God Nudges

Day 1

“We are His portion and He is our prize

Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes

If His grace is an ocean we’re all sinking.

Heaven meets Earth like an unforeseen kiss

And my Heart turns violently inside of my chest.

I don’t have time to maintain these regrets

When I think about the way

He loves us, oh how He loves us.”

We arrived in the city yesterday a little late, and by the time we checked into the hotel and got situated it was almost 8 o’clock. We’re staying at the Edison Hotel, which is a three minute walk from the TKTS Booth in the center of Times Square. On my block, Idina Menzel, Matthew Morrison, and Tyne Daily perform daily and I can get an eight dollar Jamba Juice down the street.

God is teaching me right now to keep my eyes open for the possibility of doing His work at every moment. As I’m studying the Bible, I’m realizing that we are not sent on mission trips but on mission. So many times we in America pretend like God “calls us to stay at home” rather than become a foreign missionary, but we forget that when He calls us He equips us to do every good work. I think that we get so wrapped up in our day to day lives that sometimes we forget to do even one good work. What we are really saying is that God, for some reason, called us to be comfortable. But He never did.

Yesterday I saw no one to talk to, but I have no doubt I would have if I had been looking. We were all hungry and exhausted and just made a beeline for the restaurant. I stuffed my face last night with salad, mozzarella wedges, and pizza. We sat with noticeably affluent people and I felt completely comfortable.

This morning I practically begged God to not make me hand out these coats and gloves. I mean it. I begged Him. I am an introvert in the most sincere way and striking up conversations and sustaining them is not my strong suit. I am just an awkward person around people I don’t know. I’m not proud, it’s just facts. So when one of my students informed me that it looked like it will be nearly 50 degrees today, I thanked the Lord that I was not going to have to reach out this morning. Which is such an odd thing to thank the God of compassion for, because I’m positive that He did not do this for me, but as a way of smiling down on the downtrodden. I don’t want to give them a coat to keep warm, so He will warm up bitterly cold New York City to 50 degrees.

I left the hotel to grab something to eat around nine, and almost as soon as I walked out of my hotel, I saw a woman, probably around 50, digging in the trash. You guys, she was digging in the trash. Can we all just let that sink in? A being that is created in the very image of God was rifling through garbage. For what? Something to wear? Sell? Eat? Where are we, Christians?

I knew that God wanted me to stop. So, I mustered up my courage, walked over to her, and said, “Ma’am? Have you eaten this morning?” At this point, I am sure that God is going to have me take this woman to a diner and eat with her. I am dreading conversation. Dreading. The woman looks at me and responds:

“No English.”

Instead of the relief at not having to talk to a person, my heart absolutely breaks. This woman who is digging in the trash (have you noticed that I am just now grasping the absolute desperation of this act?) can’t understand the words of someone who is trying to help her. She can’t even accept help when it is offered.

So, in vain, I tried some version of sign language, lifting my hand to my mouth and saying, “eat?” over and over, like a lunatic (At this point, if you are reading this and know Spanish, now would be a great time to head to the comments and tell me how to ask people if they are hungry or need warm clothing). She just smiled sweetly at me, so I pressed three dollars into her hand and said “Buy something to eat,” which, you know, I’m sure she did not understand, but she looked very happy and said, “Thank you,” and we parted ways.

I went into a hole in the wall diner to grab some food and coffee. I’ve been trying to eat a bit healthier lately, so on a whim I grabbed a fruit salad and some coffee. I got it to go and went back to the hotel lobby to eat it. Readers, I am allergic to almost every fruit in the world. So I ate the bananas, grapes, and oranges, leaving a lot of apples, melon, and pineapple. Like... an entire meal. At the time, I was trying to fathom my stupidity and almost threw the rest of it away. I just saw a woman digging through the trash and I almost threw away, not only a meal, but a really really nutritious meal. Jesus knows that I’m hard to teach. God stopped me and reminded me what I am actually here for- not just in New York, but on this Earth- and I went back outside, sure that I would immediately find exactly the person I needed to give the rest of the fruit to and that I would find them immediately.

I walked for twenty minutes. I saw not a single homeless person. In New York City, I saw not a single homeless person.

