Practice

Six days a week for four straight years I would pull my shirt over my head, pull my shorts up, slide my socks on, slip my shit guards in, lace up my cleats, and securely Velcro my gloves around my wrists. I’d walk out on the field and run, sweat, dive, jump, push myself and my teammates as hard as my heart and my mind desired that day. We’d high five when we won a drill, I’d feel the soaring feeling when I made an amazing save, and I’d feel lifted up when I felt my teammates support and trust around me. We’d also hang our heads, bleed, sustain injuries, lose, and work so hard we had nothing left together. It was some of the most beautiful, wonderful moments I’ve experienced but everyday was a grind, it could be good but it was still a grind to forget everything else you had going on in life and all of the homework and studying you had and drag yourself on to that field that may that day supply you with a feeling of victory or a feeling of defeat. In the end, it was practice and we showed up, everyday, without fail.

Practice is just that: not a promise that the experience will be grand but rather an opportunity to grow. Practice isn’t why people get involved in the sport, we’re dedicated because we love the games. No collegiate players enter college hoping to be a practice player, they want to play, to be out on that field with all eyes on them so they can show their abilities. But the abilities, disciplines, dedication, skills, and teamwork are developed in practice. You MUST practice.

It makes sense in sports that you must practice to play well on game day. Why then in life are we constantly looking for the outcomes, the big moments, the breakthroughs desperately seeking to experience the game day and so unwilling to practice. Life will provide its breakthroughs, the moments when all you can do is smile, when it all finally clicks and works out but most of life is going to be a grind; simply practicing so one day we will have that moment and experience victory. I spend way too much of my life frustrated that nothing is happening, that I am in the same place, that those around me don’t seem to get it, and that everyday I wake up and simply seem to toil. I forget that this is just how I felt walking out to the practice field most the time in college; I didn’t want to go, there were typically about 100 other places I’d rather be, however, now, in my life I must learn to be disciplined, as I was in college knowing that even if I didn’t want to go practice that it as my commitment and I must be there. I must discipline myself in life everyday to know that if I want to grow and see progress and get to play on game day and potentially feel that victory, then I must practice first. Even though it seems like a grind it is in the practicing that I am being prepared for what’s next. My willingness to show up and practice everyday allows me to grow and I don’t want to stay stagnant in life, I’ve been too blessed for that. So everyday I will lace up, secure my gloves on, and step out for practice knowing it may be hard and I may want to quit as I don’t see any progress but going anyway.

Random Thought

We too often try to control, try to create equations so our small, meager minds can grasp. But thats just the problem, God, Jesus, doesn't operate on the single plane. By trying to grasp we minimize. We seek answers to the ultimate unknown, we have such little desire to live merely on faith, we want answers. I contend that the rest of my life will be spent wrestling. My prayer is that throughout I will be blessed enough to have brothers and sisters who are committed first to Christ then to me to wrestle and walk in the loving, caring, compassionate, tender, passionate, understanding heart of Jesus. I want to wrestle and conflict with others but my desire is their hearts too will foremost be rooted in love. I think answers no longer matter as much when you have this.

A Glimpse of Heaven

I saw a glimpse of heaven this weekend… and it was beautiful.

Sanctuary is an older shabby building. It’s by no means big or flashy, the sign they have to read the churches name on the front of the building is red spray painted onto a pieces of scrap wood. It has carpet that looks like its from the 1970’s and everyone who has come to a service over the last 3 years has spilled something on it and didn’t care to clean it up but I know that they were simply so focused on love and Jesus that they didn’t even notice it, that they realized as they sat amongst the hurt, homeless, addicted, and broken in the face of God some how the priority of what shape the carpet was in began to fade.

We enter on a dark cold November night as ragamuffins wander the sanctuary and a band’s loud rumble fills the air. We enter and stand. I am semi bored as the music doesn’t speak to me and I wonder how much longer I have to stand here before we actually do something. Then I begin to look. The man seated in front of where I stand is dressed in Goodwill clothes and appears to have not showered in days, I assume he is homeless and right before I begin to take a step back to go talk to a friend something beautiful catches my eye; it’s a drawing on his lap that he is zoned in on and it is wonderful. The strokes come easy to him as if he has no control of his hand at all as his vision naturally flows onto the paper. The band eventually stops playing and a previously homeless girl shares her story from her aunt lighting her crib on fire when she was a few months old, to the moment as a toddler she lay on the floor of her apartment completely covered in cockroaches while her mom and her boyfriend have sex right in front of her. She shares about her 4 children who were all taken away from her, her sex addiction, and God’s redemption. How he delivered her out of it all. I saw life, I saw freedom, I saw Jesus.

