The Burdens We Carry

What if the baggage, burdens & concerns of life we carried around, were as obvious as this man's? 

Some of us are good at hiding but what if we couldn't? What if our burdens were in plain sight for all to see, and judge and examine closely?

For some, it is obvious. Our brokenness, our failure, our blatant sin. Does it make us any less or more righteous depending on how obvious we are about it?

 Psalm 68:19 NIV Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens. 

Thanks Giving

This Thanksgiving, we finally got to participate, as a family, in something I have wanted to do for a long time.

We spent the morning serving others. It was a gorgeous day too. Fairly relaxed once I turned the alarm off and the oven on, at 5am. 5 am does not usually exist in my universe, in case you didn't know.

The boys left early to play football with another church. The two youngers and I headed over to a local church we were serving with to deliver the baked turkey and prepare for the feast they would be serving later.

There were homeless people, local residents and church members that enjoyed the delicious and rich meal.

There was enough food to even pack to-go boxes for whoever wanted them. To-go boxes were also packed up and delivered to local areas where homeless people would be congregating.

I think it is so important, as parents, to teach our children, as young as we can, to think of others. To look outside of themselves and find ways to help and serve others. It helps cultivate a spirit of gratitude and contentment. If we parent our children with over-indulgence, of material things specifically, and respond to their every demand, we will only cultivate self-centered, unhappy, never-satisfied human beings.

Indulge in love-yes. Stuff and demands-no.

This was the first time we've served in this capacity but serving and giving is a way of life for our family. I teach my children to believe that when you give you will receive. It's a circle of blessing within God's economy that can not be denied. This is the way it has worked for us in our lives, anyway.

I am not teaching them to serve in order to get accolades or to show off. We are a family that has experienced being down to nothing and still recognized we had more than enough. It is a motto or prayer, we live by, based on Psalm 23:

We have everything we need, 
more than enough,
and enough to share.

God is Jehovah Jireh, our provider. Everything we have, every good and perfect gift, has been given to us by Him. How could we then, ever with hold from someone else who had need, when we have been given so much?

She Said Her Name was Jessica

If I had made even one variation in my choices tonight, I would never have met her. I would not have seen her walking past the art studio, bare foot, carrying her white flip flops.

I stopped in to say hello to one of the other art instructors as I picked up oldest, Ernie, from work. A student stopped him from walking out because she had a question about the current piece she was working on. He finally got out, pulled around the front to load his bike onto the rack on the back of our van. Ernie entering the studio, was my cue to wrap up the conversation. We said goodbye and headed out, into the heat, to meet the rest of the family in an air conditioned restaurant.

It was oppressively hot but she was wearing a long sleeved, zippered hoodie and a very short skirt. Her face was pensive, as she kept looking toward the street, around every corner. Her blond hair was pulled back neatly into braid, with dyed streaks of blue.

"Do you see that girl?" I asked Ernie.
"Yah."
"She looks upset."
"Yah, she does."
"Should we stop or something?"
"I don't know. Do you think we should?"
She made eye contact with us as we drove past.

"Ok, I'm just going to turn around and we'll see what happens. What if she thinks we're some crazy stalkers or something?"

She crossed the street in front of us as I came back around. There was no parking, all the curbs were red. Maybe this isn't meant to be. There was an open spot large enough that I could actually pull my van in easily. We made brief eye contact again as she walked past our car.

"Maybe you should talk to her," I told my son.
"Me? I'm a guy."
"But you're closer to her age."
"So!"
"Well!"
"Mom, just go!"
"This is crazy." I said as I climbed out of the van before she got too far.
"I'll pray," said my son.

"Excuse me..."
She turned around.
"Um..are you ok?"
"No, I'm not really."
I was surprised by how open she seemed to be.
"Can you tell me what city I am in?"
"You're in Long Beach. Where did you come from?"
"I don't know."
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know. I've just been walking."

