Really thankful for the soccer program that Tom (and Neil, when he is able) gets to be a part of! Big shout out to Coach D and his staff for their investment in the lives of these kids! #lifeinthecity
Showing posts with label City Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label City Life. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Monday, December 14, 2015
For the Taking
Chaos. Evil.
Mayhem outside their windows.
And yet...
They sleep sweetly.
Rest without thought, recuperation without hesitation, peace without fear.
Oh, the truths I am reminded of as I return from my walk through the valley of the shadow of death.
My children are truly my greatest teachers.
The invitation to rest like that is always there,
For the taking.
My children are truly my greatest teachers.
The invitation to rest like that is always there,
For the taking.
Friday, September 25, 2015
Number Twenty-Three
Happy late birthday to our "other son", Desi...we love you and we're so happy that God has put you in our lives over the last decade plus. Praying that this would be a huge year of growth and change, moving day by day toward becoming the man that God has intended for you to be!
Saturday, August 9, 2014
The needy
Rex says that I'm often too reflective on my blog posts.
Maybe.
But it's late. And the only sounds are the fan in my computer, and the fan blowing the summer air around the room. And my typing. And my thoughts.
Are thoughts sounds? Sure sounds like they are...in my head, anyway.
He is here, lying on our couch, having heard the Gospel yet again. In years to come, when I read this blog entry again, what will have happened with his life. Will he still be clamoring for first place in his own life, or will he have learned to say "I am second" like Tyrone Flowers and others?
He heard Tyrone's story tonight...I'm so thankful for Tyrone's story. The story of the One True Him, who came down to rescue sinners.
He's a sinner, and so am I.
Angry, vengeful, believing the worst.
I can relate.
Yes, I can.
And that's why we are here. Why we stay. Why we keep going day after day, week after week, month after month.......because God loves the needy, of whom I am the most. God loves sinners, of whom I am the worst.
Oh, Jesus...thank you for your mercy, your compassion, your ability to change. For your never-stopping, never-ending love poured out on me.
And him.
We want him to see You....but not nearly as much as You do. So as we wait, we pray and trust Your pursuing heart which reaches to him.
And me.
Thank you, Lord.
Maybe.
But it's late. And the only sounds are the fan in my computer, and the fan blowing the summer air around the room. And my typing. And my thoughts.
Are thoughts sounds? Sure sounds like they are...in my head, anyway.
He is here, lying on our couch, having heard the Gospel yet again. In years to come, when I read this blog entry again, what will have happened with his life. Will he still be clamoring for first place in his own life, or will he have learned to say "I am second" like Tyrone Flowers and others?
He heard Tyrone's story tonight...I'm so thankful for Tyrone's story. The story of the One True Him, who came down to rescue sinners.
He's a sinner, and so am I.
Angry, vengeful, believing the worst.
I can relate.
Yes, I can.
And that's why we are here. Why we stay. Why we keep going day after day, week after week, month after month.......because God loves the needy, of whom I am the most. God loves sinners, of whom I am the worst.
Oh, Jesus...thank you for your mercy, your compassion, your ability to change. For your never-stopping, never-ending love poured out on me.
And him.
We want him to see You....but not nearly as much as You do. So as we wait, we pray and trust Your pursuing heart which reaches to him.
And me.
Thank you, Lord.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Ringgggggggggggg
One week ago, we were in St. Paul, Minnesota, finishing up our HLIC staff conference. At the conference, I had been challenged to believe again that Jesus truly IS the only hope for our cities. I had been motivated again by the life and words of Dr. Bright, the founder of CCC who lived a humble, imperfect, forgiven life in Christ and who believed our big God for very big things. And I had been inspired by Jahill's story, one of redemption of a young man who had come straight from the streets.
As Jahill's words rang through my ears, I prayed again for Desi, our 19-year-old "son" here. He can stay in school until he is 21, and I hope that he does. Because if he doesn't, what in the world is going to happen to him? Jahill prayed fervently for him after we talked, and my heart joined his faith-filled prayers.
