Day 23 ~ West Coast Rock Tour

~ 23rd Day ~ 

River Rondevu...Good Talk...God's Glue...The Bowl...Terrance.

Today would mainly be spent deepening the bond with my cousin Brianne before a new friend would be made tonight. Though we live far from each other, we have always been close. She is one of my cousins that I often wish lived down the street from me... or at least in the same county. Still, when our paths do cross (usually in IL), it's as if time hasn't lapsed. I've met a lot of people in my 32 years, but Brianne is one of the most loving, compassionate and tenderhearted people I know. Today, our closeness would grow closer and the one-on-one time carved out would create an atmosphere of love and light.

There was a nearby riverbed that Bri wanted me to take me to. "There are a lot of rocks that you'll love." And there certainly was. We walked a ways on a path and then created our own trail along the riverside. We found a pool of water that had collected from a damn of rocks and gnarled branches. This color scheme of this place was unusual for me... mainly white with variant shades of grey. Our chairs were set up right in the river. We both fully submerged ourselves in the pool and what sleepiness remained from the morning was quickly expelled by the crisp temperature of the water. We then made one of the nearby larger rocks our tanning bed and it was a sharp contrast to the cold water, as the sun had heated the rock. The company and conversation was beautiful as our skin soaked up the warm rays.

A few breaks in between catching up on life were taken as I wanted to explore this new territory... and look for treasures amidst the terrain. Though the primary colors were white and grey (with pocket of green and tan foliage) there was another color I kept seeing in small, but noticeable, doses in the water: Lime green. My feet have lost their callousness since the days I lived on the streets and was mainly barefoot in Santa Barbara, so traversing the river rocks wasn't a graceful dance. But I wanted to see these lime green objects up close. To my delightful surprise, they were rocks. The algae from the water had turned certain rocks this color... but they weren't slimy with the algae still on them, rather they were now dyed this color. Sweetness!!! I returned to our chairs with a handful of these treasures and more were found and gathered over the next couple hours. Brianne found the remnants of a Nike shoe as well as a few lime"stones" herself. But the real treasure was found while sitting in our chairs as the water flowed under our seats.

Brianne is super easy to talk with. She is a great listener, and I utilized this gift of hers, but also wanted to listen to her. We covered a wide range of topics from family, dating, marriage, past dark chapters of our journey and the brighter chapters as well. As we were conversing, our hands were combing the rocks at the bottom of the river for the scarce, but present, lime green rocks and other unique ones that were discovered. There were shiny, metallic particles mixed in with the dark grey sand, and we wondered if it was real gold. "Probably fool's gold." said Bri. But I'd like to believe it was real, even though we didn't see any nuggets worth bringing to the goldsmith shop to confirm the foolish find or real gold-find. She found a rock that looked like a baby's foot and I found some smaller pebbles to create our rockin' footprint. I shall mount it when I return to the Prairie State for a reminder of this memorious time at the river with my sweet cousin.

It was hard to leave this sweet oasis, but plans had been made for the evening that was only a couple hours away. Time had also been allotted to go to a local Best Buy to replace my friend's MiFi that had run into some "dark" times in Las Vegas. Still, we weren't in a rush to miss opportune moments. When we got back to my cousin's house, the doors of her Mini Cooper weren't opened right when we pulled into her garage. We stayed in her car for another 30 minutes, for the drive's conversation had opened some things that weren't ready to be closed. This was a really intimate time of sharing... and I'm grateful for a cousin who also is one of my dear friends.

I was to meet Brianne, Aunt Sandy and my 2 little second cousins (Genovese and Evangeline) at the local Bowl downtown. This was a weekly gathering of hundreds of local San Clemetians, where stellar plays were watched on a grand pavilion stage. But first, I needed to make a Best Buy run and purchase a new MiFi device so that internet access was available wherever my travels took me to. I went over to my aunt and uncle's house to grab the broken device. And then an interesting thing happened. So as not to write a couple lengthy paragraphs on how the device had gone down, I'll simply suggest you read my "20th Day" post to read about this device's demise. Since that happened, I had super glued my "Armor of God" clip and it has withstood all other potential attacks. The MiFi was still dead from the sweeping through of darkness, and I couldn't fix it with superglue. So today, when I pulled it our of my computer bag and put it in my purse, I was praying that God would have some knowledgeable, techy person who could point me to a replacement. I opened Tumbler's door and sat down with my purse on my lap. And suddenly I saw through my partially opened purse, a bright flash... and pulled out the MiFi device, that was now working just fine. Now some may question the circumstances and reasons for this sudden resurrection of life, but due to the circumstances that brought about it's death, I have reason to believe this was spiritual and not technical. Remember how I didn't want satan getting his attempt at glory? Well, God was confirming this... and God certainly got the glory while sitting in Tumbler that afternoon, and I'm giving God his deserved glory right now too. He didn't have to give new life to the MiFi, but I was grateful for this small, yet important, blessing God has given back to me on this journey. And now, I had time to bust out another day post before I'd journey to the bowl.

This downtown gathering wasn't like "music in the square" nights in the summer at the Woodstock square. Now I'm not knockin' my little town's gathering, but the Bowl in Redlands was a Texas-like trump to our version of the Bowl... for everything was bigger on every scale. There were several hundred people that flocked to watch these plays, and tonight was "Sound of Music." The stage that it was performed on was accommodating to the grand performance (which actually was the dress rehearsal for the cast and crew). I had received a text from my cousin saying, "Think this place is calling you." I would understand this message off encouraged hurrying when I arrived to join the large crowd that had gathered.

