Homeless In Hawaii - A Begging Question

THE BEGGING QUESTION

Wrinkled raisin-brown from the sun,

twisted limb with no teeth in her gum.

Shaking, quaking man alone on the street

sleeping on the bench with no watcher to keep.

Children in a shopping cart

as daddy pushes them from park to park, not through Wal-mart.

Blankets strewn in the bathroom stall,

smelling of drugs and urine with dirt covering the wall,

 people are passed out beside the toilet where they fall.

“Excuse me!” they call.

“Do you have a Dollar?”

“Ya got any food?” they holler.

Mostly, it’s silence, though

when I hurry by these people each day as I go.

But in my head later it’s like a show

flickering from slide to slide like there’s some answer there I should know.

And, as I pass the gnarled old woman on the street,

I strain to hear her mumbling as I retreat-

listening, looking for something, anything, I can grasp…

Like maybe if I concentrate hard enough, their stories will clear in the jumbled rasp.

Not sure what I’m trying to discover;

perhaps the reason, the purpose, the why I’m looking to uncover?

I guess I’m looking for this answer to why –

“Why them and not me?” I ask as for them I cry.

I see the browned outstretched hands as a question mark,

“What can I do that will bring light to their world so dark?”

The need before me so stark

The call a herald, a trumpet-hark.

I just don’t know how to build the ark

that will help float those flooding the street corners and living in the park.

So, ever reaching out in high pitched strains,

like a shrill note, this begging question mark remains...

THE ISSUE IN THE QUESTION

The sound of laden carts bumping down the sidewalk is a part of the everyday city sounds; the smell of two-week unwashed bodies just another stench that mingles with car exhaust.  I view the overwhelming state of the Homeless in Hawaii each day...view these snapshots with me:

I am on my half-hour run, enjoying the beautiful sun as it reflects off the ocean.  Palm trees sway around me.  I veer around the corner, my feet picking up the pace.  I almost stop.  Did I just enter a campground?  On this side-street leading to the ocean-path, tent after tent after tent keeps going...

I consider turning around.  Running away.  But, somehow I can't.  Maybe it's not the safest thing, but I choose to run along this homeless neighborhood.  Counting.  I lose count.  Some of the "homes" are tarps, pulled over shopping carts.  It stinks.  I wonder where their toilet is?  I'm probably running over it.  Somehow, it doesn't really gross me out as much as it hurts my heart.  Some of the tents have the shoes all lined up outside - a few of the pairs are children's shoes.  I see one of the women sweeping her section of the street, a little kid plays in the pile of dust she makes.  When I first arrived in Hawaii, there were only two tents on this street - now it's homeless city.   I wonder...what's your story?

I heard a rumor yesterday that the "residents" on this homeless street are about to be kicked out.  Where will they go?

I'm walking to work.  I see a woman I've nicknamed in my head "the bird lady" pushing her cart across the parking lot in front of me.  I named her this because she keeps filthy old pidgins in cages towered on her cart.  I usually see her in Honolulu.  Today she's in Waikiki.  Before my eyes, I watch her abandon her precious cart.  I can't tell if the birds are still under the tarp covering her possessions.  She walks twenty feet to a patch of grass beside the road and falls down.  "AaAAAaaaaaAAAAAAh."  A loud wail starts piercing the air.  She's clutching at her legs, crying out, wriggling back and forth.  Between the screams I hear a slurred, "OH it stiiiiings..." I get closer.  Her legs are massively swollen.  It looks as if one of them got mauled by a shark.  They are red, scabbed, infected, her feet puffed like a blown-up surgical glove. 

"Are you ok?" I ask as I stop beside her.
Silence.  Sniffling.  "I'm fine.  I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, I'm fine."

I hesitate and start to walk away, looking back.  What do I do?????

"I'm fine," broken record, "Don't call anyone, ok.  Please don't call anyone.  I'm fine."

I look down and notice I'm clutching my cell phone.  "Ok.  I won't. "  Clearly she's not fine.  As I walk onto work, I leave behind her wails that continue.  I join her crying, only mine is silent.  I walk past the tourists and sunbathers along the main street in Waikiki, my head bent under my hat to hide the tears bubbling over onto my cheeks.  I feel so helpless. 

People say all you can do is pray.  I do that.  But it doesn't feel like enough. The lady didn't want help.  What did she want?

