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Chapter One...

I hate Friday nights! Sounds odd, doesn’t it? Let me explain. I love my job at the homeless shelter so much there are actually days when I am not ready to leave. It is not so much that I am drawn to the paperwork, emails and phone calls. It is that I am drawn to the mission and the cause. My days of frustration and exhaustion quickly evaporate when I walk downstairs, to grab my caffeine pick-me-up, and engage with the women and children who call the shelter home. As I walk to the coffee maker, I pass addicts, felons, ladies struggling with mental illness and other women who call ACCESS home. I pass by children waking up to another day living in a homeless shelter. In a few moments, they will gather their backpacks and wait for the school bus in front of a homeless shelter. After pouring my coffee I quickly return to my office invigorated and ready to work tirelessly to help the women and children who call ACCESS home. It wasn’t the coffee that energized me, it was the people. It was their story, it was the look in their eyes, and it was the human face of poverty and injustice. It was the hope of possibly finding someone who can help us further our mission and the desire to see true change come to one of our women that day.

Each day as I turn off my office light and log out for the day, I leave with hope that maybe it will come tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow affordable housing won’t be so scarce, that jobs will be offered and we can close the doors and go out of business. I often wonder what our building would become when we can stop being a homeless shelter. Maybe it would become a spa or a retail business. I love the irony in that. Everyone on staff would embrace the end to homelessness and enthusiastically search for new employment.

If a woman is still at the shelter on Friday, she will be there on Monday. It is rare that anything changes for a client over the weekend. Agencies that offer assistance are closed, staff is smaller and hope is on hold for the weekend. There is always tomorrow, but not on Fridays.

At the end of each Friday there is almost a sense of defeat, knowing that another week has passed and there is still a need for the shelter to exist. Each Friday night as I walk to my car, there are always women outside for a smoke break. Walking to my car, I am haunted by “Have a good weekend, Ms. Joy” and “See you Monday, Ms. Joy!” Oh the injustice and unfairness of my weekend at home with family and friends. My weekend of freedom to go where I want. . . the injustice of not everyone being able to have “a good weekend.” The injustice of not everyone being able to have a home. That is why I hate Fridays.

Actually it’s not Fridays that I despise. It’s the injustice of homelessness. If I worked at an orphanage, it would be my anger at orphans being without a family for one more night. If I were employed at a battered women’s home, it would be the disappointment in a woman being out of her home one more evening as she nurses her wounds and disguises her bruises. It all comes down to the injustice of the underserved and the overlooked and the marginalized of our society.

Scripture calls this group “the least of these.” I call them my new friends. Scripture calls them the orphans and widows. I call them the lady who sat with my at lunch or the child who drew me a picture yesterday.

I often sit in meeting where politicians and social service agencies discuss the plight of the homeless and brainstorm ways to eradicate the problem with a ten -year plan. It seems that we have taken this population and reduced them to statistics and demographics. I sit and listen and have to do all that is within not to run out of the room and run straight to the nearest church. I want to storm into the Pastor’s office and shout, “WE NEED YOU!” I want to then run to the next church and confront them on why 45 women and children are living in a homeless shelter within walking distance of their steeple- bearing building. I want to ask them to preach from the pulpit the command to serve others and not stop until every person embraces the call on their life and exhausts themselves for the Gospel. I want to intrude on every women’s Bible study within reach and beg them to come and help their sisters! I want to ask them to stop planning teas and potlucks and begin planning ways to walk alongside an overwhelmed mom or a woman in search of a job and housing. It sounds so simple and I am in no way bashing the church. I believe that churches are doing amazing things to help the marginalized, but are we doing enough? I am actually doing the proverbial “preaching to the choir.”

I haven’t always had this passion for the underserved of the world. I am guilty of ignoring their needs and driving past them, passing judgment on what I assume is their laziness. I am guilty of being too busy to stop and pray for a woman who is hurting or to offer a kind word to a broken sister. I am not leading this battle. I am searching just like the rest of you. But I do know something, I am hoping and praying that the homeless, the orphans, the widows are not judging us. I am concerned that they can look and see themselves being let down. I am hoping that they don’t see us as “religious women” but that they see us as faithful women.

