On day two we served dinner to the homeless of Portland. It was a lot calmer then breakfast had been, as we had a significantly less number of people (but still a lot!) Before dinner, Union Gospel Mission does a church service with music and a speaker. We were told to sand as people came in, as to not take up seats.
As I was standing, I got a awkward feeling about me. Watching these people come in, seeing their plastic bags, smelling the drugs, and feeling my heart break. God hit me, reminding me that these are his people. It was so humbling to share in a tiny, little piece of others lives, and for the street friends to allow us to witness their truly vulrible state.
And I thought about how judged I would feel if a group of teenagers sat in the back, watching my every move.
I found myself in the partially inhabited front row, singing 90's worship songs.
I found myself wondering about all the emotion in the room.
What I would be feeling if the tables were turned.
How raw we sat before God.
Some in disbelief. Others in awe.
These are Jesus's friends.
In a calm moment, I sat at a table chatting with a few of the street friends. This woman, she reminded me of someone.
It was the woman on the floor.
Yet she wasn't dirty- she had a fresh shirt on. Clean hair. Dirt-less nails.
I thanked Jesus for cleaning this woman. For cleaning the floors.
And we began a conversation. We both care to much about what others think; we both try too hard to please everyone. We share a second child position, yet we have different numbers of siblings. I asked her if I could pray for her once again, and if there was anything unparticular I could pray for.
She asked if I could pray for safety. She looked me in the eye and told me she had been raped so many times, and if I could pray that it would lesson, that would be great.
How many oceans of pain could this have created?
I tear up as I type this. Not because "it showed me homeless people are real people too," or something equally dumb. But because it still hits me. It still makes my heart skip a beat. It reminds me that we are surrounded my pain, and this life will be full of it.
So I cried out to God. It was the first time I have ever been angry with God, and it wasn't happy. I asked him how he could allow this to happen. I asked why this evil, this pain, this heaviness that I feel so deeply could be tolerated by my loving and just God. Why could this happen?
God held me in his hand as I cried out to him. He let me yell and scream and feel the feelings I needed to feel. But he calmed my heart. He gave me comfort.
We sung of this Jesus, and his heart for his kids.
Others shared the heaviness of what we had witnessed and herd.
It was beautiful.
It was beautiful because the Holy Spirit was fully alive in us.
Because we are His.
Because he has filled us with life.
Thank you so much for visiting letters to Jayna. Please take a moment to leave a comment and let me know what you think!