Yesterday, she rang the doorbell with tears in her eyes.
The strong aroma of fabric softener wafted from her cart of dripping clothes.
I let her into our lobby as I hugged the tears out of her eyes.
She asked only for water; I brought her water, an apple and a cereal bar.
She had just run away from the laundromat, laundry unfinished, because someone tried to buy her.
My sweet sister has a form of high functioning Autism and due to heartbreaking life circumstances growing up, not knowing how to manage her Autism, she's on the streets. The sun has fried her mind and she can't think straight anymore. She protects her self from men who would take advantage of her "disability" through physical violence. This means that lately, she's been in and out of jail for desperately hanging on to her last string of dignity the only way she knows how.
Yesterday, I hugged her until the tears stopped. My heart rose into my throat. My blood boils that she is forgotten by most.
It's the moments like these that make it hard for me to sit in an office and write a mission statement, or edit my vision statement for the 400th time. It's hugs like this that make me feel like my office is just stopping me from loving how I desire to.
I see the point. I know it's worth something to solidify these "office-y" growing a ministry things. But, I certainly struggle in the process of putting words on paper when there's so much to do in the streets.
And right now, that's where I'm at. It hurts to love so much, and to be tender to the pain. Sometimes I hate it. Sometimes I love it. But I am who I am. :)
The strong aroma of fabric softener wafted from her cart of dripping clothes.
I let her into our lobby as I hugged the tears out of her eyes.
She asked only for water; I brought her water, an apple and a cereal bar.
She had just run away from the laundromat, laundry unfinished, because someone tried to buy her.
My sweet sister has a form of high functioning Autism and due to heartbreaking life circumstances growing up, not knowing how to manage her Autism, she's on the streets. The sun has fried her mind and she can't think straight anymore. She protects her self from men who would take advantage of her "disability" through physical violence. This means that lately, she's been in and out of jail for desperately hanging on to her last string of dignity the only way she knows how.
Yesterday, I hugged her until the tears stopped. My heart rose into my throat. My blood boils that she is forgotten by most.
It's the moments like these that make it hard for me to sit in an office and write a mission statement, or edit my vision statement for the 400th time. It's hugs like this that make me feel like my office is just stopping me from loving how I desire to.
I see the point. I know it's worth something to solidify these "office-y" growing a ministry things. But, I certainly struggle in the process of putting words on paper when there's so much to do in the streets.
And right now, that's where I'm at. It hurts to love so much, and to be tender to the pain. Sometimes I hate it. Sometimes I love it. But I am who I am. :)
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