Day 37 ~ West Coast Rock Tour

~ 37th Day ~

Bench vs. Bed...Starbucks...Police at Pershing...Surfer Mikey...State St.

Funny how the days are already getting jumbled. Though last night I did make it to bed to lay down in, it was not the plush king-sized bed at Karen's place. After I left Pershing park, I wrestled with wanting to find a patch of grass near Gator and the group to bed down for the night, but instead, I contacted my friends Daniel andSalvatore to ask if they had room for my sleeping bag in their squatting spot. They did... and I met them at the secret location at 1:30am. Some writing was done in the safety of Tumbler till this meeting time. When I met my brothers in the dimly lit location, we laid out our bedding. I was shocked that Daniel only had a sheet and a thin cotton blanket and Salvatore had nothing to sleep on or cover himself with. His sleeping bag had been stolen a week ago after he stashed it in a cluster of bushes. It's hard to stash things in a city where so many live on the streets and sleep outside. Something needed to be done about their lack of bedding, but that would be addressed later.

Daniel and I sat on the steps that led to the cement balcony the 3 of us would sardine ourselves on tonight and we talked for 40mins till Salvatore's silhouette was seen coming towards us. Our trio was firmly planted in the foundation of our Provider and King... my 2 brothers are mighty men of God who defy the normality of most Christian lifestyles. Yes, they live on the streets; they have minimal comforts; they live day to day; they are homeless... and they are the closest to being modern day disciples than anyone I know. Daniel and Salvatore stay together much of the time ("road-dog disciples") but they often part ways during the day to minister to individuals for periods of time. Many Christians would question their situation, lifestyle, ministering, evangelizing, and even sanity... but I will vouch for these two amazing men in the Christian courthouse that leans more towards comfortable complacency and judgementalism than sacrificial living and boldness for sharing the Gospel with those outside of their Christian cliques. That was harsh, I know, but it's the sad truth. I was so blessed to be linked up with my brothers who not only minister on the streets, but live there themselves with the people who most ignore. I'm not suggesting everyone sell their house and car and start living on the streets, but this is where God has called a minority of His children to be most effective in their mission fields. I am a total fan and advocate of these few and tonight, I would sleep outside with 2 of these few.

All didn't go smoothly in the first spot we spread our bedding (or lack there of) for a cop car pulled up to us and parked 15 feet away from us. He didn't get out and shoe us along, but his presence was all the hint the 3 of us needed to move our bodies and belongings. I was used to this relocation at all times during the night when I slept outside years ago. Sometimes, the cops would shine their light on us and yell at us to move along, other times they would arrest us (I was locked up twice for transiency when in SB, but this was not unwelcomed for the cot and 3 meals a day were a nice vacation for a few days each time) and there was even a cop that would come to Pershing late at night and bring us all McDonalds (but this was a rare visit from the normal perturbed police). Neither of us were salty from the surprise black and white car, and we packed up with smiled on our faces. This was part of living on the streets... being moved along.

We walked a few blocks to a place that was behind another large building and the concrete balcony was traded for long benches for each of us. It was now almost 3am and our bodies were beckoning for rest. I felt bad for my brothers as I snuggled inside my warm sleeping bag that my mom had purchased for me for last summer's "Europe Rock Tour" and I made a mental note to find a store that sold sleeping bags for the cooler nights my brothers would be sleeping outside through. We got 5 hours of sleep before being rudely woken up by a business man who was on his way to work. Maybe his $100 shirt wasn't starched correctly that morning or he had missed his evening yoga class the night before, but compassion was not one of his strong suits. We learn how to act or how not to act with everyone we meet.

The morning mission field was a nearby Starbucks, and the 3 of us chased the sleepiness away with cups of caffeine for the next couple hours. Coffee shops may seem like luxuries to those living on the streets, and they are. They provide a place to drop our bags, use the bathrooms, and get a cup of coffee like most people who have houses start the day with. Daniel and Salvatore also use Starbucks, the local library and HotSpot WiFi shop to get off the streets and recharge themselves for ministering on the streets. And these places are mission fields themselves, for many people congregate there with whom they have conversations about Jesus and the assuredness of eternal salvation. These 2 men are mission minded... much more so than most I know who go to Starbucks to simply fill their tank rather than filling others hearts with truth and love. It's a beautiful thing to witness these 2 witnessing. I scribed some rocks while there, made some phone calls outside and had a couple brief conversations with people sitting on benches outside the coffee house. When I went back inside to say I would be parting ways with my brothers, Salvatore pulled out a cross he had made for me and I was touched by his servant heart that is always looking to give rather than take. This cross will be cherished for all my earthly days and a reminder of the sacrificial love and forgiveness that Christ gave in dying on the cross for me and for everyone else no matter was class or social status they are labeled. He died for everyone... and loves everyone regardless of our lifestyle. 






