 25% of the homelesspopulation in the United States suffers from some form of severe mental illness. In comparison, only 6% of Americans are severely mentally ill."

We could talk about police brutality. Folks whose job is to protect and serve, and yet often are the broken people in this deeply broken system acting out the violence rather than protecting from it. And I could go on because this incident ties all my worlds together, with this police violence against a black man being exactly what the Black Lives Matter movement is talking about, and the lack of care for the poor and marginalized.

Oh I could talk about these issues, these deep injustices and violences against humanity (against all of humanity, the oppressor and the oppressed are both suffering violence). My heart is so broken and so longing for the healing of this world.

But tonight, I'm just overwhelmed by sadness.

We often live in multiple worlds, say our work world from 8am to 5pm and then our "lives" with family, friends, hobbies, and such. We can bounce back and forth, leaving work at work and not letting it affect our lives.

But relationships don't work that way. You can't turn them off and stop caring, because there's something so deep in your soul connected with the people you care about, you can't compartmentalize them, separate the worlds.

And I'm tired of being expected to turn it off. To turn off the sorrow at injustice, the worry for my homeless friends, the heartbreak at the racism plaguing our world.

I cannot compartmentalize the tragedies.

I know it's hard to understand, because for me, my time spent with the homeless isn't just volunteering. It's not me doing a good thing so I can feel good about myself because I helped someone. It's time spent with friends, it's the place I want to be.

When I get to see Alan or Jerry at church on Sunday, I'm overjoyed. When I see a friend pitching their tent outside or flying a sign on the street corner, I struggle to hide the tears welling in my eyes.

Sometimes, I don't know how to just go on living, to not be constantly affected by the tragedies. There are weeks where I'm filled with hope, there are weeks where the heaviness of the stories I hear weigh me down.

And it's like I'm expected sometimes to just turn it off. As if I don't know the things I know, haven't seen the things I've seen, don't care in the ways I care. Like I can choose moments to exist in a world that isn't deeply affected by the brokenness all around, the brokeness that so many do choose to simply never see.

Like it's so hard for me to go downtown at night to just hangout or have fun. I see folks on the streets, in the cold, trying to find a place to sleep. And I'm out to drink a little and laugh a lot with friends and go back to my warm bed and privileged home. And often people don't even see them, and they're all I can see.


Seared in my mind, people and their things strewn across the sidewalk outside Samaritan House.

How do I just go on with my life when my heart is breaking and I can't just turn off all the tragedies?

I remember going downtown once with a friend. We were wandering around and found a bar to check out. There was a man with a cardboard sign sitting on the sidewalk outside the place. We got to the bouncer, pull out our IDs. All I could think about was how I was going to spend $5-7 on a drink, when this guy is hungry and in need. So I walked away from the bouncer and gave the guy the cash I had, then went back to get my ID checked. I think the young guy's name was Roger, he's all I could think about.

And so tonight, when I get that text. When I learn a friend is on life support. That his mental illness, not understood or cared about, likely affected the cops interactions with him, ending in the police enacting violence and Mike having a heart attack. When I learn this, how do I just go on with my Friday evening plans like nothing has happened? There's nothing I can do, except sit beside Jesus and give Him my burdens. But the heartbreak is still so real.

Some days, the world just feels so heavy.

That doesn't mean I cry myself to sleep every night and fight back tears every moment of the day. There is hope for this broken, wounded world.

But the world still feels heavy, and the work is finding the balance between reality and restoration.

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"[Network] is the living room of Christ. It is a place where we communicate dignity to those who don't experience much dignity in the city."