“There is no peace,” says the Lord, “for the wicked.”
-Isaiah 48:22
A woman in her mid 30's in the back alley of the bank, the one with the brown jacket and black pants. The long scarf that looks like it fell in a dirty puddle, shoes that don't match and look way to thick for summer. Then again, in the winter she'll need them so I guess they're worth wearing in the summer heat. She's always digging through the dumpster, always talking to someone who isn't there. yeah, the wicked. Her name is homeless women, squatter, poor person, nuisance, beggar, crazy, insane... or, Rose. That's what her mom called her before she was beaten and raped in front of her when she was 13. Since then, she's run the streets, prostitution, begging, moving from one empty building to the next hiding from "them". Apparently they're always watching. She's picked up a few friends, one she got the night her mom died. In America we call him Anxiety. Another she got the night she was raped by a gang initiation while she was trying to get to a bus stop and head to the homeless shelter on 23rd street. His name, schizophrenia. He brought a few others as well just to spice things up a bit. She's there, every day in the dumpster. No rest, no joy, no peace. She spits on street preachers because they've been known to tell her she's gonna burn in eternal damnation so repent you seeker of iniquity. She doesn't go to the relief bus because they try and take her to a hospital, she can't go there they'll take away her only friends with drugs that only mean she can't tell when they're watching her. She's what we in the church call "heathen", "hell-bound", "wicked".
I see her everyday walking to work, shaking, talking to the air, sometimes yelling, sometimes asleep on the bags. But, it's like she's another piece of trash in the sidewalk. She'll never change, plus if I go and talk to her she'll probably bite me and who knows what kind of disease I'll get. No, keep walking to work, I have responsibilities and priorities. The day is beautiful, the birds are singing, the street noise is at an all time low, it's such a peaceful walk. "Thank you Jesus for this peace that surpasses all understanding, and wonderful day you've blessed me with! Ahhh such peace." Then I walked passed that alley on 23rd, I saw her there, crying. I told myself no, just go to work, you don't have time. I just couldn't shake it, that image of her sitting alone crying, while I am full of joy walking in His peace. So, sigh. I turned around and walked slowly to her I stopped right before the opening and peeked around the wall to see if she was still there. She was bawling sitting in the garbage, so after what felt like the longest 30 seconds of my life. I walked around the corner, she didn't even notice me. Sheepishly I said, "ma'am, are you ok?" Then she looked up at me, with tears running down her face she said "Are you one of them!? No! Get away!! Don't take me!"
I was what you call "normal" at one time in my life, before my mom was gone, and before I was out here on the streets. I loved barbies, purple was my favorite color and when I saw butterflies my whole world felt right. We lived in a house. Me, my mom and Nini, my grandmother. When I was 12 Nini died cause some guy trying to steal her purse knocked her into the road and broke her hip. Then some tractor trailer sped by and ... After the funeral my mom wouldn't get out of bed. Then it had been 3 months and my mom still hadn't gotten up, aside from the few times I could convince her to take a bath. I would feed her breakfast, go to school, walk home and feed her dinner. We were running out of money and she had lost her job. I was trying to sell some of our stuff and one of the people knew my mom and invited us both to her church service on Thursday. So, somehow and I don't know how but my mom decided to go. She got dressed and we went. Then she went again, and again and again. She was always there, making people meals, cleaning, she went back to work. I didn't care, she was working and I could go back to my life.
What do you do with that? How do you respond. I went to bible college for a year, I know basic discipleship and how to evangelize and preach and everything. I grew up in the church. So, I said the only thing that came to mind, "ok, I won't take you." She just stopped her shaking and mumbling and looked at me. With those black eyes piercing into mine. Shly I said, "Are you OK?" As she looked down, I don't know what came over me. This burning sensation and need to just tell her, tell her that someone loves her. "Do you know Jesus?" She snarled, "NO! Not Him. Not again." Then she started the shaking, and mumbling again. "well, even though you don't know Him yet, He knows you. And he loves you so much. Have a good day. I hope I see you again." Then I walked away. I walked away from a snarling dog of a woman and went to work. I left, but this never left me. All day I thought about it, the emotional feelings, the burning I felt on the inside. I couldn't shake it. I dreamt about it, sweat about it. The whole weekend, my family noticed the change in me. They thought I was sick. I'm not sick, I just can't get this woman out of my head.
I loved those few months of "normal" aside from my mom being at some church every night. But she was up, happy, and I could go back to being a teenager. But, one night I heard a crash in the living room and a lot of yelling. I thought my mom had just had another break down, but when I walked into the door way of the living room a man from the church was there. I knew he was from the church because his face was on all those dang papers my mom brings home from the church. He had my mom by the hair and was screaming at her. He didn't know I was there yet, then he beat her. I was frozen. I thought I was in a bad dream and would wake up soon. I didn't know what to do. So I watched my mother be beaten bloody, and raped. My knees were so weak, I dropped. He saw me, hit me in the back of the head with something and I woke up 3 days later. My mother was still lying there in a puddle of dried blood. Her eyes were gray and her motionless body cold. I didn't know what to do. So I ran. I ran and ran and ran.
Monday morning I left for work early, walked straight to the alley to see if she was there. She looked like she hadn't moved from that spot all weekend. I walked up to her slowly, my heart was racing out of my chest. I had so many things I wanted to tell her, so many emotions flying through me, but No words came to mind. I literally could not speak. She was very still and looking down at her feet. Those boots that were too heavy for summer, those pants that were tattered and worn. Those hands that were rough like a carpenters. The my mouth just spoke out "Hi" She looked up at me and I said, "How are you?". No reply. I poked around the bush asking more unimportant ineffective questions then finally just asked her "Umm, Do you remember when I told you that Jesus loves you? He forgets everything you've done if you want to know Him. It's like you become new again, and get to start over. Would you like to know Him?" She looked up at me, with tears in her eyes said "yes." She wasn't shaking, she wasn't mumbling. For the first time since I've seen her, she looked at peace. I helped her up, called in to work and took her to breakfast.