Off to the next mission field of the day, I walked to where I had parked Tumbler for the night and drove towards Pershing Park to see who was gathered there on this beautiful gift of another day. To my delightful surprise, my old friend and brother Surfer Mikey was there and he recognized me right away when I walked up to him. We hugged and smiled and laughed at how the sun had given us both more wrinkles around our eyes. Mikey is seemingly always smiling and this may be adding to the permanent crinkles on his boyish face. He is nearing 50, though his personality is one of a teenager. The ocean is admittedly his daily therapy session and he has been surfing since he was a toddler. Mikey doesn't live at Pershing but he frequents there often. Unfortunately, a couple years back, he was jumped by some guys and they beat him up real bad. The doctors put a metal plate in his head and the effects of the beating have left him slightly impaired in his mind... but he is still the lovable and sweet Mikey. He was curious to where I'd been since leaving SB and I gave him the gist as I pulled out a "Love is the greatest gift" rock. He was so stoked that my rocks had been switched and he told me that he remembers me talking about Jesus even when I was still addicted to rock cocaine. I chilled with Mikey and 3 other guys including 2 Feathers for a while longer till I sensed it was my time to leave.

It was early in the afternoon and I cranked out a day post while sitting in toasty Tumbler. The weather was so pleasant in SB but with no breeze, 80 degrees outside meant 90-95 in my truck. All the water I was drinking was making my visits to the bathrooms, that hold more memories than I can remember, a common trip during these times of writing and resting, but I was creating new memories of using them for what they're intended for. Many scars were opened up and became, once again, bleeding wounds during my almost 13 day stay in SB, but the bleeding slowed, dried up, scabbed over and healed into another scar during this time. I needed to face and feel many things while here... and God allowed me to feel enough emotion not to break to a point of being vulnerable to falling back to old habits of numbing. He allowed me to feel enough to not be in denial, but the breakdown (in a good, needed way) would not come till after I left SB for a second time. More on this later 

Putting away my laptop and pulling out my heavy backpack, I left Tumbler once again to walk State Street with the Rock ministry. Oh, the people God would have me cross paths with into the late evening on this busy strip. The walk from where I parked at Pershing to the beginning of the strip is 5 blocks and a beautiful jaunt. State St. is super long and the strip is about 2 miles long (guestimation). On my days and nights there, I would usually walk a total of 2-3 miles and this was quite the daily workout with the cargo I carried on my back. This late afternoon and evening entailed the typical walk as well as stopping to set up my rocks at 2 different locations: one a bench a block away from the ocean and the other on the sidewalk against a closed up shopl that was 7 blocks from the shoreline. Both places produced many conversations with people who stopped to look at the rocks and hear the message behind them. But the most interesting conversations were had while walking. One was with Charles ("Chuck") Taylor who walked with me to my second place I set up. He ended up sitting with me for a good 30min before I had to somewhat ask him for some space. Some people will sit for longer than God wants them to stay and gentleness needs to be laced with setting boundaries. We did have a stellar talk, though, and somehow got on the topic of dying and God sparing our life so as not to take it for granted. I shared about my heroine overdose and Chuck shared about a skateboard accident while high on speed. The paramedics that happened to driving past him when he crashed, saved his life by performing a trecheotomy procedure. He showed me his scar and we both agreed that it wasn't our time to die, so all the more reason to treasure every gift of another day. I gave Chuck a rock that had a simple blue heart on it and encouraged him to acknowledge our God who had spared our life for reasons and purposes both known and unknown.

Another interesting and unique person I met was named Chris. She was elaborately dressed and her personality matched her bright and eclectic clothes. She wanted a rock so badly and had trouble choosing which one she liked most. When she finally chose another heart rock I'd made, she pulled out a large handful of change to give me in exchange, but I dropped it back into her purse and told her they weren't for sale. She told me that my treasure was surely in Heaven and I may not take money from her, but God would give me something wonderful in exchange for the gift of the rock. This was the best "payment" I could have received along with the long hug and kiss on my forehead that Chris gave me before walking away with her head bobbing back and forth like a little kid whose dad had just bought her a balloon.

My time was almost up on the strip, and the walk back to Tumbler grew darker as the streetlights dwindled with each block. I no longer fear the dark, but there still is a needed sense of caution and wisdom when walking alone at night. I pulled out one of the unscribed rocks from my backpack and clentched it in my fist the whole way back. My mother's voice along with so many others echoed in my head, "Now you be careful out there on those streets late at night, Katie." My pace wasn't quickened with fear or uncertainty of the alleys and large trees, but I was aware that an invisible war was waging around me all day and into the night. Satan was not liking the light and love of God I was trying to bring to the people here. Every article of the armor of God was repeated over and over as I walked. I was claiming my victory in Christ, my Captain and heard Him saying to walk by faith and not by sight. He would light my dark path and I trusted Him to be my Staff and Shield in this familiar territory. I knew God was victorious and though satan may win many wars with the choices of free-willed people, the entire war would end with his defeat. I clung to the feeble rock in my hand while walking... but it was the Rock I was clinging to as this journey continued in the land I once lost many battles on. I was a different woman today. I was a warrior in God's Army.

When the day is over and you take off your day clothes,
Don't take off the armor of God (Ephesians 6:10-18).
When you wake up and put on your day clothes,
Remember to keep the armor of God on.
It's good to know Bible verses.
It's better to walk in them.
Live the Living Word.

~Unshakable Peace, Trust and Purpose~
cling to the Rock 
Psalm 18:1-2