I asked God to prepare me to come back, to ready me for the doorbell rings, for the kids that would sit on my porch, for the men and women who would ask us for help.
I was full of faith and ready to go! Sort of.
Tonight. Celebrating USA wins in soccer and in water polo and in the decathalon. Eating ice cream. Kicking back. It's my relax time, after all. 11 p.m. Olympics are over, Hoffbeast is asleep, our visiting friend leaves, I need to clean the kitchen and do a couple more things before heading to bed. Rex can't sleep, so I tell him again about counting sheep, give more goodnight kisses and hugs, and he's off to sleepy land. Sighs of solitude and the end of a good day.
And then...11:26 p.m.
I know that the doorbell ringing is likely Desi. And I think about not answering. But I can't not answer. I'm awake and it's raining pretty hard and the boy who calls me "Ma" is standing on my front porch.
"I was gonna see if you could take me home," he starts, just after Rex groggily walked down the stairs yet again to see what was going on.
Really? You're going to show up at 11:30 p.m. and ask me to do something for you??! Where are the boundaries?????!!!?!
So I wake up the Hub and ask if I should do it, and the rain becomes the deciding factor. And I am stern with Desi and his friend when we get in the van and let him know that if he comes over after 10 p.m. once school starts--and if the doorbell wakes the kids up--I will be very unhappy and the answer will certainly be "No!"
And we drive. And laugh. And silly argue about cell phones and egos, like children and parents do.
And he says, "Thanks" and "I love you" as he gets out of the van.
And I thank God for providing Virgil as a friend and allowing Virgil's mom to say that yes, Desi could live with them for awhile since his home life is such a chaotic situation.
And on the radio, Calling Glory is telling me to not give up and the David Crowder Band is reminding me of oh, how He loves us.
And I pull up to the house and remember my prayer, that God would ready me for the door bells.
I could have stayed home, watched late night Olympics and gone to bed a wee bit earlier. But instead, I got to show Christ's love to a young man who desperately needs to see his need and who desperately needs to know his worth--and more importantly, His worth.
Thank you, Lord, for loving people in the city way more than I do. If you are pleased to do so, use me to love people like you do, even when it's hard or uncomfortable or just plain inconvenient.
And, please, ready me for the door bells.
As Jahill's words rang through my ears, I prayed again for Desi, our 19-year-old "son" here. He can stay in school until he is 21, and I hope that he does. Because if he doesn't, what in the world is going to happen to him? Jahill prayed fervently for him after we talked, and my heart joined his faith-filled prayers.
I asked God to prepare me to come back, to ready me for the doorbell rings, for the kids that would sit on my porch, for the men and women who would ask us for help.
I was full of faith and ready to go! Sort of.
Tonight. Celebrating USA wins in soccer and in water polo and in the decathalon. Eating ice cream. Kicking back. It's my relax time, after all. 11 p.m. Olympics are over, Hoffbeast is asleep, our visiting friend leaves, I need to clean the kitchen and do a couple more things before heading to bed. Rex can't sleep, so I tell him again about counting sheep, give more goodnight kisses and hugs, and he's off to sleepy land. Sighs of solitude and the end of a good day.
And then...11:26 p.m.
I know that the doorbell ringing is likely Desi. And I think about not answering. But I can't not answer. I'm awake and it's raining pretty hard and the boy who calls me "Ma" is standing on my front porch.
"I was gonna see if you could take me home," he starts, just after Rex groggily walked down the stairs yet again to see what was going on.
Really? You're going to show up at 11:30 p.m. and ask me to do something for you??! Where are the boundaries?????!!!?!
So I wake up the Hub and ask if I should do it, and the rain becomes the deciding factor. And I am stern with Desi and his friend when we get in the van and let him know that if he comes over after 10 p.m. once school starts--and if the doorbell wakes the kids up--I will be very unhappy and the answer will certainly be "No!"
And we drive. And laugh. And silly argue about cell phones and egos, like children and parents do.
And he says, "Thanks" and "I love you" as he gets out of the van.
