Years ago, when I was only in high school, my youth pastor took us once a month to feed the homeless in Santa Ana. It was not my favorite night. I preferred the Sunday evenings when we would go do something "fun" - not helpful. I was a typical selfish teenager who knew it was good to serve, but that wasn't my top priority. Still, at least it was exposure to another world and provided me with good role modeling of what it meant to be the hands and feet of Jesus.
Then, when I was in college, I was surrounded by people who had a passion for helping the homeless. I still didn't completely get it and knew that was not my passion. I had a hard time understanding why they didn't just clean themselves up and get off the streets - after all, this is America, the land of opportunity. A little hard work and you could be at least comfortable (okay, maybe a lot of hard work - but it was possible). These homeless people were mostly there because of bad choices they had made. Was that my fault? Still, I knew Jesus commanded us to love our neighbor and serve even the least of these. So, I admired those that had the compassion.
I learned more and more as time continued on - one of my best friends worked at a homeless shelter up in Washington. I would hear the stories and know that it took someone special to serve that population. At least I began to get more insight into how homelessness happens. For many, it was drug use or mental illness that took them to the streets, but not necessarily for all. As I began to be humbled in my own life and realize how good I had it, how relatively easy my life had been, I began to see that had things been different, I may have been different. Had I made one bad choice with drugs, I could be there. Had I suffered from a mental illness - which I have no control over, I could be there. Had I lost hope, I could be there.
My heart was softening and beginning to feel more compassion. I began to volunteer for more events that would help the homeless. One day, I accidentally found myself on Skid Row with a good friend. We were in downtown LA and wanted to go to the flower district and the fashion district. So, a nice lady at Union Station gave us the correct subway connections ( I love taking the subway for some reason) and the right streets, and we were off. We began to realize part way into our walk that we were not in a good area, but I saw security guards and it was broad daylight, so I figured we were okay. We kept walking and suddenly no more security guards, just windows barred and men milling about on the streets, with only one other woman in sight - probably a prostitute. A man urinated next to us. I realized that should someone decide to steal my purse, I had no car keys, no phone, no money - nothing - to get us out of this situation. My friend (who thank God is a tough cookie at 5 ft. tall) and I just kept walking like we knew exactly where we were and where we were going. I did have this image in my mind of two huge guardian angels walking on either side of us. No one even looked at us twice, no one talked to us. It was almost as if we were invisible. We turned the corner to find a row of tents, and then I saw the Skid Row Housing Authority and realized where we were. Ahh...I had always wondered about Skid Row...now I knew.
Thank God we made it back safely, but from that day on, I wanted to go back - this time to learn and understand a little better about the people on Skid Row. I still didn't get it. How could you live there? Why not fight with every ounce in you to get out of there? After all, there are many missions down there - there is help.
So, there were a few more opportunities over the next few years to go to downtown LA and help feed the homeless, hand out back packs with supplies, etc. Then, I heard of a ministry at my church aimed at Skid Row, so I signed up for information. I was finally able to make it a few weeks back. We were able to connect to a ministry down there - mostly run by people from the streets - those that knew what it was like to live there. It was a great experience. One of our first encounters was with a woman who told us her story. She had been an addict turned prostitute so she could support her habit. After years of living on the streets, she was freed by God's grace and has spent the last four years clean. You could see the streets etched into her face and her body. It was a hard life that I'm sure she is paying for still, but she's now out there proclaiming God's grace and trying to give hope to those whose situations echoed her own.
We were able to tour the streets and see the hundreds out on the streets and the several missions that are down there. So much work being done, so much to be done. How do you help these people? I walked right next to a car and looked in and smiled at the driver who I am quite sure was a dealer. He did not smile - he only looked at me with a contempt that told me clearly this was his territory and I was not welcome. These evil men prey upon those that are weak on the streets - that feed their addictions and keep them in a place where they turn tricks or do whatever just to get that next hit - and it keeps these evil men supplied with money to turn the world into an ugly place.
We prayed with a man who stopped on the streets and told us how he was struggling to stay clean - it had been several months now but in his vulnerability, he shared the struggle when he walks between the mission where he's in rehab to the store to buy food and sees a hit and wants one. We prayed with him and he began to cry. Would I be strong enough if I were in his shoes?
A few weeks later, I finally watched The Soloist, a movie I had wanted to see, and many had recommended to me. It showed the difference that one person who took the time to build a relationship with a schizophrenic man had made. It also showed the pure tragedy of a life that had been so promising but plagued with a mental illness. Was it his fault he was where he was?
I just finished watching a documentary called Skid Row - fascinating insight into an area filled with crime and tragedy. Skid Row has basically been sanctioned in the city of LA to house those that are homeless. It has turned into an area filled with people who need help - but many have no hope. In some ways, I have no hope for them. I thought to myself, what do you do? How can you help these people who are not in a place to want help yet? Between the drugs, the illnesses, or whatever other misfortune has brought these people down here, they are often blinded and can't see the hope to get out. The only thought that came to my brain was prayer. I, as a human, have very little influence. God can move in mighty ways. I can be His servant here on earth and become educated on the issue of homelessness. I can be His servant and see these people through eyes of compassion, not pride and judgement. I can be His servant and take time to understand them and see them as a human - just like I am - and a child of God - just like I am.
1 comment:
Excellently said!!
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