She went on to share that she had gotten into a fight with her boyfriend and wasn't really interested in trying to walk back to find him. She realized now how not smart it had been to leave with out her purse. She had no idea what she was going to do now besides hope that he eventually would come to find and pick her up. At some point she put her hand out and introduced herself.

"We were at the beach. It was my first time in the Pacific Ocean today."
"Can I get you something? Do you want something to eat?"
"Yes...I haven't eaten..." Her voice trailed off.
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything but if you cross the street right here, I'll pull my car around and we can go to that little coffee house and you can get something to eat or drink." I think I said that more for my own comfort than hers. I had a feeling, she would have taken and done anything I offered...even jumped in my mini-van to go anywhere...

I told her she could get whatever she wanted. There wasn't anything to choose from but a croissant or blueberry muffin. The shop was done making sandwiches for the day. Jessica suggested we could go to the bakery near the studio, but it was already closed.

2 blueberry muffins, a croissant and a large bottle of water. One muffin for now and the rest for later...or whenever. Ernie paid for it. It was hot and stuffy enough in the coffee house that it made outside feel nice and cool. We sat on a narrow wooden bench to talk. She told me it was the first thing she had eaten all day.

She had tattoos of stars on the side of her right knee and up her leg. "Because stars represent innocence, you know like 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star'." The name Landon tattooed along her right forearm. She stood up to show us the tattoo on the back of her neck and upper back. It wasn't finished yet. It was an eagle head with it's body the face of a wolf.

Jessica is 24 and from Texas. Left to Washington as soon as she turned 18, as a military wife. She's been in California a few months, leaving behind an abusive ex-husband. Landon is the name of her son that she gave up for adoption three years ago, when he was five. Her daughter that died the day after being born, was named Daniella. Jessica's mom died on June 4, 2004, two months after Jessica got baptized as a "born again Christian" on April 4, 2004. She has a massage therapist certificate and started her education toward veterinary school and would like to be a marine biologist.

She told me she's a 'dancer' and she's not proud of it...but one day she was walking down the street and a car pulled up..."Look, if you're puling your car over thinking I'm a hooker or something you better keep on driving before I kick your car door in," she told the guy who was driving.

"Hey, ok, I like your style. Have you ever thought of dancing?" he asked.
"Dancing, what do you mean, dancing?"

She learned her pole moves from youtube and even though she doesn't like dancing, she thinks the pole tricks are fun.

Offering to pray with her felt lame. I mostly asked questions and tried to reassure her that there was a plan for her life. She had blemishes all over her legs. The type the little girls with cats get from fleas. She said she didn't have a cat though...that maybe they were from the pole.

"Are you lying about all this? I mean, I don't really mind if you are," I smiled.
"I wish I was," she answered.
I coudn't understand why she was so forthcoming with all this information.

Telling her that her prayers were being heard and she wasn't forgotten or abandoned felt lame. I remembered I had a 20 dollar bill in my wallet...then I forgot to give it to her. Her eyes watered up multiple times during our conversation.

Ernie gave her a strong word of encouragement that ended with, "...after everything it sounds like you've been through, how much more is God going to use you."
"I hope not much because I don't know how much more of this I can take," she responded.
I gave her a hug.

I left her with a church bulletin with the church address on it. "If you can make it to this church, I will be there. There will also be other people that can help you more and direct you toward other resources. There's a program, led by a former 'dancer'...she helps women that don't want to dance any more get out of that life. And we'll have lots of food and snacks...is there anything else you need right now?"

She was hoping her boy friend would find and catch up with her before it got dark. "At least I know there's at least one..." she smiled up at Ernie, "two, good people in the world."

We drove away...to go have our dinner, in a restaurant, at the mall...my tears started flowing.

"We can't save everyone mom."
"Why did I forget to give her the $20 bill!?!"
"You sat with her and had a conversation."
"And gave her a stupid muffin! Do you think she was telling the truth about all that?"
"Does it matter?"
"You're right. I don't even care if she was or not. Why would she share all that so easily?"
"Uh...the Holy Spirit. When are you gonna get it!?!"
"Well, yah..."