I wonder what the world would look like if we all found our cause. What would it look like if we all took the scriptures seriously and to heart and lived the Bible out with an unbound and relentless obedience. I am not sure what it would look like, but I do know one thing. . . it would look different! The world would look different, the church would look different and we would be different.

Why I hate Fridays!

I hate Friday nights! Sounds odd doesn’t it? Let me explain. I love my job so much there are actually days when I am not ready to leave. It is not so much that I am drawn to the paperwork, emails and phone calls. It is that I am drawn to the mission and the cause. My days of frustration and exhaustion quickly evaporate when I walk downstairs, to grab my caffeine pick me up, and I engage with our clients. As I walk to the coffee maker, I pass addicts, felons and other women who call ACCESS home. I quickly return to my office invigorated and ready to advocate for the ladies. It wasn’t the coffee that energized me, it was them. It was their story, it was the look in their eyes, and it was the human face of poverty and injustice. Each day as I turn off my office light and log out for the day, I leave with hope that maybe tomorrow will be the day. Maybe tomorrow will be the day that affordable housing is not sparse, that jobs will be offered and we can close the doors and go out of business. I often wonder what our building would become when we can stop being a homeless shelter. Maybe it would become a spa or a retail business. Maybe it would become a no calorie bakery (a girl can dream…it won’t become a gym). Everyone person on staff would embrace the end of our need and enthusiastically search for new employment. There is always tomorrow, but not on Fridays.
If a woman is still at the shelter on Friday, she will be there on Monday. It is rare that anything changes for a client over the weekend. Agencies that offer assistance are closed, staff is smaller and hope is on hold for the weekend. Each night as I walk to my car, there are always women outside for a smoke break.

As I walk to my car, I am haunted by “have a good weekend Ms. Joy”…”See you Monday Ms. Joy!” Oh the injustice and unfairness of my weekend at home with family and friends. My weekend of freedom to go where I want…the injustice of not everyone being able to have “a good weekend”. The injustice of not everyone being able to have a home. That is why…I hate Fridays.

Being Stretched In The Process

Out Of My Comfort Zone!

Writing the book has been a wonderful experience….most of the time. The writing process itself has taught me discipline. It has taught me the importance of setting goals and priorities.
It has taught me time management. I have learned to take constructive criticism and use it to further the process. The hardest part …it has taught me to ask for things that I have never asked before. Tomorrow is a new hurdle. Last night my three generations of support helped me hand out invitations to an event we are hosting while we are here at the beach. Tomorrow at 8:30am we have invited women from the resort to come over for coffee, muffins and a discussion on compassion. We don’t know who will come or if anyone will come. All that I know is that we walked in obedience. That is all that He asks of us. Please pray for our gathering!

I have changed my view…but not my views!

Less than 48 hours ago my view was from my office at ACCESS Homeless Shelter. As I sit in my office I occasionally hear the closing of a car door. I often go to the window to see which scenario is being played out. Is it an employee coming to work? Is it a delivery of food from the food bank? Is it a volunteer coming to watch the children? Is it a donor dropping off the needed pillows, blankets and hygiene items? Or is it the one that keeps some of us awake at night and determined to try and make the difference? The one I am referring to is the entering of a new family to ACCESS. I watch from my window and see a car pull up with a tired and distraught mom towing black garbage bags that contain the possessions of her and her children. Following her is usually several toddler aged children looking confused and clinging to their mom. The car door closes and they enter a new chapter of their life. That chapter is titled homelessness.