The music has now restarted and I find myself at a table with a few of my friends from our group. One is doodling the other is creating a beautiful piece of art, naturally, as her hand just flows to create the strokes, no effort whatsoever, just ease and beauty. I glance up at her face and see joy as she lives out her passion. I begin to circle my head around the room and catch about 6 people from our group and our leader on the makeshift dance floor. None of them are dancers yet as I look at their eyes light up and the smiles that are shared… my eyes then move around the dance floor and the entire room and I realize that what is happening at that moment is too good, it is too beautiful, it is too free to be earth and God softly whispers to me, “… a glimpse of heaven…” And I know it’s true. From the guy in the back drawing to our leader on the dance floor there is nothing but brokenness, pain, torment, smothering reality barking you aren’t good enough but that’s gone right now and its purely what God made us for; joy, love, and community. I know that I am surrounded by stories that are so painful they tear my heart to shreds and bring me to my knees… God knew that night that we each needed a little bit of heaven, just a peak, so we could remember why we keep pushing through the pain, he reminds us there is hope and its as real as the disco moves my classmate is making on the dance floor.

Being

I don’t fully know what is right or what is wrong, I don’t think I ever fully will. The one thing I do know is that this book, the bible, is about love. I know that Christ came here to love and walked every day of his life to show and live that love and compassion. My desire is to be less concerned about what is truly “right” versus “wrong,” to stop wasting my time on that and instead simply live in the one thing I do know without a doubt is true of Jesus, love. I may not get it all right but I’m willing to simply walk and love and be… with whomever I encounter.

Unknown

I am working my way up the corporate latter. My goal since I was a junior in high school (when I decided my lifelong idea of becoming an elementary school teacher may not be plausible due to my extreme lack of patience with children) was two fold: a. to wear cute little power suits that asserted my intelligence, ability, and importance to everyone who saw me and b. to join this business world and begin to work my way up, achieving the top level position. Looking back I’m not fully sure why I wanted this other than I was capable, I’d always been good at what I did and as my dad always told me “You can do anything you put your mind to,” and for the most part this was true, it’d never been proved wrong. As I told friends and family about my desires to join corporate America everyone agreed that it was a perfect fit for me, “where they saw me.” It was where all the money was and where all the people you heard about being the definition of successful were. On TV and in the papers you were reading about Bill Gates and the CEOs of big companies not the local junior high teacher or volleyball coach, so corporate America would be the aim I would enter college to achieve.

I ended college being the definition of a success story, I had a solid resume and was highly recruited. My dreams were about to come true. I weighed out my options and landed on which job I would start off at, luckily it was an opportunity that would also allow me to spend the summer in Colorado with Athletes in Action. My summer was amazing and I left Colorado sad to leave, scared to move somewhere in which I knew absolutely no one, yet excited to begin on my career path. I remember having discussions with one of my closest friends out in Colorado as we were getting ready to leave about how she could never enter corporate America and I also remember thinking, ‘what is she talking about, what’s the big deal?’ Then I dove head first into “the system,” “the man” not only became my boss but really began to be my mind. Daily I was forced to submit, to not do what I thought best or knew was best but rather what I was told, I was pushed down, battered and bruised and at the end of the day as I lay on the floor with “the man’s” foot on my chest not only preventing me from moving but only allowing short gasps of air to enter my lungs; as I lay there, defenseless on the floor, the man would yell at me reminding me why everything was my fault placing it all on me. My bosses, my directors, human resources all the areas that were supposed to be there to protect me, help me, build me up, and promote me seemed to be the most suppressing of them all, the areas that were using me the most. I soon began to understand what my friend had meant about “the system” and I came to despise it; in the system I am not only defenseless but I am used for others gains.

