Theresa in the City

It has been a few days since my last blog entry because every time I sit down to write in here, I realize I have no idea where to begin. So many things happen every day. For example, last week a Somali man asked me (seriously) if he could speak with my father because he had a marriage proposal that he would like to discuss with my father [on my behalf]. Last week I had to make a very quick decision about the direction to take with a seven year-old Somali boy who has diabetes because his blood sugar levels had suddenly, unexpectedly dropped and he was at the point of fainting. Last week I learned several new phrases in Arabic, Somali, and Nepali. Last week a Nepali woman gave me a bracelet and a Somali family served me three bottles of water in one home visit. I taught someone how to use a stove, an oven, a car door, a seat belt, and a trash can. Last week, I cried and freaked out after a very stressful day at the SS Administration office and at the WR office. Last week, I watched two Chinese refugees hand out literature about the persecution they experienced in China for their religion/spirituality -- Fulan Gang (sp?) -- at the Georgia Department of Drivers Services with more zeal than the most stereotypically fervent evangelical Christians hand out tracks. Last week, I learned ALL about food stamps, Medicaid, GA-IDs, EADs, EBTs, the Match Grant program, DFCS, and more.

I've learned so much already and seen and experienced so much already. I can't possibly write it all, can I? No, I can't. That's why I'm about to write about something that has nothing to do with my internship at World Relief. (Or does it?)

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Today I went to church in downtown Atlanta at City of Refuge off of Joseph E. Boone Blvd., formerly Simpson St. They changed the name of the road in an attempt to stave off its reputation as the most dangerous crime-and-prostitution-ridden street in the city. Or so says Jason L. I heard about CoR through Jason L., a former youth pastor at Perimeter Church in fancy schmancy Johns Creek whom I knew fleetingly as an acquaintance in high school. Andrew and I were having dinner on Thursday night, and we ran into Jason at Chipotle. We caught up and got to talking about what's new in each of our lives. One topic of conversation led to another, and soon enough I was telling him that yes, I'd love to come visit his church / ministry / new place of employment, and that I'd see him Sunday at 9:00.

When I got there this morning, I parked in the wrong spot, in the Women & Children's Center. Oops. So I found my way to the church 'area.' Jason told me church started at 9:00, so I got there at 8:55. Turns out, the service starts at 10:30. From 9:00-10:30, we prepared ham & cheese sandwiches to be handed out to members of the community later in the week. From 9:00-10:30, we hung out with people from the community; we talked, laughed, and swapped stories. Ha... church at 9:00? No. But Church at 9:00? Yes.

At about 9:15, I met a woman named Theresa. Theresa walked into the building in a very short, cotton skirt and a very old, big, baggy, dirty white t-shirt. No bra. She looked ... in need. I didn't know her story, why she was there or what or who she was looking for. But I just happened to be the one to 'intercept' her when she came through the doors. After just a few minutes of talking, I found out that Theresa wanted something to eat before church. "Okay," I think to myself, "No problem. We just made over 300 sandwiches. Surely...," I checked with the person in charge in the kitchen and he said, bluntly, "Nope, we can't do that. Those sandwiches are for Tuesday, and if we give one to her, we'll have to give them out to everyone who comes in off the streets." Okay... Now, I get his line of reasoning. Really, I do. I'd probably have a similar sort of 'policy' if I were in charge, too. But dang it!! This is the Church!! And this church has a kitchen. And there is a woman in the Church who is hungry. There should never be a question about what to do here.

I talked with a couple other people in charge and eventually got them to give Theresa a bowl of cereal. Somehow, the scant milk and cereal didn't satisfy me in that it would satisfy her. Plus, I learned that she was two months pregnant. (A mistake, she said. Her and her husband were supposed to be DONE with kids!) Anyways, I told her to hang on just a sec, that I was going to my car to see what I could find. Thankfully, I had a Protein Power Bar and a 32 oz. PowerZero drink for her. They were supposed to be for me after my hour-long run later today, but I had $3 to buy a snack or 30 minutes to wait to get home to eat if I really needed something. She didn't. I happily gave her the [unorthodox] food and drink from my car. When I handed it to her, and sat with her and talked with her while she ate, I realized that I am truly at my happiest and I feel the most joy when I am in just that kind of place doing that kind of thing with people such as Theresa. God has shaped and molded my heart for this, for her, for His cities. I love the City. Theresa and I sat together for the service.

Honestly, I don't remember what the pastor spoke about. I do remember, however, that Theresa has three boys - all grown. I remember the way she looked me in the eye and said thanks; I remember her persistence in repeating my name so that she'd remember it. I remember that she looked very physically ill with her skinny legs and droopy eyes. I remember the strength in her embrace.

I remember Theresa in the City.