~ 36th Day ~
Carpinteria...California Mom...Dar...Karen...Hugs For Hydro.
Today would be a day of reuniting with beautiful people whose paths haven't been crossed since I left Santa Barbara. Anticipation ran deep through my veins when I woke up from a deep sleep. The first person I would re-connect with required a drive with Tumbler to the city of Carpinteria, which is located a little south of SB.
I took my time leaving from Karen's abode for she and I were still pinching ourselves that we were together again. She is so sweet to open her place to me while here and the gift of hospitality is certainly a strong character quality of hers. She wants me to feel I can come and go as I please, but I know it's hard when I'm gone for most of the day. So when I know the daylight hours will be spent with other people or on the street, I try to linger a little longer in the morning. Karen is so fun to be around... she is always making me laugh and she is like a friend, sister and mother-figure all rolled into one. And the woman I was going to meet in Carp was another person who played these roles and more when SB was my home years ago.
Tumbler and I took Hwy 101 and pulled off at the first Carp exit. I wanted to see more of this town and see if any foggy memories would become clearer as we drove past certain places... they remained cloudy. During my 2 years in SB, I rarely left except to occationally hop on the bus or hitch a ride to Carp or Montecito to attend a church service (Reality in Carp), do a little side job (some legal, some not), visit friends, or venture to a drug house with another addict. I thought I might remember some of the downtown area, but I didn't... so the cute town was fresh to my eyes. My friend, Tamara, who lived in Carp and was the reason for my visit, wasn't expecting me for a couple hours. I found her house, parked down the street and pulled my backpack out of the back seat. As much as I wanted to bust down her door and tackle Tamara with a big Katie Bug hug, I would wait for that nearing time.
Walking around Carp was a time of reflection. Though there weren't many memories made in this town, the quietness of this place was so contrasting from SB and this stillness had a calming affect on my racing mind. Already, so much had happened in the 3 days I'd returned to "Egypt." I grabbed an iced chai and headed towards the beach, but stopped at a bathroom a block away. When I went inside, the mirror over the sink immediately brought back memories. Many of the public bathrooms that I used to frequent in SB looked the same as this one... instead of a mirror where one could see themselves, they were made of a shiny metallic finish that left one's reflection foggy and distorted. Honestly, in my previous years, this was metaphorical, and I wasn't really wanting to see my true reflection. But today, I was cool with seeing myself in the mirror, not because of vanity, but because I'm okay with seeing myself (both the good and the bad). I was not comfortable with mirrors before... they showed how I really looked and the shell of a person I had become. I couldn't see any good in me back then and therefore, the distorted metallic mirrors were ones I could look into and imagine myself being cleaned up (on the inside and outside). Even though I was completely cleaned up today (for I am a constant work in progress), I was well aware that there was still much that needed the hands of the Potter to continue molding the clay I am.
Sitting on that bench and conversing with the Counselor for the next hour or so was a much better version of laying down on a long sofa in a psychiatrist's office. I'm all for therapy and counseling with those gifted in this profession, but going to the Source of peace, comfort and understanding is free, a no-wait appointment, and the sessions never end. Still, I was excited to see my dear friend, Tamara... to give her a long overdue hug and to received a much needed hug myself. I didn't tell her about the flashbacks and near panic attack 'cause I wanted this visit to be about her and not myself.
I had let Tamara know that I'd been in Carp for a couple hours and we could meet when she was ready (hint, hint:) She was surprised I was there already and said she would start walking towards the area I was. Putting my rocks away, I too began to walk towards her house. When we saw each other from a distance, I outstretched my arms with peace signs in both hands. We both started running towards each other... and collided in a long, long hug that left our hair trickled with each other's tears. It was like a movie scene and this image will forever be etched on the reel of my heart.
