Friday.
I hadn't had any plans until the middle of the week for this night. But around Wednesday I'd been invited by a friend of mine in City Cru to go and do volunteer work with YWAM (Youth With A Mission) in a part of San Francisco called the Tenderloin District. A group of college students headed out to what is known as one of the most dangerous districts in San Francisco. We met in an old building with flickering lights and high cielings, walls covered in memories via photographs and letters, old posters and make shift artworks.
The Tenderloin district is not only a place where there is a high concentration of people without a home, there is an even higher population of young children in this 6 block radius. YWAM serves the homeless community in San Francisco specifically in the Tenderloin by offering a place for them to rest and feel safe. And on Friday night, we headed out with YWAM staff to serve hot chocolate to people on the streets, have converstaion with them, and pray with them as well.
I had my reservations about this once I realized the depth and closeness I would be experiencing with people I usually tend to avoid in this city. I was nervous and excited to see what God would do. My fear was placed mostly in that I was in a group, but being an African American, I was afraid I would attract perhaps more unwanted attention from men on the streets. It's almost always been my experience that if there is an African American male on the street, he'll talk to me or hoot at me, and not my white friend. So, in all honesty, I was certainly afraid at first.
But my experience was unlike anything I'd imagined at all. While I'm not necessarily condoning one walking alone in the Tenderloin talking to people on the streets, I will say that the people I met on Friday night were just like me, just like my brother, just like my father, just like my mother, and my sister. It's strange when, and this happens to me often, I look into the desperate face of someone who shares my heritage, and I can see the faces of my family. It broke my heart so much.
There was a particular man named Leonard, who answered when I asked how his day was going that it was going just excellent. He let me sit by him for a minute so I could ask him if there was something I could pray with him about. All he said was, "Peace." Here was a man in a completely different situation from my own, with my father's eyes, and with a prayer request that I so often pray for myself. In a matter of seconds, I could relate to him, only a minor scale, for I'm sure his worries are far beyond my own, but still, we could relate. To pray for him felt natural and it was humbling to be thanked for hot chocolate and a prayer. I wish I could give the thanks he gave me back to him and say, "Please keep it" if that makes any sense.
On the streets of the Tenderloin you hear stories that hurt, stories that inspire you, stories that make you want to be a better person. You don't meet homeless, you meet people. You meet people with goals and aspirations in life just like yours. You meet people with setbacks, and with struggles, just like your own. You meet people with hearts that God sees as good and beautiful, hearts that I have no doubt He is still pursuing.
When I got home Friday night, I had no words. This was a much needed experience. But something about short-term missions really doesn't sit well with me. Chances are high that I will never see the people I've met ever again. Or worse, I will ignore them on the street next week, walking alone and concious of my safety. To think this way hurts more than anything I've felt in a while. It creates grief in my heart, truly. I wonder why I do short term missions like these, if I know I won't be able to commit to these people, with the faces of my father and brother. I wonder, and wonder.
I hadn't had any plans until the middle of the week for this night. But around Wednesday I'd been invited by a friend of mine in City Cru to go and do volunteer work with YWAM (Youth With A Mission) in a part of San Francisco called the Tenderloin District. A group of college students headed out to what is known as one of the most dangerous districts in San Francisco. We met in an old building with flickering lights and high cielings, walls covered in memories via photographs and letters, old posters and make shift artworks.
The Tenderloin district is not only a place where there is a high concentration of people without a home, there is an even higher population of young children in this 6 block radius. YWAM serves the homeless community in San Francisco specifically in the Tenderloin by offering a place for them to rest and feel safe. And on Friday night, we headed out with YWAM staff to serve hot chocolate to people on the streets, have converstaion with them, and pray with them as well.
I had my reservations about this once I realized the depth and closeness I would be experiencing with people I usually tend to avoid in this city. I was nervous and excited to see what God would do. My fear was placed mostly in that I was in a group, but being an African American, I was afraid I would attract perhaps more unwanted attention from men on the streets. It's almost always been my experience that if there is an African American male on the street, he'll talk to me or hoot at me, and not my white friend. So, in all honesty, I was certainly afraid at first.
But my experience was unlike anything I'd imagined at all. While I'm not necessarily condoning one walking alone in the Tenderloin talking to people on the streets, I will say that the people I met on Friday night were just like me, just like my brother, just like my father, just like my mother, and my sister. It's strange when, and this happens to me often, I look into the desperate face of someone who shares my heritage, and I can see the faces of my family. It broke my heart so much.
There was a particular man named Leonard, who answered when I asked how his day was going that it was going just excellent. He let me sit by him for a minute so I could ask him if there was something I could pray with him about. All he said was, "Peace." Here was a man in a completely different situation from my own, with my father's eyes, and with a prayer request that I so often pray for myself. In a matter of seconds, I could relate to him, only a minor scale, for I'm sure his worries are far beyond my own, but still, we could relate. To pray for him felt natural and it was humbling to be thanked for hot chocolate and a prayer. I wish I could give the thanks he gave me back to him and say, "Please keep it" if that makes any sense.
On the streets of the Tenderloin you hear stories that hurt, stories that inspire you, stories that make you want to be a better person. You don't meet homeless, you meet people. You meet people with goals and aspirations in life just like yours. You meet people with setbacks, and with struggles, just like your own. You meet people with hearts that God sees as good and beautiful, hearts that I have no doubt He is still pursuing.
When I got home Friday night, I had no words. This was a much needed experience. But something about short-term missions really doesn't sit well with me. Chances are high that I will never see the people I've met ever again. Or worse, I will ignore them on the street next week, walking alone and concious of my safety. To think this way hurts more than anything I've felt in a while. It creates grief in my heart, truly. I wonder why I do short term missions like these, if I know I won't be able to commit to these people, with the faces of my father and brother. I wonder, and wonder.
i agree with you about the short term missions thing. those experiences often seem more beneficial to the people going on them than the people the trip is actually *to*. it's hard to really invest in people you only see for a few days. but the people who go on the trips are definitely benefited from those experiences. i was actually thinking about that recently. so short term trips aren't necessarily bad. they can be really good. but very very different than a long term commitment, and the results are different for sure.
ReplyDelete