And I thank God for providing Virgil as a friend and allowing Virgil's mom to say that yes, Desi could live with them for awhile since his home life is such a chaotic situation.
And on the radio, Calling Glory is telling me to not give up and the David Crowder Band is reminding me of oh, how He loves us.
And I pull up to the house and remember my prayer, that God would ready me for the door bells.
I could have stayed home, watched late night Olympics and gone to bed a wee bit earlier. But instead, I got to show Christ's love to a young man who desperately needs to see his need and who desperately needs to know his worth--and more importantly, His worth.
Thank you, Lord, for loving people in the city way more than I do. If you are pleased to do so, use me to love people like you do, even when it's hard or uncomfortable or just plain inconvenient.
And, please, ready me for the door bells.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Life and Death
We were on our way to church--Desi, my kids, and I. We passed a makeshift memorial that is all too common in our inner city--teddy bears and balloons attached to a tree or a light post, whichever is closer to the spot in which the (often) young person died.
This memorial was obviously rather new, and the flowers, cards, and stuffed animals were on full display...we knew. So I asked. I asked how he feels when he sees that. "Sad," he said, "because that's the place where he died."
The "he" in that conversation was a no-name to Desi, but today, he told me another story, one that hits closer to home.
We were sitting on our front porch, and she walked by, the mom of an old friend of Desi's. They chatted briefly about which of his brothers is in jail for what, and off she went. When I asked who it was, he told me that I knew her and reminded me that when we first moved to the neighborhood eight years ago, she had lived down the street. Her kids used to come to our house to hang out and play games, especially on our Sunday evening game nights that we used to have each week.
But now her son is dead. Shot accidently by his friend after they had been messing around with a gun in their basement. One friend gone; the other friend in jail. He's been there three years so far with more to come.
Before telling me, he made sure I was ready for the story. "You sure you wanna hear it? You sure?" So he told the story, and when he was finished, I asked him how he felt telling it. "Like I don't wanna talk about it." "Sad?" I asked. "Like I don't wanna talk about it," he repeated. That was all he could say as a description for how he felt.
They can mouth the words to the graphic lyrics about it. They can watch movies about it. They can play video games that play pretend it. But death--and violent crimes in particular--is common here. And when it comes to the reality of it, they don't wanna talk. Who can blame them?
Oh, Jesus, how will they know about You unless they are told? And how will they be told unless someone is here to tell them? You want to give life when all around them, life is taken.
For Desi....I'm crying out for Desi's life...and for all the lives of the young men in our city...
This memorial was obviously rather new, and the flowers, cards, and stuffed animals were on full display...we knew. So I asked. I asked how he feels when he sees that. "Sad," he said, "because that's the place where he died."
The "he" in that conversation was a no-name to Desi, but today, he told me another story, one that hits closer to home.
We were sitting on our front porch, and she walked by, the mom of an old friend of Desi's. They chatted briefly about which of his brothers is in jail for what, and off she went. When I asked who it was, he told me that I knew her and reminded me that when we first moved to the neighborhood eight years ago, she had lived down the street. Her kids used to come to our house to hang out and play games, especially on our Sunday evening game nights that we used to have each week.
But now her son is dead. Shot accidently by his friend after they had been messing around with a gun in their basement. One friend gone; the other friend in jail. He's been there three years so far with more to come.
Before telling me, he made sure I was ready for the story. "You sure you wanna hear it? You sure?" So he told the story, and when he was finished, I asked him how he felt telling it. "Like I don't wanna talk about it." "Sad?" I asked. "Like I don't wanna talk about it," he repeated. That was all he could say as a description for how he felt.
They can mouth the words to the graphic lyrics about it. They can watch movies about it. They can play video games that play pretend it. But death--and violent crimes in particular--is common here. And when it comes to the reality of it, they don't wanna talk. Who can blame them?
Oh, Jesus, how will they know about You unless they are told? And how will they be told unless someone is here to tell them? You want to give life when all around them, life is taken.
For Desi....I'm crying out for Desi's life...and for all the lives of the young men in our city...
