Obscured Dignity

The air was crisp as sleep melted away.  Within the cathedral ceiling of that momentary bedroom, leaves of towering sycamores began to yellow.  Sunlight sprinkled warmth on her face as a sapphire sky peeped through.  The grass was not too wet.  That was nice.  Sleeping was mostly comfortable and warm in the makeshift bed.  She was grateful for the blankets.

Standing, sleep stretched from muscles as the smells of fall air filled her lungs. She savored the warm morning.  Winter brushed the air with crispness. She bent down to carefully fold her bedding and place it into the shopping cart. The park was quiet.  Savoring the solitude and beauty, thankful no one was around to disturb her. 

She tightened the sage bathrobe around her frame. It hung off her like a child playing dress up. Strolling around the shopping cart overflowing with earthly possessions, she assessed its arrangement. As she placed the bundle of blankets in, she lifted out a carry-on rolling suitcase.  Grabbing the shopping cart with her left hand, she dragged the bag in her right towards a building central to the park.  A musical cacophony of bird song accompanied her saunter into the public bathroom.

She paused at the door, with a determined push, the basket leapt into the lavatory. A dull clang traveled across the park as the basket met with a metal trash can inside.  Head held high, she strolled into the bathroom with the bag trailing behind her.

About 15 minutes later she emerged. Her outfit for the day was comfortable denim shorts, an aqua blue T-shirt and a denim vest- which looked like it had been a jacket in a previous life.  She placed the carry-on bag in the front of the basket.  Walking around the portable home, tender arrangements to her belongings were the final preparation for the day’s travels.

Standing for a moment smoothing her bangs and hair, she sighed.  With a look around she evaluated the temperature.  The air brushed her skin with its chill.  The olive green robe was draped over the top of the basket.  Picking it up and jauntily wrapping it around her shoulders, she slid her arms in, grabbed the lapels of her dapper garment and straightened it.

Fluffing her bangs while she walked around the basket; inspecting it for the last time. Satisfied she stood at its helm and gave it a shove.  It rolled as she sashayed to the side of it. Resting a hand on the old friend's side, they began the day’s journey. They disappeared from the park, the robe’s sash gliding behind her like a royal train.  A private moment of dignity in the simplest form had been hers. 

Homelessness is often something we look away from. We, the Fortunate Housed often judge harshly the poor and Unhoused. We talk about the Blight, the Problem, the Inconvenience, the...etc. 

Jesus said to remember the Poor.

But for the Grace of God, would be I.

One week in 2010. a homeschool week filled with shuttling kids to homeschooling activities. Girly and I sat at in park while the boys attended classes. While she worked on her school I observed a fellow human sister beginning her day.

Damned Joy

Originally published September 12, 2011

Offered to perform play in LA my apprehension took form of a dandelion puff leaning into a slight breeze. I grew up in an environment where worth was measured by the amount of disappointment a person created. This pattern fueled the trap I found myself in. I was asked to portray on stage my greatest lifelong abuser, a "righteous" Christian. After many years of therapy, medication, and prayer, I walked away from this type of Christianity. Taking this role would put all of that work in jeopardy. 

I vigilantly sought wisdom, I found peace. I felt His hand take mine. I understood He had a purpose for this dark path: "Learn compassion." 

Each time I examined this character’s motivation, wrote her thoughts, or spoke her words: I experienced anxiety. It started as a cricket crawling around my sternum. As the show loomed, anxiety became pulsing electricity. I knew I needed help and support from those around me. I asked. The show was taxing everyone. I realized help would need to come from outside of the show.

During tech week the question screamed in my head each day during the two hour drive there: "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I was asked," I replied.

"That's not good enough. Why are you walking through hell just to make someone else happy? What is in it for you?" The voice retorted.

"I don't know," was all I could utter.

During my research, I stumbled upon a Bradley Cooper on Inside Actor's Studio. He said, “The Joy is the work.”

This work brought me none.

Women, like the character I played, walk in a difficult Christianity. They wrestle daily with an obsession of being "right" in the eyes of God. Righteousness is measured through actions:

Martha's actions in Luke are condemned, Mary's are held as ideal.

The Proverbs 31 Woman is the definition of a good wife and mother.

Their view of forgiveness is skewed. When in the wrong, they only need to pray, asking God for forgiveness. They can never wrong their neighbor if they are right with Jesus. No conflict exists. The impact upon others is irrelevant. Their backs bend under this weight of legalism and fear. True peace and joy is impossible. In getting to know this character, I felt a deep compassion for those who live this type of Christianity.

Joy was in discovery.

Even though twenty years have passed, LA still feels like home. Everyone is inadequate, has a therapist, attends a recovery group, and is not afraid of being a "Hot Mess." I learned more about my shortcomings and inabilities and found freedom in facing them.

Joy was in the process. 

Photo from NY times article

Guarding the streets around the theater, I met Lewis, a 6'10" former NCAA Final Four basketball player. Homeless for the past 10 years, his patrols keep the area safe. He will not accept money he does not earn, is a beautiful storyteller and kind listener. Ase and Zaney have a new standard for washing a car, after watching him work. GirlyK will remember him as he danced with her and two friends. The four of them strutted the sidewalk and sang "Party Rock Anthem" at the top of their lungs. 

A Facebook friend came to see the play. Tahnee gave me unearned friendship my senior year. Walking between classes she told me one day, "Ya know, everything I heard about you is not true. I like you."

It was the single best moment of my high school experience. We spent hours catching up in a coffee place on Orange and Vine.

Lewis and Tahnee filled me with overwhelming Joy.

By the closing weekend, anxiety overpowered logic. Flashbacks of past condemning confrontations and absolute rejections shattered my grip on reality. The doors of insanity burst open.  Both nights on closing weekend, I raced to my car, curled up in a ball and sobbed for thirty minutes. I rode out those memories my brain thrust into view. As the waves of crippling anxiety washed over me God whispered, "Ride it out." When it was over, I still existed.

Joy was in survival.

I write this with significant cracks in my sanity and realize: Father was with me. Jesus carried all of my pain with Him on the Cross. He knows what a reality split feels like. Holy Spirit was an ever-present help in my time of trouble. Those old wounds feel drained of infection and cauterized. For the first time in years I have access to tears. I am better acquainted with my limits. Never again will I be afraid to express them.

Joy was in understanding Divine Love.

As I read the latimesblog and backstage reviews about the play:  it occurred to me that I could have survived as a working actress. Had I taken those few acting opportunities when I lived in LA, back when I was young and with stars in my eyes, my life might have looked differently. I know it wouldn't have been much, but a commercial here and there could have bought groceries once in a while. Knowing is good enough for me.

Joy was in realizing this possibility.

In the end I was granted Joy in an unexpected place.