When people ask me about how Training School is going I tell them that its great and that it seems right, that its where I want to be unlike work. For the most part I get a response from people along the lines of, “well duh Training School is your choice and work is work, its what you have to do.” On the one hand I see their perspective but I only get one life and I don’t want to live it as a mere tool and puppet for “the man.” I know I was made for more and I’m honestly sick of adding to the system; the truth of the matter is I’m basically management and whether I like it or not I am forced in certain ways to not care about my associates and to yell at them for not submitting to the system that I so despise. And I think what kills me most is to watch the system take advantage of and squeeze life out of my associates who I care so much for… if my desire to truly love and care for people in the way I believe I was made to makes others think that I am lazy and unsuccessful and immature… well I think I’m okay with that.

What I’ve learned in my short 23 years here on earth is that we’re made to really live, not to be suppressed. When I look back on my life I’ve never felt as alive as when I’m out on the soccer field with the ball flying at me demanding me to make a quick decision… in that moment it was up to me, I didn’t have coaches telling me what to do or my parents all I had was a team around me trusting me and allowing me to use my experience and knowledge to make the right decision. It was freedom with a team around me supporting me… it was full breathing LIFE.

A Girl Under the Light

I must say that this is probably the heaviest thing I've posted yet but with that being said this was probably what hit me the hardest while we were in Toronto, what I wrestled the hardest with. It was the scene that you will read below that continually brought tears to my eyes that have been a dry well for quite some time and it was the ending thought of this post that continues to break my heart as I look at and see my own brokenness and pain and yearn for the wholeness that I was born to live out of.

Our first night in Toronto we walked around for quite some time, seeing the city and many of its inhabitants. We walked past the gay district, the transvestites, the prostitutes, the homeless, and we saw all of the different cultures living together. At the end of the night we stopped next to a church and our leader started talking to us about what we saw and experienced; all the while he was talking I was staring over his shoulder at the girl across the street probably about 20 years of age, dressed in all white with high heels that I could never even imagine walking in. I watched her as she walked up and down the street and then settled standing by a lamp post. My heart began to break as I realized that this girl around my age wasn’t simply out for a nighttime stroll the way I was, nope she was “on the clock” she was waiting for her next “customer” to drive by so she could be picked up and in exchange for money give what it was that I’m sure was all she thought she had to offer… as she sold herself. My eyes began to well up as our leader asked what it was that really hit us that night that was hard for us to swallow. After a minute or so of trying to wrap my mind around it all, to grasp on to some form of reality in this world that has suddenly been turned so around I no longer knew where it was that I was standing, I began to explain to the group that for me it was these girls selling themselves on the street, something I’d always heard happened but never watched and truly thought about. Our leader, having spent much time in Toronto observing, contemplating, and wrestling with everything we were seeing, began lovingly and compassionately agreeing and asking us rhetorically asking, “but what does redemption look like for them?” Saying the only way to get them out of it is to take them straight off the street and into your home and to keep them there. He then proceeded to explain though that the thing about that is they may end up back here anyways because this is how they knew life, where their pimps assured their safety, their housing, their food. That this was the place they found their worth, their care; they knew how to operate in this system they felt loved in it… they were bound to it, they’d most likely been doing it since they landed on the streets as teenagers and it was all they knew. This brutal depressing reality began to set in to my heart just as I looked over again at the girl and a car with a male driver pulled up and she jumped in…

About 40 minutes later I laid in my bed, tucked in, still in shock as I thought about where that girl lay right now… A horrible, mind-numbing reality and yet I can’t help to look at it now and think about all the people who I know, who I am friends with, who I walk with daily whose stories aren’t that different. Sure its not to that degree, its not complete strangers who drive up to them and they don’t receive money at the end and there aren’t multiples in a night and it doesn’t happen night after night but still… how many times was it in college, how many people do I know who would have a random hookup? How is that that different? How are my friends that different than these girls on the streets? They’re just as broken, just as lost, believe just as many lies about themselves, they’re just as desperate to find something they can hold on to, something that will care about them, if not forever then just for one night. Not selling themselves for money but rather for the pleasure of ignoring reality for just a little while; to forget about the ex they just broke up with, to forget about the guy they “weren’t good enough for,” to forget about a dad who was never around to show love and care… to be so caught up in the moment that just for a little while you feel secure again, safe… ignoring the fact that in an hour or two they’ll be back on the “street corner” where all the realities exist again. I’m not saying that the prostitutes enjoy the act by any means like my friends may but in both cases I believe that this is the only way either person knows how to survive… I don’t know how to swallow either scenario…

Life at the Marriott

This entry is not a story or piece from my time in Toronto. I almost said it has nothing to do with Training School at all like all my other posts have but then I realized that it is Training School which is opening my eyes to these things I never saw or thought about before. I guess it truly is revolutionizing the way I view the world... even at work.