We went back to her house and spent the next couple hours basking in each other's company. It was just like old times, yet not at all the same. I can't remember the last time I had seen Tamara, but I do remember times when I'd find her when I needed someone to hold me. She was a surrogate mom when I lived in SB. My mom calls Tamara "her angel" for she would keep tabs on my whereabouts, calling my parents when there was a "Katie spotting" at a park, on a street or under the bridge. Tamara was who I would go and find after particularly brutal rapes... to be held for an hour or a night until I'd jump out of her car to return to the park or bridge. As much as this frustrated her and so many others who wanted to rescue me from the dangerous lifestyle I was living, their unconditional loving arms couldn't pull me from the grasp that I allowed my addiction to have. I wasn't ready to stop running. She was the one who called my parents and told them they needed to come get me from SB before they came to pick me up in a casket. This was no exaggeration. They had wanted to come rescue me all the while, but you can't force someone to stop running. Even though my parents did come and I choose to go home with them and go back into my 7th rehab (which I completed after 9 months), I still went back to running and numbing with drugs for another year before I allowed God to do the needed heart surgery on the roots that kept my addictions growing. I was fortunate to have someone like Tamara to encourage the needed relocation from SB back to Illinois. Tamara and so many others loved me through my whole journey, and this afternoon with her was one of reflection and gratitude at how far we'd both traveled since our paths were parted. Our hearts have remained close and we kept in contact through phone calls and FB over the years. It was hard to give her a last hug, not knowing when our paths would cross again, but we won't let the states in between us hinder our forever bond. I left Tamara with a journal and a rock necklace. She is in a season of her journey where she needs to write about the mountains and valleys (the "purpose in the pain") as well as be reminded that her heart is hand carved by God and she can't take off His unconditional love like she can the rock necklace. The two of us would have lingered our reunion longer, but I had another special woman to meet with a 5:30 and that time was drawing near.
Plans had been made to grab a cup of coffee with one of the top 5 sweetest people I've ever met. Dar was a counselor ("Tracker" as they called them) at Bethel House, the Santa Barbara Rescue Mission women's inpatient program I came out to SB for, though only lasted 4 months in this rehab. Though she wasn't my main tracker (I had the amazing Alana), Dar was still a pivotal staff member in my time there and she filled in for Alana when she took a leave of absence to get married to the man God choose for her to walk this journey with). Dar was a unique tracker, for unlike the usual effective drug and alcohol counselors, she didn't have a history of addiction to substances. Normally, my sassy and rebellious nature would have used her lack of experience and responded with "Who do you think you are to tell me anything... you don't understand what I've been through. How can you help me when you haven't been there!?!" BUT this was not my reaction to Dar at Bethel House. Surely, I was a hard case and stubborn as a mule with letting anyone inside the walls I'd built around my heart, but Dar was someone I truly respected and even looked up to. She had (and still has) a heart that is wired to love people unconditionally and her faith, her deep and wide faith in our King is what intrigued me with Dar. Though she doesn't work at Bethel now, her mission field has been relocated to a school where she counsels kids who are going through hard times. Her very presence is a witness and testimony of our loving God. Dar loves people where they are and encourages them to live their potential that she sees in them even if they can't see it yet themselves. Our times together on this visit back to SB was one of catching up on what God has done, is doing and will continue to do. A ""Trust" rock was given to her. It was important to thank Dar for the investments she made into the soil of my broken heart 7 years ago, and how the seeds she planted have taken root over the years. I wanted to encourage her to continue to trust that all the seeds she plants (past, present and future) are in God's hands to take root and He would cause them to grow. It's our job to plant and water... God will make it grow. Dar's trust and faith in Jesus Christ is something I want to emulate. Oh, and we both share a love for Africa. Dar is a rare diamond in this world.
It was a little past 7pm when I left the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. There wasn't a known next mission field, so as I was driving away from my sweet friend, I prayed and asked God where He wanted me to go. He led me to park near Pershing Park, but when I strapped on my backpack, I didn't feel led to walk into the park, rather to keep walking... to State Street. For a Monday night, the main strip was busy and bustling with people. Summer is tourist time, and both locals and tourists filled the sidewalks, restaurants and shops. Interspersed throughout the high heels and deck shoes, were those with weathered sandals and bare feet... and these were the beautiful people who my eyes were drawn to. Many conversations were had with those "spanging" (spare-changing) and holding signs that said "Hungry" or "Homeless... please help." Granola bars, trail mix, bottles of vitamin water, and rocks were handed out. But words of hope, love and of the Rock whose hand is always outstretched were the most valuable things left with my new and old friends. Some of them I recognized, though their skin had leathered more with the sun, and some recognized me along with my name (or called me my old nickname "rock girl") though I had couldn't remember their face or name. Most were people I had never met before. One of them that remembered me said they still had the rock I'd given them years ago. So cool to hear these type of stories of how God used me even in those dark times.
One of the girls I stopped for was Cherese who was handing out hand made roses made from palm leaves. She was with another guy, but she was the one God wanted me to talk with. When I introduced myself after being handed the flower, she introduced herself and told me the meaning of her name: "Cherished One." God gave me some specific words to speak into this young girl. I don't remember what was said, and it wasn't lengthy, but it was for her to take along with the "Walk by Faith and not by sight" rock I placed in her hands. Throughout this trip, I have learned that when God gives a message to give to another person, that I need to close my mouth after His words are spoken. Though I often say more and don't always shut up when He says to, this is an area that God is growing and stretching me in. His words and the message for that person is most powerful and effective when it's not diluted by my on words after. This time with Cherese was one of those times that I actually listened when God said to zip it.