Friday, May 18, 2012
Worth
What is a life worth? We met her late that night, a lone figure walking down the middle of the street, alternately cursing and crying out, sad and mad and confused and hurt and so lost. A mother separated from her children, caught in the web of drugs and prositution and pain that is the underbelly of our city. Using, then owing money, then selling her body for payback...only to do it all again.
Jesus, will you win in Amara's life? Will you reach into the murky mire and pull her out? Twice-done rehab can't reunify this pained mother with her children. Trying harder can't make the cycle end. YOU ALONE are good, and YOU ALONE have the ability to heal.
I'm asking that my heart be broken for the things that break Your heart. This week, You have answered that prayer in vivid ways......the brokenness of the world cries out for the Healer, the only One who can.
Her life was worth Your life. You, the Creator of the universe, who condescended to man, saw Amara when you were hanging on the cross. Your heart broke then for the sin that would entangle her, and You made a way for LIFE for her. What kind of God are You, that You would do such a thing for one likeher me?
Jesus, will you win in Amara's life? Will you reach into the murky mire and pull her out? Twice-done rehab can't reunify this pained mother with her children. Trying harder can't make the cycle end. YOU ALONE are good, and YOU ALONE have the ability to heal.
I'm asking that my heart be broken for the things that break Your heart. This week, You have answered that prayer in vivid ways......the brokenness of the world cries out for the Healer, the only One who can.
Her life was worth Your life. You, the Creator of the universe, who condescended to man, saw Amara when you were hanging on the cross. Your heart broke then for the sin that would entangle her, and You made a way for LIFE for her. What kind of God are You, that You would do such a thing for one like
Monday, March 26, 2012
Monday, March 19, 2012
(Night) Life in the City
It's one of those nights. I'm trying to get to sleep, knowing that my 5:21 a.m. alarm is coming quickly. But I can't sleep. I'm not sure if it's the things on my mind or the caffeine I consumed today or the loud people yelling outside.
Pretty sure it's the loud people.
When this kind of thing happens, my mind won't quiet. There they are, two women broiled in a profanity-laced debate about who knows what. I tried to listen...sounds like one is trying to help the other, actually. But there were words exchanged that you never want to hear in front of your house, so the police have been called. Asked them to just drive by and be present in the neighborhood.
Usually I can just go to sleep after logging my call, knowing that it will be handled.
But tonight...they are still there.
They could be in a fight about drugs. Or a man. Or any number of things. Perhaps one is trying to get the other from going out to sell herself tonight. But since I have no way of knowing, I pray to the One who does.
He knows every single thing about those women. Their hurts. Their joys. Their struggles. Isn't that astounding? I stop and take that in. They are His creation, and He longs for them to be found in Him, taking in all the breadth and depth of His love, no longer crowded in by the perils that haunt so many in our city during the dark hours of the night.
Holy Spirit, come. Rescue her. Protect her tonight. Don't give up on her...like you didn't give up on me. And Lord, keep the reminders coming of where I was, so that I don't give up on her either.
Pretty sure it's the loud people.
When this kind of thing happens, my mind won't quiet. There they are, two women broiled in a profanity-laced debate about who knows what. I tried to listen...sounds like one is trying to help the other, actually. But there were words exchanged that you never want to hear in front of your house, so the police have been called. Asked them to just drive by and be present in the neighborhood.
Usually I can just go to sleep after logging my call, knowing that it will be handled.
But tonight...they are still there.
They could be in a fight about drugs. Or a man. Or any number of things. Perhaps one is trying to get the other from going out to sell herself tonight. But since I have no way of knowing, I pray to the One who does.
He knows every single thing about those women. Their hurts. Their joys. Their struggles. Isn't that astounding? I stop and take that in. They are His creation, and He longs for them to be found in Him, taking in all the breadth and depth of His love, no longer crowded in by the perils that haunt so many in our city during the dark hours of the night.
Holy Spirit, come. Rescue her. Protect her tonight. Don't give up on her...like you didn't give up on me. And Lord, keep the reminders coming of where I was, so that I don't give up on her either.