Little Brown Book

I have now been home in California since the 9th, and tomorrow I leave for Texas to go back to school. It's been so strange to not have a schedule to adhere to, and my days have been filled with reading and The Office. I figure I should probably recap the last bit of my internship, for those of you who were wondering what happened to me.

The very last week was my week on the mountain. This means that along with Zach and the mountain intern Stephen, I hiked up Mt. Bard with the week's youth group, which happened to be from Katy, TX. From Monday until Thursday I had an introduction to God's love that the youth groups had been getting all summer. I loved the fireside devos where Zach talked about Jesus' radical love. I also loved battling gravity with the 17 people from the youth group as we ascended into thinner air and breathtaking views of God's creation. At the top of a mountain, it's peaceful and almost sacred. Nature offers a "cathedral hush" more holy than the stale air that circulates within the walls of any manmade edifice. At summit, Zach talked to the group about how we may want to stay out here. "Hey, it'd be great to just live in the mountains away from everyone." Well, that contradicts everything we had been talking about that week, and also everything I had been learning this summer. God made us to be with people. We're supposed to be in messes. We're supposed to be alongside our own kind. We're supposed to be in relationship.

Every night before I went to bed for the past ten weeks, I thought about what I was thankful for that day and wrote them down in a small leather journal. Looking back on what I wrote, I see a theme: the Holy Spirit, friends, and relationships were the most common entries. I have had many, many relationships this summer: with my co-interns, with the staff, with the street kids, with the youth groups, with the woman who let me live in her home. I've learned the importance of being friends with people and not judging them (although, it's not something that's perfected overnight - of course I am always going to struggle with not judging people). I've learned that it takes time to get to know someone. I've learned that you can get to know someone whose lifestyle is completely different than your own. And you can be friends with them. Walking through life together - this is what Dry Bones has taught me. Walk with someone - not as their mentor or guide, but as their ally - and no matter what messes you get into together or because of each other, you are living how God made us to live. I think that's why He wants to be friends with us, too.

I may feel like lounging around in this...

... but my heart lies with the likes of these.

Drawn In

With one week left in Denver, I find myself becoming increasingly attached to my friends on the streets. This week has been incredible and I feel like I am loved by some of these kids. It's simple things like a spot being made for me to sit on the level part of the hill, being approached while sitting alone because someone wants to talk to me about daily life, and not being able to take the typical smiling photo with one another - only the silly kind - that make all of these "kids" seem completely like friends. It's strange, but this feeling is very unexpected. I think that in deciding to come here, I wanted to love people, but I never expected to be loved in return. But I am. I know this shouldn't surprise me, because friendship is a two-way street, but I think I still had that mindset that I'm the one with something to give and that I will probably get nothing in return. But that is totally not true, and I am so ashamed to have thought that. Now I know better, though. Everyone has something to offer. Be willing to receive it. Don't ever forget it.

I want to tell you about a guy I'll call "Ryan." I had seen him at bowling and at the picnics a few times, but it wasn't until yesterday's picnic that I actually sat down and had a conversation with him. I asked him to tell me about himself, and I learned a great deal more than that. He told me the basics - he's almost 20; his parents are dead; he'd been in foster care since a young age and moved all around southern California until he came to Denver pretty recently; he smoked his first cigarette when he was 6 but didn't smoke consistently until age 12; he was quite defiant in school; he won a month's rent to an apartment in Denver in a bet, so he will be here until the month is up - but before he said any of that, he said that he wished he was drunk right now. I asked him if he had to use a fake ID to buy alcohol, and he laughed as if I had told a joke. He said, "No offense, but if I walked into a store dressed like you and tried to buy alcohol, they would ask for ID; the way I'm dressed, the way I look - they don't care. They don't care what a street kid drinks, but if they sold someone like you alcohol, someone who has people that care about them - like parents - there would be problems if the parents found out about it." I didn't know what to say, but it would make sense if I were a careless business owner - anything to make a buck. I feel awful for even thinking that, though. And I also regret not saying anything helpful in response. From the depths of my heart, I want to tell him, "I care about you, and even more importantly, Jesus cares about you and loves you so much that He died to relieve you of the death you walk in, the existence that feels better when you can't even feel," but I didn't think of that then. I pray that God will show Ryan His undying love and that I may get another chance to share that with him. Anyway, today, a few minutes after arriving at the picnic, he walked up to me and gave me a hug. Didn't say anything, just walked up, hugged me, and walked away. That simple action almost made me want to cry! I had never said more than "Hello" and "How are you?" before yesterday's picnic. All I did was listen to him for about 15 minutes on a park bench! But I cannot express just how that quiet embrace made me feel.

I am greatly saddened at the thought of departure.