So here I am blogging about it. It makes a good story, right? How I did this good deed for some down-on-her-luck young woman. Then I left and went back to my privileged life. She goes back to what? I gave her a muffin or two? I didn't even end up paying for them, my son did.

I sacrificed nothing.

Everything I own, more than I can handle...for what? I'm selling face scrub and dresses that I sew to take a big exotic vacation next year. She's stripping her clothes off to have money for food. And she thinks I'm a good person.

I can be doing a lot more. A LOT.

Tuesday on Set

Yesterday was crazy on set...today was more low key though there were more people here...that I know personally too. Yesterday there were homeless people--I mean actual homeless people to play homeless people in a church/mission scene.

One was a transvestite and he exposed his breast to me and threw off his wig in a fit...it was interesting to me that I could immediately tell he was reacting to an incident, internalizing and taking the situation completely personal when it was completely NOT personal--not about him at all.

I could see that he had been hurt in life...before he confirmed it I knew; prostitution, drug use...a very abused and hurt individual...a life led by addictions, alcohol, lack of identity, exploitation and self abuse...very sad. So what to do?

I believe a few years ago..or maybe just any other day I would have just stayed there to myself with my friend, conversing and ignored him completely. But for some reason, I did not feel socially afraid of him in any way and did not feel like I wanted or needed to ignore him.

So since he was still getting upset...I turned to him and simply acknowledged his pain. Then I bent down a bit to look in his eyes and put my hand on his big gnarly man hand with the long red painted fingernails and began to speak to him.

"It sounds like you have been very hurt. You are right, you are here for a purpose and God does love you." I continued, "Whatever happened inside there, is between those people and God. They are going to answer for that.  But we, are going to just let it go and forgive...and be free," I took a deep breathe, indicating and encouraging that he do the same.

I spoke softly, encouraging him to quiet down and knowing he was hungry continued, "You're going to get some food, let's just quiet down and everything is going to be ok. We are going to be free and forgive. Just take a deep breath and simply let go, release and forgive."

He did calm down...he was pretty teary eyed by then. "Thank You," he said.

I feel like the instinct is to think I did something great for this man--went out of my comfortable bubble and 'oh look at me a member of the great white hope, reaching out!' But really--*I* certainly don't think that at all. I don't feel special and I don't even think *I* did anything special at all. My eyes were opened to recognize a hurting individual, a human being...who carries his baggage right there with him at all times...mainly in the form of artificial feminine breasts that are permanently attached to his chest. 

He had two bullet wound scars on his right arm...beside a long scar running the length of the inside of his forearm...I think 'track mark' scars on the inside of both elbows, a bypass surgery scar over his heart, long scars along his neck and across his left forearm...and he was missing some teeth.

He also wore a hospital identification bracelet but it didn't look new.

I think it all seemed so obvious to me because...because...I don't know exactly...because of my own life and the need for forgiveness? Being able to recognize when another person over reacts--compassion is stirred if you are aware. If you understand the need for forgiveness and the freedom it carries when you do. His name was Ericka but I think his birth name was Tony.

He finally left after being told to be quiet for the last time.

"I am leaving! I AM a star and what you people are doing in there is WRONG! I am going to make my own tape and then you will see!" He said to the assistant that told him to be quiet.

He came back later when he realized he forgot his blanket. Then he walked around to the back of the building to ask for one of the producers, to get him and his friends some food. He had left before lunch.

Later we realized someone stole my four year old's ice cream $$$ from my bag...but we all had our lap tops and Iphones out in the dressing room so I figured that was a small price to pay for nothing else of higher value, being stolen. A costumer's atm card and the make-up girl's credit card were stolen...but not cash from their wallets or other cards...interesting.

I thought it was a good day over all.

What did George do?