We have an agency that we work closely with at the Marriott called LGC, from them we get temp servers to supplement our staffing for events. We obviously don’t have a large enough staff to run an event for 500 people so weekly, daily really we call on LGC to send us some help. We, the captaining and management crew, often joke about who we’re going to get this time… how many will we lose mid server because they’ll get into a fight with another associate, how many will appear to be (and most likely actually be) on drugs at that moment, how many will ask to leave early because the busses only run so late. How many will actually know how to serve verses just be a person taking up space. I personally have had people leave early because they are having withdrawl and need to go get some type of drug, I’ve had people collapse on me and we’ve had to call the ambulance because they don’t take care of themselves, I’ve caught two of them making out in the back hallway, I’ve had a man laying on the floor of our store room curled up in the fetal position due to his condition endlessly apologizing to me as he nearly blacked out from pain before the ambulance arrived … I’ve had just about every scenario none of which I ever thought I would encounter as I sat in my Hospitality Business classes at Michigan State. We never had a class or even a warning about the associates we would deal with on a daily basis, who would whine to us, complain to us, give us every excuse in the book… it turns out this is one of the only things now keeping me at my job, the people.

Every once in a while we will have a few temps who are amazing workers, who blow me away with their commitment and willingness to work. When this happens we will occasionally offer them the opportunity to be officially on our schedule. We don’t hire them, they’re still a temp, but they get scheduled like a Marriott associate. This is an honor to them as they all aspire to be hired by us (which is has always seemed like a statement in itself, I find myself constantly complaining about where I work…). We recently added a few; I got the opportunity to chose them and they were all hard workers, people I believed in and some I even had a personal attachment to. This is where my story begins…

One of them has been a bartender for me for about a year now, she is great, she does anything I need her to, is committed, and will occasionally even ask me to join her and her family for a cookout. A few months back she eagerly told me about how her daughter was going to start working with LGC and come to our hotel. Jane, my bartender, lived with her daughter and grandchildren and had told me many times that her daughter was her world. I was fine with this, didn’t really care a whole lot. Soon her daughter came and was a diligent worker as well, she served often for us. About a month ago we had a big event going on and after the serve we sent our associates on break. I got a call over the radio from Security telling me we had an LGC associate who was sick outside and they needed to see me. Again this was semi common, another headache for me to deal with (not that I’ve become jaded or anything)… so I took my sweet time getting down there. When I finally got there I found Jane in tears and her daughter gasping for breath as the paramedics from the ambulance that had been called ran tests on her. They eventually took her to the hospital and Jane called me later that night to tell me she was ok and then a couple days later told me that it was determined that her daughter had several issues and currently had the lungs of an 85 year old. I remember thinking ‘that’s not good’ and ‘how does that happen’ but Jane didn’t seem to be too worried so I took it lightly, somewhat brushing it off. Yesterday I was walking into work and I saw Jane sitting on the stoop outside smoking a cigarette, I waved as I got closer and she started to walk over to me, being the cynical person I am I took a deep breath and thought, what now? I don’t really have time for this. She then started mumbling to me and as I asked her to speak up she explained to me that her daughter wouldn’t be returning. She then started explaining through tears that the day before they had gone to the doctor and he had only given her 6 months to a year to live…

Later that day I had another LGC who I had recently put on my schedule who didn’t show up for her shifts that day. She was always there when she wasn’t on our schedule but since I’d added her she had missed at least two shifts and hadn’t called to tell us. I really liked this girl, she was younger than me but had 2 kids already, she’d do anything for me and we got along super well. All that aside she wasn’t showing up and I was a tad annoyed. I called her and left a message asking her what was going on and telling her she was a “no call, no show” which was unacceptable. Later as I walked the floor for an event one of my associates told me that Laura was in fact there and wanted to talk to me. I went and found her and she started apologizing and explaining that the night before her husband beat her and she had to call the cops, so she had been in jail for the night, that was why she missed her shifts… she showed me the bruises, I believe her.