Quick scene change…

I now sit on the front porch of a beautifully decorated and comfortable beach home. To the right of me is a family planning their day and to the left of me is the Atlantic Ocean. To the right I hear memories being created and to the left of me I hear the calm breaking of waves and seagulls. In the midst of this vacation and respite my heart still is drawn to the brokenness of others. Not just to the women and children of ACCESS but to the brokenness of people everywhere. I look at the homes that surround our cabin and realize that each person that is vacationing here has a story. Each has a story that is probably mixed with trials and treasures. Each has a story that is not always happy and carefree. Each has their own story of brokenness. It is a common thread that unites us. There needs to be another commonality to our stories. That would be hope. Not the hope that the world provides but the hope that only Christ provides.

Our views change physically but need to remain constant spiritually.

What and where is your view today?

THE HARDEST POST I HAVE EVER WRITTEN!

Six months ago I sat in church waiting to take communion. The pastor introduced the bread and the wine, explaining their significance and the importance of this most holy sacrament. I ate the bread, I drank the juice and was about to dispose of my cup until something stopped me. It was weird, it was unexplainable at the time...so I just threw the cup in my purse. Days later I was searching for something in my purse when I heard a strange rattle. It was my communion cup! I held the cup in my hand and just stared at this tiny little clear vessel. The Lord spoke to me at that moment. Now I knew why I couldn't throw this cup away! The cup needed to be an important reminder to me.

I spend Monday through Friday at ACCESS Homeless Shelter for women. Friday at 4:00 pm I clock out, turn off my office light and leave for home. My weekends are full of fun activities, family events and yes...church on Sunday and once a month...communion. As I walk out that door, 45 people are left inside. Women and children who will spend another weekend at a shelter. Women and children who may not have the same opportunity to enjoy activities, family events and church. Many of our women profess a faith in Jesus...but because of their situation...cannot attend a church. They don't get a chance to experience the blessed experience of partaking in communion with other believers.

To me...this little cup represents one more month that our shelter needs to exist. Oh how I wish we didn't. How I wish we could "go out of business." How I wish the 45 could be sitting with me at church!

Each month, after I take communion, I place the cup in my purse. Unfortunately, as the picture shows, six months have gone by and our shelter still needs to exist. The rattle in my purse has become louder.'

I want the rattle to end! I want homelessness to end for these women and children. I want brokenness to stop for them. I mostly want you and I to look upon their brokenness and do something. Join me!

It was a beautiful sight!

It was a beautiful sight! Let me explain. A local church had taken ACCESS on as a missions project. They were committing to come to ACCESS more than one time. In fact they had committed to coming several times a month. It began with their desire to paint and decorate. One day they approached me with the idea of bringing desserts for the clients and providing a time of fellowship. When the day arrived, the ladies carried in their homemade treats which included breads, muffins and chocolate covered strawberries. YUMMY! Which dessert do you think went the fastest? You got it…the strawberries. It was obvious why? You see…it was a treat that they rarely received. They were beautiful, delicate, and special. Someone took the time to make it by hand. It took effort! They were not being made for a fancy high priced restaurant...they were being made for a homeless shelter.

I returned to my office for awhile and then came back down to “peek” at the fellowship time. I could hardly see through the tears in my eyes. What I saw were seven women enjoying time together. What I saw were seven women laughing and sharing stories. I didn’t see four women from a church and three homeless women. I didn’t see four women who “had it all together” and three who were still trying. What I saw was the church being the church. What I saw was God’s love being shared without a Bible open. What I saw were lives being changed.

What I saw were women who made an amazing "effort" to reach the broken.

What I saw...was a beautiful thing!

WE NEED MORE TED WILLIAMS MOMENTS

We all love a rags to riches story. We love watching ANNIE, we love seeing the underdog rise to success. As a country, we have all felt the warm and fuzzy from the Ted Williams story. I was driving to work at the homeless shelter when I first heard the news. My mind went several places. First...I too found myself caught up in the moment and the "oh our world is not such a bad place afterall" mentality. I began to get excited about how his story will bring the cause of homelessness to the forefront and how can we "capitalize" on this moment for ACCESS. I couldn't get to my office fast enough! I ran to my computer and began writing emails. I wanted to literally "strike while the iron is hot." Here is what I really wanted...I wanted a "Ted Williams moment" for the 48 homeless individuals that live at ACCESS. I wanted them to have their moment on Oprah and Dr. Phil. I wanted them to be discovered and to have their lives changed. I wanted them to be offered a place to live, a job...a second chance. In the last week, I have received more offers to volunteer then I can process. We are having a workday on Monday that is so full, I had to turn people away! I have never done that before! This is exciting...but...there is a but. How long will this last? I hope I am surprised...but I am prepared for the let down. You see...what the women and children of ACCESS need is...YOU...ME...US!