I was watering the lawn this evening and I discovered this note written in blue sharpie on our sidewalk. I suspect it's from 'George, the homeless guy.'  Unfortunately, by the time I got my camera (phone) the water was already running over it...It looks like it's signed 'David G something'--which is interesting because initially oldest thought his name was David...

The left column reads:
From Ft Campbell {illegible}
To my girl Madelyn Schupp
jewish girl
Lakewood Calif

Middle column reads:
2/65
Dear Madalyn Schupp
I will not be coming home
forever I'm 
to ashamed of
myself
I am accepting
a General discharge
From 1st Lieutenant
at Fort Campbell
Kentucky


Right column reads:
I will 
live in
Georgia
and never
see any
one 
I ever
have

Signed:
2/65
Ashamed
{looks like David G something?} 

*     *     *

He came by, late afternoon yesterday, just as the boys were headed off to youth group. He sat down on the porch and began eating some generic oreos, from Big Lots. He seemed quite comfortable.

"Hey, George, you can't sit here today," I asserted.

"Yah, yah, I know. Just for a minute."

My son went out, "Hey, why don't you go to Mayfair, they have lots of shade."

George sounded like he was slurring some words and I suspected he was dehydrated again. Oldest suggested he go to the park and get some water. He got up quickly and left his cookies on the porch.

"Go put his cookies on his wheel-chair," I told oldest.

"No, it's ok, I don't want them," said George.

Oldest put them on top of his bundle, on the wheel chair, anyway.
George headed down the sidewalk...
I think he might have been hurt.

George's shirt

George was knocking, which is more like pounding, bright and early this morning around 7am. That seems to be his time of preference.

By the third time, in less than an hour, (which may or may not officially qualify him for stalker status) I volunteered to give oldest a break and answer the door myself. I held it close to my body, to block his view. I don't remember everything he said because I was still groggy.

"Hey, how old are you?" he asks.

Not wanting to give away any personal information, "Old enough to know I still need some sleep." I smile.

"Oh, yah, yah," he puts his boot in the door way.

I hold the door knob on the back of the door tighter as I push the door closer to my side.

I think his shirt is wrong side out. It has writing on it, from a sharpie. Something about receiving a regular check from the 'Social Security Administration' and that he has money to pay if someone (or a woman, can't remember exactly) is interested in having a relationship with him.

Last week his shirt had drawings of houses, I think an address and something about being castrated at 57 years old.

Later this evening he is knocking again. He's wondering if we have a wire for a charger or something. He doesn't have his wheelchair. I hope it didn't get stolen...

My personal life is in shambles and as if it can't get any lower...I think I might have an old, homeless guy trying to pick up on me. Great.

George 'the homeless guy'

George walks pushing a wheelchair. He doesn't need the wheelchair. He uses it to carry his stuff, whatever that may be. Some days the wheelchair appears empty, other days, like today, there was a bundle of fabric, rolled into a hobo-like-knap-sack on the seat.

I don't know how long he may have been at the door before he knocked this afternoon. He got up quickly from his place on the top step of the porch when oldest answered the door. He handed him two spiral notebooks, "Maybe you can use these," and rushed off.

"Ask him if he wants some cold water," I told oldest.
He was already to the side walk by the time I stepped out on the porch.
"Do you want some cold water to take with you?"
"Oh, no. I don't know if you can use those," he said over his shoulder. He was wearing his blue jeans again, even though it was pretty hot.

As I turned to go back into the house, I noticed a box of envelopes in front of the doorway, five of them standing up sideways in the box. On the outside of the box was written: This is what my mother gave to me to save money. 

Each envelope that was standing up was marked with a 'bill' like, utilities, food, utilities II (phone), entertainment & misc, rent. A few of the envelopes had amounts and other writing/instructions like the rent envelope also said: try not to put off. The food envelope: must have. Utilities II (phone) had: is a phone a luxury.

This is a well-known budgeting system called 'the envelope system'.