The pain, the hurt, the abuse, the sorrow… you don’t have to go to the small villages in Africa to find it, you don’t even have to go to the streets to find it, its everywhere. My co-workers and I sit around and look down on these temps that we work with everyday when we don’t know their stories, we don’t know the hurt behind those eyes, we don’t know the struggles they have been forced to endure that have brought them to where they’re at today. We somehow, by no effort of our own, escaped that; we don’t have to worry about the bus schedule because we have a car, we don’t have to worry about our husband beating us because we KNOW we deserve better, we don’t have to worry about how we’re going to support our grandchildren when our daughter dies at a ridicioulously young age because we have steady jobs, we don’t have to turn to hard drugs because we’ve learned better ways to cope with the pain... Its right there in front of me; I miss it, we all just miss it because we are so busy with our lives, with what truly matters, with searching out the people who “need” us, with planning our “mission trips.” What if we took a moment instead to simply open our eyes and allowed ourselves to see… to see the pain and hurt that is right there in front of us… What if instead of going to foreign countries to build houses for the poor and be good people or to share the gospel what if instead we just listened to those around us and loved them, right where they’re at. What if instead of having an agenda we just did life with them, showed them we cared, that they were love… what if we were the best version we could be of what Jesus was. After all this is how Jesus lived his life; he just walked and was, helping whoever he came across that day, not always in amazing ways, sometimes simply by showing them love.

Sidenote: I would argue that this pain and hurt is highly prevalent even in upper-class, white, suburbia, the difference is they have the means to hide it better. Sure it looks very different and they are privileged in many ways but that doesn’t mean pain and sorrow isn’t still there…

To Go Without

On our last full day in Toronto we woke up and began getting ready for church. When we were all dressed and ready to hear what we were doing from breakfast Larry sat down and began telling us how half the world lives on less than $2 a day and a large part of that lives on less that $1 a day for everything. He then turned to us and said, you guys have everything else you need, you have cloths, supplies, toiletries etc. which is more than any of these people have but today we’re going to do an exercise; I am going to walk around right now and based on if you’re one of the “fortunate” ones or unfortunate ones I will give you either a looney or a tuney (one dollar and two dollars) for food for the rest of the day. He then told us there was bread downstairs for us to have for breakfast which was more than the population who lives off this amount gets as well.

When he first explained this to us all several things ran through my head. The first was, well this seems valid and worthwhile, another good exercise to grow us devised by Larry. The second was, one dollar was not a lot but it was some and I’ve fasted for entire days before so I could obviously do it. So I entered the day very excepting of the exercise, knowing I’d be hungry but sure I could get through it, semi skeptical of why it was that big of a deal, one day without food, big deal.

We went to church and then after came back to where we were staying and Larry told us we had the afternoon off to do whatever we wanted. A few people decided to go to an internet café, I followed but when I got there decided that the purpose of the day was that these people only get a dollar a day to spend in general, not just on food, so I decided I wouldn’t allow myself to spend my own money on anything (meaning anything other than the looney I was allotted). So I walked out and down the city street by myself. I decided I wanted to spend time with God, which I do all the time, and pretty much every time it takes place at a coffee shop. So then I began weighing out my options feeling like if it were for God and I was spending time with him why couldn’t I spend my own money, I mean it was for God. I then realized that I was again missing the point so I continued walking trying to find a park to sit in and spend time with God. As I continued on my walk past all of the stores I kept on seeing places offering items that Chicago does and Indy doesn’t and that I miss and had been meaning to get while I was there… crepes, Tim Hortons, along with many other things. We were leaving the next morning, early, so this was my last chance and I’d been wanting it since I got there, just hadn’t had to time. Now I had the time and I mean I obviously had money, my wallet was full of it. I started weighing this option out and what kept coming up was, ‘Ashley you’re basically on vacation, getting away from all the stress of work and life and in a cool city, you deserve it, this is your chance.’ I felt entitled to it, I was on vacation, I did DESERVE it. Then it hit me, after all of these temptations that I could easily reason myself out of the exercise, all of these desires that were normal for me and ways that I operated on a daily basis, I realized that this was the point of the day; everyday the homeless walk down these exact same streets as I was currently walking down with the exact same temptations and I have no doubt that they too desire a nice cup or coffee or a crepe or merely anything these stores would offer but they can’t have it. Tomorrow the “exercise” would be over and my endless wallet would again be accessible and I could have anything that I desired, they didn’t have this hope, in fact the next day for them had no promises and could easily be worse than today. The next day they may have no money to spend…