Now Redlands is a city where money is often not a problem. Not all the people who live there are wealthy, but many are definitely doing well in this department. I love people watching and there were many people to observe at the Bowl. When my relatives were spotted, I also saw another person who was near our chairs and blankets. He was the reason for Brianne's text. This man was clearly homeless and his outfit, though stylish in it's own way, had not been recently bought at a trendy, upscale shop. I sat down in my designated lawn chair, but knew I wouldn't be sitting there long.

Surely, this man was seen by most everyone nearby or passing by, but no one wanted to acknowledge him with a hello or "how are you doing tonight?" He was laying down with his elbows propping himself up on his multi-purpose blanket. A sketch book and small bag were next to him. I wanted to inquire about his expression of art, but another start-up question was asked. I'm often asked how I start up a conversation with total strangers... particularly, those on living on the streets. My response to that question is that the hard part is not walking up to someone, rather the opening sentence. Every person is different, and each one brings a different opening line. It's important to not over-think this... but to listen to what God wants you to say. His words are always the best.

When I got up from my chair and walked behind to where this man was laying, the opener I heard to say was, "Are you hungry, dude?" Most people, including us, had brought food from home or were buying things from the concession stand. This guy didn't have a refrigerator, pantry or even a home to bring food from, and I'm sure he could smell the aromas of surrounding picnic baskets. "Yes, I am." He said. "Well, lets go grab something to address that." He chose a couple hot dogs and a Sprite and our conversation commenced around the condiment table. I learned a lot about this man who everyone saw, but tried to avoid. The guy at the concession stand looked suspicious of a man ordering things that had a price to them, probably wondering how he would pay for them. And I noticed the looks of others nearby, mothers who pulled their children closer to their side, and well-dressed people who were eyeing his own dress style. Trying to keep my attention on him, I turned my back to the crowd. His name was Terrance ("with 2 R's", he said) and when I asked him for nuggets of his story, he gave me some of his history while putting only mustard on his hot dogs. We then stepped away from the condiment table (because people didn't want to get close to him, so they waited with hot bare hot dogs in hand at a distance). I learned that Terrance was a war vet and had served over in Europe for a couple years. He had come back to California after serving his time and though he had family here, he wasn't able to get acclimated. I asked him if there was residue from the Army, like PTSD, and he said yes, but not from the war, rather from things that happened to him while in the Army off the war field. He didn't elaborate on these things, so I didn't push him to open up. The conversation shifted to another topic as we walked back to his blanket. Now I could ask him about his sketchbook.

Terrance told me he like to draw. He showed me some of his sketches in his book as well as those in a small memo pad he pulled out from his back pocket. This man could draw... and I didn't have to fake looking interested in his artwork. He mainly drew scenic images of mountains with little cabins nestled in the forest valley of the range behind it. There were also a few sketches of words done elaborately, both the font and spaces in between the letters. I showed him a couple of my rocks and he liked my font too. He chose a simple, handwritten "Press Through" rock. "I like this one the best." I told Terrance that I'd buy him another hot dog if he could make me a small "cling to the Rock" sketch (just the letters, nothing fancy) and I went back to sit in my lawn chair as the play was about to begin. It was well-done and the actors were talented. Everyone, young and old, were smiling at the familiar scenes and you could hear many of them singing along with the songs.

Around the time where the "I am 16 going on 17" song was being sung, I walked off to spend some time alone. After 3 minutes of solace, Terrance found me under the street lamp. He handed me the commissioned drawing, and I was all smiled. Impulsively, I reached around his neck and gave him a big hug of gratitude. His reaction was priceless: "Whoa, haven't had a hug in a really long time." I gave him $10 and told him that I usually don't give money to people living on the streets, but that he was an artist and I wanted to pay him for the art I commissioned him to do for me. He tried to give it back, saying that I'd already given him more than enough, but I insisted. It's important to find ways that we can validate others... especially those who are least validated. (He would later buy a pop, more food and a pack of cigarettes with that money... not drugs or alcohol). We talked under the dim light for a while and then got on the subject of heavy backpacks. He wanted to show me his, so we walked to his wooden cart with large wheels. From under the tarp, he pulled out a large climber's backpack and I could tell he was proud of this newer model, yet dirty and already weathered, bag. "Most people think all my stuff is stolen, but it isn't. Majority of people and cops harass me and even will take the things in my cart to throw them away. But there are some nice people who will give me things. They are rare, but I appreciate them being nice instead of viewing me as bother or niusance. The people who take my things and do whatever with them... I don't understand. How would they like it if I went into their house and took all their things and threw them away. They would have a problem with me doing that to them, so why do they do it to me? This is all I have, and this cart is my home with all my belongings." I totally understood how this felt, for when I lived on the streets, I had my backpack stolen twice and another time where most of my belongings behind a garage had been stolen. Maybe we were considered transients who should be trying to get off the streets and back to being "productive members of society." But taking one's belonging (especially when it's all we have at the moment) isn't going to help get us off the streets... if anything, it reminds us of how poor in compassion the "well-to-do, productive members" often are. "Wealth" is often a heart condition... not the amount of money one has.

I needed to get back to my chair cause as much as I was in-joying the company of my new friend, I was missing scenes from one of my favorite childhood movies. As the play continued, memories of sitting indian-style in front of the television were recalled. This play was fantastically done. But I found myself thinking more of the man, again laying down on his elbows behind me, than the performance in front of me. I would cross paths with him again tomorrow after a good nights rest in the luxury of a bed... wondering where Terrance was sleeping that night.

The sound of music can be heard everywhere in so many ways.
Our lives are a song... some melodious and others off-key.
We judge one another's choice of style and rhythm.
Be willing to hear the harmony of one's heart.
It may not be the notes you'd choose,
But might our's be out of tune too?
We all are artist and musicians.
See the beauty in others.
Everyday is a scene.
Act with love.

~Unshakable Peace, Love and Purpose~

cling to the Rock

Psalm 18:1-2