Another interaction among the many that I will share was with a woman I knew from the streets before. There was a poem I wrote about Karen that I may pull from my archive writings when I get home and post. It will tell you more about this women who no one can seem to reach. She hasn't changed in that way. I recognized her immediately when I first saw her the 2cd day I was here, but didn't talk to her then. Tonight I would, though the dark, mind-binding spirits that oppressed her years ago, still have her tangled in her reprobate mind. I will post the blurried picture I took of her this night when I share the poem titled "Karen." I offered her the other half of my Chipotle chicken bowl, but she didn't want it... nor my presence standing in front of the bench she was sitting and talking to herself on. She remembered me and asked me where I went when I left SB and I told her. She was friendly towards me till I told her that I had never forgotten her and I'd been praying for her since I left... then a visible switched was seen and her lips became terse as she said, "Leave me alone" through her clenched teeth. This was the reaction and response of the spirits operating in her and I recognized them and responded with praying against their hold on Karen as I walked away. Karen has grown comfortable with their company and thought they are harmful to her mind, they have become familiar and friends to this young woman who has isolated herself from everyone except the demons that live in and around her. My heart breaks for Karen. If hard not being able to help someone who doesn't want to be helped... or maybe doesn't know that they so desperately need help. God taught me so much about spiritual warfare with knowing Karen when I was here before, and He continues to teach me about this very real spiritual battle. Some spirits can only be dealt with by not only prayer, but with fasting and praying. Such is the case with my friend Karen.
My time on State Street was over, but there would be many other hours I would be led to walk this street and converse (and pray for) the people here. The last stop before going back to my other friend Karen's apartment, was Pershing Park, where Tumbler was parked near. For sake of you who are reading this longer than usual day post, I'll keep my time there to a minimal wording, but a lot happened in this hour there. Besides spending more quality time with Gator, 2 Feathers, Bruce, Ray Ray and the others, I was reunited with my brother Hydro. He was a stable family figure during my time here before, and we embraced long and hard when we saw each other. Hydro has one of the most giving hearts. He doesn't have much, but he always had something to give someone even in his own lack. He tried to give me a sweater and some shoes, but I declined saying there would be someone else who would need them more. He is also good for comic relief in a park that is full of pain and hardship. I had been there for 45 minute when a familiar thing happened... the park sprinklers popped up from the grass and began their soaking of not only the grass, but the people sitting on it. This was a common happening when I lived there and I remember well being passed out from my intoxicated and drugged up state only to be suddenly woken with the (not the typical small shower of a garden sprinkler) water. These sprinklers were high powered, and I'm sure neighbors are woken up by the steady stream of swear words that would come from our mouths at the reaction to being woken up so rudely. So when the sprinklers came on this night and we were all awake and in deep conversation, one popped up near us and started spraying the group and myself. We didn't swear, but we did begin to grab our backpacks to move out of the stream of spray. Hydro, being the clever one, grabbed one of the tops to a garbage can and walked over to turn in away from us, then put the top over the jetstream. He got super wet in the process, and I got it on camera after my backpack was in a safe, dry place. We were all cracking up at this small man wrestling with a big sprinkler... and Hydro won the hydro battle. I gave my palm rose from Cherese to one of the guys hanging with the group that night. He had handsome, hazel eyes but I can't remember his name. Hugs to everyone in the group, it was now time to leave to let them all pass out in a place where they would stay dry tonight. I felt fortunate and blessed as well as undeserving to be going to lay down in a plush, king-sized bid tonight, knowing my friends would be sleeping outside. I fought the urge to pull out my sleeping bag and nestle down among my family that night but knew I wasn't to stay. My body was one place till morning, but my heart was still at Pershing Park... my home was no longer "Prison Park." I was just visiting.
When we have flown from the cages that once imprisoned us,
We must never forget the prison we once willingly lived in.
How we escaped and how we mended our broken wings
Is not the way others may unlock the door of freedom.
We can't force someone else to fly out of their cage.
But we can love them till they love themselves.
There will come a day when each of us
Will go back to that prison caged cell.
Not to brag or point our finger.
But to love, listen and pray.
Fast for a fellow friend.
Their freedom calls.
Jesus is the key.
We must never forget the prison we once willingly lived in.
How we escaped and how we mended our broken wings
Is not the way others may unlock the door of freedom.
We can't force someone else to fly out of their cage.
But we can love them till they love themselves.
There will come a day when each of us
Will go back to that prison caged cell.
Not to brag or point our finger.
But to love, listen and pray.
Fast for a fellow friend.
Their freedom calls.
Jesus is the key.
No comments:
Post a Comment