The first night we had been in Toronto Larry had led us through the main downtown area, basically Toronto’s version of timesquare. We walked past all of the designer stores, all the billboards and tv screens for stores and movies, into a huge mall. Once in the mall we stopped and Larry asked us what we noticed on our walk and we discussed materialism; the call to buy into this all, the idea that if you spent enough money you too could look this way, be perfect and happy. The consumerism that we all struggle with; the marketing that is constantly being shoved down our throats on a daily basis telling us that we aren’t good enough but if we bought this product we’d be closer. The lies that we all reluctantly, to some degree, buy into… We discussed how we struggle with this and then Larry introduced the idea of what do you do with that if you’re homeless. If we all wanted to and truly believed that buying that jacket would make us more accepted we could, it was accessible to us but what if it wasn’t? What do the homeless people do with that? They walk those streets all the time too, they live on them, how do they handle the fact that they couldn’t have it even if they wanted it? Do you think that that makes them feel even more worthless to say, “you don’t look like this and you couldn’t even if you wanted to.”

I can have everything if I really want it, clothes, make-up, shoes, Starbucks, crepes, pizza, you name it. I can’t even imagine how worthless you would feel if you couldn’t. I have options, they have none, yet like I’ve said before, they are no different than me, I was just born into more privilege. I don’t deserve any of it but I get it… they don’t.

A Huge Lesson

One of my favorite Toronto experiences came on my last day in the city. It was Looney and Tunney day (meaning all I had to spend on food for the entire day was one dollar) and we were given the afternoon free to wander around. As I wandered the city I found myself just wanting and desiring all the food and treats that I couldn’t have (well not that day at least). So I decided to go hang out and read and spend time with God in a park instead. Several homeless people who also had no reason to wander the city streets since they had no money to spend either were also resting in the park. I sat beneath a shady tree and began my normal routine of listening to music and reading. After a few minutes sitting there an older homeless guy began yelling towards my direction and beckoning me to come over, a bit taken aback and confused I wandered over. There were two men sitting there, one much older, maybe 60, named Frenchie and the other younger, maybe 25, named Paul. When I first sat down I was a bit confused about Paul. Frenchie was obviously homeless, he had all the “typical” homeless aspects including ragged clothing, all of his possessions around him, and a rough edge to him. However, Paul was dressed in nice, clean jeans, had some sweet Adidas kicks on, and a newer grey v-neck tee. I began to think that Paul was there like I was, just to hang out and spend time with the homeless people. As I sat there a bit lost in what Frenchie was ever saying and being heckled by him for asking too many questions I felt confused as to why I was sitting there with them yet stayed anyway. As we (well moreso they) bantered back and forth and I continued asking questions to get to know them better Paul started sharing his story and my heart began to break.

Throughout my time thus far with them I had seen Paul’s immense intelligence and he obviously didn’t look like a homeless person yet I learned that he was. Paul’s story was short and relatively simple yet left me forever changed. He had grown up in Canada, he never knew his dad and his mom left him at a young age. He went through countless foster families and was constantly being passed around. At the age of 15 his mother came back and wanted her son back so he returned to living with her, however, she again left. At this point he said, “I felt too much shame to return to my foster family so I came to live on the streets.” From the age of 15 until today he had been in jail several times and convicted even more. He had recently been released and was hoping to get his old job back and explained how he realized he had both an anger and drug problem. This kid had so much potential, just like me, the only difference between him and I was that I was born into a loving, privileged family that allowed me opportunities, opportunities to go to school, to not have to worry about where my food was coming from, to feel loved, to go to college, to get a job, to not turn to drugs, to control my emotions and countless other things, as opposed to being passed around like an object that no one wanted.