They need for us to come to the realization that our lives are not our own. They need for us to realize that they are hurting and need someone to walk alongside them. They need someone who is willing say "Let me help you...let me walk this journey with you...let me give you what I am able...let me help you bridge the gap...let me be your friend. Notice I did not mention anything spiritual. I truly believe and have seen it play out that what they really need first is to see that you care. I am a huge advocate for relational evangelism.

I am so grateful for the reporter that took time to get to know Ted. I am so grateful that he did not let any judgments or prejudices overshadow his kindness. He simply noticed a person in need and stopped.

So simple...yet so unnatural for us today. I love my job. I love the people that I meet. I love that in the midst of a busy saturday I have the honor of taking a dear homeless woman to lunch for her birthday. I love the fact that she is excited and doesn't care where we go. I love Jesus!

Safety or Risk...it's a choice!

As I sit here and watch President Obama honor the victims of the shooting,many thoughts go through my mind. I am sad for the fallen and the parents of the young girl who died. I am hopeful for the injured as they make strides in their recovery. I am amazed by the gentleman who tackled the gun man before he could reload. I ask myself...what would I have done? Would I have been bold or selfless enough to take down a gunman...or would I have ran and found a safe place? Would I have thought of myself...forsaking the needs of others? Would I have chosen safety or risk? Each day we make the same choices. Do we stay in our safe and comfortable life...or do we take risks? I vote for risk-taking! I vote for inconveniencing ourselves for others. I vote for living like there's no tomorrow...dancing like no one is watching...and loving like I'll never get hurt. I vote for reaching out like we will never be rejected...for serving like we will never tire and worshipping like it truly matters!

WHERE TO BEGIN

I know that I have titled several blog posts with that title...but truly...where do I begin.

The last few months have been a series of losts and gains. The biggest lost, of course, was my father. After courageously battling a chronic illness, Jesus called him home on December 6th. An average monday turned into a good-bye. What was suppose to be a day of taking him to rehab, turned into a day of making funeral arrangements. To say that the Lord walked beside us is an UNDERSTATEMENT! He carried us through what could have been a dark and lonely time and turned it into a time of renewal and celebration.

There was something very sacred about sitting at his bedside and awaiting his journey into glory. It was sad...but sacred. Dad did not struggle or gasp...he took his last breath and then fell into the arms of Jesus.

His funeral was truly a celebration of his life. I had the honor of performing the eulogy and it was my pleasure. It was my pleasure to share stories but more importantly...to share the Gospel and the goodness of Christ. Christ was honored at my dad's funeral!

My dad was a very creative man and I am blessed to have his desire to write and speak. My dad was a dreamer...and so am I. Many times I have tried to re-invent myself and attempt things on my own...but 2011 is different.

I have a dream...and I now have a plan. I have a dream...and I now have accountability. I have a dream...and I know it is from HIM. I am so excited to be part of an amazing group of fellow dreamers. I am thrilled to be part of DREAM YEAR.Not sure what the year will bring...but I do know that I am officially taking the first step of faith. DREAM YEAR comes with a cost. It will cost me time in my office writing, it will probably cost me tears of rejection and frustration. It will cost me financially...but I am taking the next step.

When I received the acceptance to DREAM YEAR...by human mind immediately went to the costs. Worry began to replace excitement. Doubt replaced confidence. Yesterday...God showed me His direction in a very unique and creative way...that only He can do. God affirmed this calling...I am following.