I'm in the park.  Going along the path with the other walkers/joggers.  We're listening to our i-pods and wearing Nike.  Coming towards me is a man, gaunt and wrinkled despite his young 30-something age.  In the cart he pushes are two dark little children.  Bronzed by the sun and dirt.  The kid's eyes are glazed, stark white against their skin, and they lack the normal child-like energy.  Those eyes peep over the edges of the cart at me as they pass.  I can't help looking over my shoulder as that bumping sound of the cart fades behind me.  Their eyes, though, they don't fade.  They plee for something - but I don't know what. I wonder, where's their mommy?

THE QUESTION REMAINS...

This "family" was not going shopping for food or clothes, they were hunting for their next "home" for the night - probably under some sprawling tree in the park, or under a tarp on the sidewalk.  I bet the daddy was then going to hunt for dinner in a nearby garbage can.  I see it all the time.  Individuals with tattered clothes falling off of them are constantly digging through the garbage.  I see them pick up a half-full Starbucks cup and down the remains.  Or a bag of leftover hamburger from McDonalds.  And this is right along the shopping centers, not some ghetto area - but outside of Gucci and Neiman Marcas. 

I just finished a fast, and it makes me wonder what it's like to be hungry all the time, but not necessarily by choice; to have to hunt through the garbage for your next meal.  There's a scripture that simple screams to me every time I read it, "Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:  to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?  Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter - when you see the naked, to clothe him...and if you spend yourselves on behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness and your night will become like the noonday sun" (Isaiah 58:6-10).  

That question mark still hovers for me.  What to do? 

When this is before me every day. 

When I face hurt that doesn't want help. 

When the issue is so vast it overwhelms me. 

When it's suddenly become "normal" to everyone else and I'm the only one walking down the street crying. 

What to do?

I don't have the answer just yet, but I know I can't ignore it.  I can't forget that God does call us to feed, clothe, and take care of those hungry or oppressed.  So when He urges me with specific circumstances, I refuse to turn a blind eye.  I don't always feel that intense tug to "Give this person food," or "buy this lady diapers for her children," but every once in awhile I get the answer to my question, "What to do?"  I guess that's what we can all do - refuse to let our hearts callous over from the sight and respond to the call.  Instead of merely sacrificing things in your personal inner-life for God, sacrifice for others and give when the call comes to you strongly. 

Despite this, I can't lie:  that question still remains for me:

"What can I do - really do - to make a difference?"

This question begs for an answer...

I do know, “We should continue to remember the poor” (Galatians 2:10), and  not become so accustom  to the sight that we no longer cry with those who cry, and care for those who are hurting and oppressed. 

© Krinda Joy

31 Words!

The challenge began yesterday...and I wrote 31 words in my book.  Not even 31 good words, but 31 simple, unintelligent words.  They were:

"To understand the shock I faced, you have to understand where I came from.  Remember how I said my town was small?  Well, it was more than that, it was dinky."

Yes, I even used the word "dinky."  I guess I felt like keeping the word from going extinct.  However, even though I laugh, and I want to berate myself and say I'm a pathetic writer, I...am...not...going...to...do...it!  As I look at those words, I tell myself, "That's 31 words more towards my goal than I had before."  Plus, if I break it down, that is one word for every day this month!  AND, because I chose not to throw out my computer and give up writing all together, I wrote almost three times as many words on my book so far today - and the morning has only just begun!  All of that to say, on the path towards pursuing our dreams and visions, friends, sometimes we make it one step and sometimes we move leaps and bounds.  But one step is still on more step than before - it is still one foot closer to the goal or vision God has placed in your heart.  Just as my 31 words is 31 words more towards finishing my book. 

Looking at the topic of the 31 words now, I realize their significance to this topic.  The fact my first sentence suggests is relevant to any dream-seeker or vision-pursuer:  

 "To understand something in the present, we have to comprehend the past."

Another words, it's an echo of that famous quote by Maynard James Keenan, "We must know where we came from to know where we are going." Now, I am going to seemingly contradict myself and say I also agree with the quote, "Your past does not define your future."  How can both be true?  Am I going nutty from too much writing and Hawaiian sunshine?  No.  At least I don't think... (insane laughter inserted here).
What I do know is that our past is erased when we come to Christ and we are completely NEW in the Lord.  So that part of "where we came from," is not significant to pursuing our futures, and in this way the past does not define what will come.  BUT, the past we do need to keep in the forefront of our mind in order to throw ourselves into life fearlessly and passionately is our ORIGINAL DESIGN.  We must understand we were CREATED...

                 we were DESIGNED....

                                  we were PLANNED...

                                        for and by a loving God who does not make mistakes.