‘Homeless people have a choice in it all, they, like me, can go to school and can go interview and get a job. They chose to give up and to sit on the street,’ this is what I had always thought and truly believed. I now began to realize that most of them were victims, victims of the family that they were born into, the lies they began to believe, and the low blows they had been dealt. I began to realize that much like the coping mechanisms I have developed of putting up walls to protect myself and not allowing myself to feel certain things they too had found these mechanisms, safety; in drugs and alcohol. The reason that they take the little money they do find and panhandle on alcohol and drugs is because they need something to numb the pain, the disappointment that is constantly reminding them that they’re not good enough, that they have nothing… I don’t know what that’s like… to feel like the only things and place I have to turn to for comfort is substances that will numb me to it all… what a way to have to live.

Training School Intro

I must first admit that I am highly reluctantly starting this... for whatever reason I've never wanted a blog, mostly cause I don't think anyone will ready it I think but I feel like I should start one... so here it goes. Most of the entries on here will related to Training School which is a journey with 7 other people in my church which entails class and mission trips. The first entry which I will share was written upon my arrival home from our first mission trip to Toronto. Also even if you don't follow Jesus I encourage you to read on to the end, theres some good stuff in here... (PS this is raw, unedited, that's how I roll)

“Its just taking a walk with Jesus.” This was the line that Larry said in the Common Ground service for training school back in May that I really remember, that grabbed my heart. As I set out on this journey to Toronto and committing to Training School this line continued to lead me; the idea that its all about Jesus and he’s always with us so therefore its clearly just viewing it as a walk and therefore by committing the next 9 months to him he’s clearly just asking me to take a walk. Viewing it like this made it seem so much simpler, so much easier to commit to and I figured that this was clearly and obviously what was meant by the statement… I’m beginning to see that I was incorrect.

Taking a walk with Jesus is more in reference to the fact that Jesus spent most of his time in ministry simply walking around. It was pretty clear he didn’t have an agenda, he just walked. He allowed himself the time and space to truly have compassion and love guide him. He listened and he saw, he really saw the world around him. He didn’t walk around simply seeing whatever it was that he wanted to see but he saw straight through to people’s hearts, to their real needs.

With that simple idea and taking Jesus’ ministry down to its simplest form (remembering that I’m simply a sinner and human so I’m probably missing so much of what it was truly about) it tells me that what Larry’s statement about Training School really meant was simply to walk… simply to go about life and the streets of Toronto and walk around, no agenda, no timelines, really no plans, and no need or desire to sit down with anyone and share the 4 spiritual laws but just to see and be open to the Spirit. To be open and willing when a homeless person beckons you over to go and sit with them and just talk. The idea of just being. Simply sitting, talking, listening, showing compassion and foremost sharing love. Not needing to know if your “sacrifice” of an hour of time had any affect on their lives, if because of it their lives would change; if they would not smoke crack tonight because of it, if they would not drink tonight because of it, if instead of taking that $5 you gave them and spending it on beer they’d instead buy some nourishing food, if they’d go to heaven because of that time, if you actually “made a difference”… but instead trusting God with it; knowing that none of those things are your responsibility or are things that you have control over but rather that all we’re called to do is to love God and love our neighbors. Not needing to preach to them but just to show them care. Being open and obedient to where the Spirit guides you and then releasing all else to him. How arrogant must I be to think that I have any power to change anyone or right to know if they are changed. All I have is due to grace and therefore as long as I’m administering that grace faithfully in accordance to the calling it was given to me by then that is all the power I have.

Additionally, I can definitely say that I probably learned more from the homeless and they probably gave ME more than I gave them. It seems so backwards because I’m the educated one, the one with money, the one with a job, the one with ambition, the one with a clean home to go to, the one with a bed to sleep in at night and a fridge full of food, clearly I’m the one who has things to share, to teach. Yet somehow I can’t help but wonder while we’re all at work, or buying our precious materials, or eating our dinner at our dining room table… if we’re the ones missing it. Missing what it means to live, to feel compassion, to truly love your brother. I watched my friend on the street asking his pal if he wanted some of his McDonald’s salad, I know it was probably the only thing that he was going to have to eat that day, I’m not sure where he got the money to even buy it but I was sure that more money wasn’t likely to show up anytime soon. Then I remembered all the times at the end of my meals out with friends I had asked for a to-go container, had someone asked me if they could have the rest of my meal I surely would have responded, “well I guess, I was gonna bring it home though.” Why and where it is that in having so much I am so unwilling to share? And where is it in the Bible that it says this is right and ok? Yup I’m the one who has so much to teach the homeless…