Skid Row

I don't have long to write, but I need to get these things out...

This morning we walked the streets called Skid Row in inner-city Los Angeles, encountering a broken world. We interacted with desperate humanity, as raw and real as is possible. Some laughed in our faces as they saw 19 rich white kids from the North trying to love them like Jesus. Others ignored us. Others got angry. And still others accepted our love with a "thank you."

It ripped out my soul.

I know that I saw things that no one else in my group did. The kids did great, and many of the leaders wept as we experienced both the brokenness of our shattered world and the child-like love and enthusiasm of young teenagers reaching out to veterans of destruction, abuse, and heartache.

I was in back of the group as the security blanket--my job was re-supplying the kids with candy bars and flyers, as well as keeping an eye on the entire landscape and diverting any potential problems.

From that vantage point I saw more than I wanted to. I know most of our group (if any) didn't see these things; though they were rubbing shoulders with them. My eyes populated my soul with images that I will never forget. Images that are creating space for God's kingdom within me.

I saw:

The prostitute getting a fist-clinched lecture from her pimp on the other side of the fence of the courtyard we were passing out Snickers bars in. He grabbed her around the waist and shielded her from us as we walked by. As I looked over my shoulder I saw her desperate eyes clinging to the bars of her prison. Will she ever escape?

The half-dozen drug deals, transactions that took place just before or after the herd of kids passed by, shielded by sly handshakes and practiced subtelty, just out of eye sight of the patrol cars, bikes, and motorcycle cops that circle the blocks every minute.

The recent Dream Center discipleship dropout--Chris--who I prayed with. He couldn't hack it after 4 months in the program. Just to strict. 3 days ago he headed back to Skid Row, but he's hungry for something more--and is dying to get out of here. We prayed, and he opened his heart to experiencing God's power and wisdom. Where will he be next week?

Walking into the Midnight Mission--one of 15+that span these 8 blocks I walked up to the wall where there were inscriptions of marbel honoring donors and supporters of the work. It was hard not stepping on the piles of trash and rolled up tarps that peppered the landscape. I barely had a room to walk between the piles of refuse. As I stood there I realized that the trash was moving...wait...that's not trash....that's not refuse....that's humans. My eyes were opened as I realized that I had just wandered into someone's living room. All around me there were dozens of people sleeping--blue tarps, trash bags, old newspapers, and fast food wrappers being used as blankets. They shifted in their beds while I choked back the flooding emotions as I realized that God's images, God's likeness, God's faces--were wallowing in our world's gutters right at my feet.

The streets ran with muddy puddles. That's how they clean them down here. At the top of a slope a city worker will spray down the sidewalk, and as the streets run black and gray workers from the various missions sweep the muck into the gutters. We stepped over the gutters in our $60 puma's and nike's, making sure we didn't splash anything on our designer jeans ("my Mom would kill me if I did.") These streets might as well run red with blood. The dirty water is our societies way of sanitizing the mess. But these running gutters are the muck of lives that are draining away.

We go back to the VOA this afternoon (a Veterans mission in Skid Row) where we will serve lunch to all who responded to our invitation. Pray God breaks through and uses our efforts to show His love in these broken lives.

Thank you for praying.

Be sure that we are safe and that the incredible leadership of our Dream Center ministry team leaders is putting us in position to experience dynamic high-impact ministry.