You were created to be a conqueror (Romans 8:37); to reach nations (Matthew 28:19); to be fearless of everything but God (Isaiah 41:10).  You were created for today, for right now, to love and honor God with everything He has created you as, designed you to possess (talents, etc), and planned for you to do. 

I just have to say another unintelligent word - "WOW!"  Wow because when we understand that God has purposefully created and designed us the way we are in order to succeed in all He's planned or our lives, we know that as long as we are using when He's given us for HIM, we can not fail.  I'd rather write 31 words than none at all.  Because at least I'm allowing the fingers God's created to operate how He's designed them to so that He can carry out the dreams He's planned - and planted - within my heart. 

Now, understanding we came from a God who made us with a purpose causes us to face the future accurately, because we then live with this purpose in mind.  AND, this is far from "dinky," for our purpose is a role in showing SALVATION to other people...

How has God asked you to pursue this purpose? 

What has God given you specifically and uniquely that He wants to use?

What are your deep passions?  For behind your dreams and desires rests the God-given calling you were designed to fulfill....even if it's one word, one step, one note, one test, one drawing, or one picture at a time - take the one. 

Because, if I write 31 words a day for 30 days, that becomes almost 1,000 more words than I had before.  And, I know I was designed by a CREATIVE GOD who CREATED ME to be creative, so regardless of how I feel about these words, I have to keep typing because He has designed me to write...

I DARE YOU...I double dare you!

I DARE YOU TO JOIN ME IN A 30 DAY CHALLENGE

"For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline." 2 Timothy 1:7

MY FEAR, MY CALLING

I stare at a blank white screen.  The thin, vertical line blink-blink-blinks...taunting me to punch out the first letter, that first word, then to form a complete sentence.  Suddenly, the dishes need to be done, the laundry should be folded, maybe I should go running?  Oh, and look at all those cars outside the window, maybe I should just watch those?  This is my battle as I go to write.  I feel that deep calling from within to put words on the screen that sits before me, but I'll be honest, I avoid  it because "WHAT IF IT'S NO GOOD?"  I'm supposed to be "a writer"; many of you know I'm working on a book right now.  But, I shy from the challenge sometimes for fear of not being a GOOD writer...what if the book fails?  That's where 2 Timothy comes in, God has been calling me to WRITE ANYWAYS because this timidity I feel is not from Him.  He has given me the self-discipline and strength to press through the feeling of lack and fear, and to go after the passion and love He's put on my heart.  At the peak of my struggle to work on my book, Jesus began speaking to me, he said,

"Krinda,

Your life is not yours, it's mine!  Will I not take care of it?  I repeat again, it's not yours!  I will take care of you!  I will use you!  I will fulfill before and through you!  Now, with writing - fear has kept you away; fear has kept you apathetic.  Do not try to pick up the pen without me, but pick it up.  It's the boat I want you in, and I want to drive it.  YOU do it, I do it through you....Krinda, on the other side of this storm of writing the book a whole crowd is waiting.  Girls broke, injured, dry....The enemy has been trying to distract and discourage you for this reason.  BUT, he is not match for me.  Invite me in and let me work.  It's time; it's the time you've been waiting but running from in fear! Face it and release.

~Your Warrior, Jesus"

WHAT ARE YOU CALLED TO?

Now, ask yourself, "What are you shying away from? What are you called to do?"  Mine is obviously this passion and gift He's placed in my heart to write.  And, as God said to me, on the other side of my responding to His calling, awaits lives!  When I think of that, I am struck by the importance of me rejecting complacency for action.  Maybe you're called to worship, maybe you're called to pursue further schooling, or maybe you're called to write like me.  Like Jesus said to me, your obedience will be met by His empowerment, and on the other side awaits others who will be touched by your gift! Whatever it may be, I dare you to accept the following challenge with me.  Actually, it's a DOUBLE DARE, because I'm doing it too....

THE CHALLENGE

Here's the challenge: 

for the next 30 days, work on whatever God has called you to work on 5 days a week.  That's right, only five days a week.  For me, this means if I only write a sentence on my book, I still worked on it!  I still progressed forward, stared that blank screen in the face, and defeated it with one letter, one word, one sentence at a time!  All it takes is one less hour watching TV.  If you're supposed to go to college again, commit to filling out applications.  If you're supposed to honor God with music, spend time 5 days a week practicing or working on songs.  Whatever it may be, do not let intimidation or timidity keep you back.  These 30 days are OURS to face with the power and self-discipline that God has already placed inside us!  Throughout this process, I will be posting about the experience, leaving encouragement on my blog, and probably rambling from time to time about the frustrations!  Now, choose the double dare, and let's begin....