The two spiral notebooks were covered in writing on each front and back covers and many pages inside. It appears to be, at least in part, the story of his life. I corrected the spelling in my transcription but  not the grammar, there was very little, if any punctuation. This is what I could decipher.

Written on the front cover:
I'll try to put it down much better.
As I remember my wife has refused to take the birth control pill and we used each form for birth control.
Rene was a baby at 140 S Home St
Long Beach
Calif
Jimmy was our landlord
18 Dapley st
62.50 a mo was our rent.
I had telling to Betty Hoffman on the phone (over)

{writing continues on inside of front cover}
and was in great difficulty in marriage.
My mother tried to save our marriage she said come over to 5402 Pennswood and I will show you how to budget your money.
I went over to Betty marie Hoffman house. My mother and she took out envelopes like this and said divide your money and put them into these envelopes and pay your bills with money order there {illegible} buy.
I did that (back)

{writing continues on outside of back cover}
I was working at Westing-house Electric in Compton as Electric motor repair.
I made $2.86 an hr
$2.86
34    
1144
-taxes
90 clear 

I claimed 0 exemptions on file C {illegible} $200.00 back on tax return short form
I worked there for over a year did not {illegible} a check
{illegible} check from Westinghouse {illegible}

On the front cover of the next notebook:
I eventually bought a new 1968 Honda 90CC motor cycle on Atlantic 1/4 mile south of cherry pch
The salesman told me the world might end tomorrow 
the bomb so I bought against better judgment
1968
Later me and Betty separated over a Perty oil man Jim {illegible} (over)

{writing continues on inside of front cover}
I was homeless for awhile and lived at {illegible} mitzer apartment with dirty denise her girl friend on welfare dept {illegible}
I left the motor cycle at steve's and was told {illegible} is at {illegible}
blew it up
Steve repaired it but it never idled ever again
It was stolen from {illegible} home at Larry Smith {illegible} years left

{On the first page of this notebook is written;}
It seems like a million years ago
But I will remember it like yesterday.
I had talked to Betty Hoffman my mother
And as I remember she showed concern about my marriage to my wife and my daughter Rene Austin
Maybe she wanted to help save my marriage
I had many problems at that time
And was very {illegible} with my marriage

{next page}
she told me to come over and she would show me how to budget better {illegible} and my money
I was over and she took out envelopes and said this is how {illegible} it with George T {illegible Hoffman?}

{there is a diagram of envelopes each with a label and amounts}
I made $287 at westinghouse Electric

{next page}
I claimed 0 exemptions on income taxes and got 1 or two checks back from state and federal government and a good way to save {illegible}
I worked for westinghouse for over a year. and my wife cheated with Jim Horwood
so I lost my Id {?}
I had three uncashed checks from westinghouse electric I did not need to cash

{next page}
Me and my wife bought a 1968 Honda 90 {?} motor cycle that I drove to westinghouse electric.
The total cost of the honda 90cc motor cycle was $900.00 {?}
I bought it at a Honda dealer on Atlantic Ave in Long Beach by {illegible} pch
1/4 mile north of cherry

{next page}
I was the first credit I applied for and was accepted by Commercial CREDIT CORPORATION
I have separated from Betty Austin over a pirty oil man Jim Horwood about 1968 {?}
I left it at steve mitzer and leland lightfoot told me steve took it to Hecutt {?}

{next page blank, written on page after}
And raced it and blew it up and it caught on fire
I eventually got it back from steve repair but it never again would idle
maybe over heated
it was taken 
put on a truck 
when me and Betty
lived in Larry Smith apartment

{next page blank, written on page after}
Larry Smith dad worked as a custodian for Long Beach unified school District and I worked at Jordan High as a janitor
I had the key and
locked the wheel to the 
motor cycle and it was 
missing in the morning
{illegible} lot {illegible}
back of {illegible}
{there are numbers and equations after this}
Across the first paragraph is written in large letters: WIFE GO TO WORK?

There is no more writing in either of the notebooks.