September of this last year (2003), I moved from full time work on Polk Street, into studying at the AIM school and working part time. The transition I went through was more than I expected emotionally. I can’t really explain all the psychology of it... but it felt as though the heartache I had seen during my time on Polk Street, finally caught up with me and was processed. Living out there full-time, I couldn’t fully take in all that I experienced as it happened or I would have been useless and weepy 24/7. I know that God gave me grace to work and live as I did and that was much clearer after I was no long out there every day. The week after I moved out, I was working on our Pharos scrapbook and started crying at seeing a photo of one of our kids. At first I couldn’t really figure out why I was crying. I had look at those photos almost everyday for several weeks. I was weeping over things that had happened over a month earlier. This has happened quite a lot over the past few months. On top of that, other events took place that shook me up. Myself and a few roommates, got to know a 13 year-old girl that was on Polk Street. We saw God do amazing things in her life. Miraculously sobering her up from heroin and speed, with no withdrawals! She spent one week with a couple of us, at my house and another girl’s apartment... there was lot’s of prayer and good long talks that week as we “mothered” her. Toward the end of the week, we could see the affects of being off drugs and in a positive environment could have. She started acting more like a 13-yr-old kid, rather than a tough street kid. It was a very intense week, perhaps the most intense week of my life... but she was so worth it. This happened toward the end of October, and since then she has had some ups and downs.
Also, in the midst of crazyness with our little girl, I found out that one of the kids we’d hung out with on Polk Street had been killed. I also learned that his mother was staying at a house with people from my church, just up the street from me. I’ll never forget the night I visited her. She told me more about him, and showed me the things he’d had on him when he died, including a bus ticket home scheduled to leave just days after he was killed. I was amazed when I heard how she had gotten to this house. A man from my church picked her up in his cab, she was weeping and eventually told him why. He prayed for her and as he dropped her off at a hotel, he gave her his phone number to call if she need a place to stay longer. She called a few days later, and came to stay with them. Then, through the oddest means, she called Ronda (one of my roommates at the Pharos), who contacted me. But it was only by chance that I learned where she was staying. As I was walking home after seeing her that night, crying, not just for the kid that had passed away, but for the others still out there, I prayed, “God... I’m running low on hope. It’s not gone, but it’s running low.” The next afternoon, I took a walk, still feeling down. I was praying for more hope as I wandered up Fillmore Street... and eventually into a shop. Some bottles caught my eye (I like bottles), I looked closer and read, “HOPE: Caution, do not abandon.” I had to smile. ‘Okay, God... that’s cute. Thanks.’
After moving back to Wyoming, I’ve continued to grieve. I broke down Christmas evening, thinking about kids in San Francisco. It’s been a difficult season, but a lot of good has happened in the midst of it. My time at AIM was wonderful... It became very clear that God wanted me there for that time. I was sad to leave. When I was in Chicago for a conference, which I’ll talk about more later, God really encouraged me. I had a great week, and the last night I was in Chicago, while sitting around a little backyard campfire praying with some new friends... the song “Joyful, Joyful” (like from Sister Act), kept running through my head. I felt God say that my season of grieving was ending, and the next season will be joyful.
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