I thought I was running out of time (turns out I am just reeling from the time change still- Springing forward and changing time zones is messing with me), so I turned around to head back. I was approaching the corner where I would turn to get to my hotel, and there she was. Sitting on the corner with a sign that said “Every Little Bit Helps.” She had mocha skin, shoulder length hair, and a sweet, sweet face. Probably in her 30s. I knew. I knew she was it.

I took a deep breath, and dove in. Awkwardly.

“Um, do you like fruit?”

Oh my gosh. I am such a weirdo.

She looks up at me, smiling. Bright, straight, white teeth. Teeth that have probably had braces. Braces paid for by a mom or dad or grandparent who loved her and thought she was worth it.

“Sure!”

“Awesome! Here!”

I did it! I can walk away!

As I walked to the corner, I hear another person say, “Aw! We almost could have made it across!” Which means that the signal just turned. So I have a good minute to wait on this corner before I can cross.

God nudges.

I shakily walk back to her.

“Hey! What is your name?”

“Christina.”

“Hi, Christina, my name is Kasey.” I shake her hand. “Do you come here every day?”

“I try to. Sometimes I’m down in the square.”

She is articulate and obviously kind. She looks me squarely in the eyes and smiles kindly at me. As if I am the one in need of kindness.

“Um... if I come here tomorrow about nine will you be here?”

“Yeah! I can try to be!”

“Ok. Well, I will see you tomorrow then.”

And with that, I walk away with tears in my eyes. And I know that she is the one God wanted me to meet in New York. He has ordained all of my steps and He knew when we were both being knit together in the womb that one day we would meet. When I prayed that God would send someone to me that I could really connect with and form a relationship with, He knew it was her. When I prayed that that person’s heart would be ready for a friendship with me, He softened her heart. He has kept her safe until this moment. He loves her, and so I love her. She is made in His image.

And He placed her on the corner of 47^th and 8^th. My hotel is on 47^th between 7^th and 8^th.

God, please let her be there tomorrow. Keep her safe until then and make us both prompt for our divine meeting.

“I know the number of the hairs on your head.

I’m Jehovah Jireh. I am God your Provider

I’m Jehovah Jireh

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny and not one of them falls to the ground

Without your Father knowing?

And even the hairs of your head are all numbered

Fear not

You are more valued than many sparrows.”

- “Provider” from cover: a play about trafficking (adapted from Luke 12)

You Go

     You know what scares me the most about this project? Ridicule from fellow Christians.

     I can hear all of the reasons to not do this project:

You are keeping them in poverty by giving them free things. Support a non profit that helps them find a job.

 How do you know these people aren't just going to turn around and sell these items for drugs?

God helps those that help themselves.

Be a solution to the problem of homelessness, one coat isn't even a dent in the need. It's a waste of time.

     Yes. These things have been said to me and others about various projects. I don't know if people would say it if they could see how horrendous it looks when written down. And how it is the opposite of what Jesus said.

     We Christians love programs and organizations, don't we? We love the statistics and the lists. We give money to big organizations because they are making the biggest dent and we want to feel like we are a part of that. If I give them $50, I can feel as though I am providing a hundred homeless people food and a bed tonight. And so we write out our checks, then go to bed in our $200,000 home with central air, hardwood floors, and four bedrooms.

But they are organized. They can spend my money in a more efficient way! If I give to them, I know it makes a difference.

     I think this is what we tell ourselves to feel better. When, really, organizations are not the way Jesus called us to live at all.

But Jesus said, "They need not go away; you give them something to eat." (Matthew 14:16)

Then the king will say to those at his right hand, "Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me." (Matthew 25:34-36; emphasis mine)

     These "yous" are all plural, since He is talking to a group of people, but the implication is still the same. And, at the time, there weren't any nonprofits to do the dirty work of Christians. They had to literally extend their hands to others. There were no checks to write so that the Christian could feel altruistic but no inconvenienced.

     To be honest, although it would be incredible to see poverty ended, scripture tells us that this will never happen, so that cannot be our goal all the time. Our goal should always be the glory of God. So that is what I am doing. Seeking to glorify and make Him known to one person.

     And next week that will have to be enough.
 

 

Two Tunics

And the crowds asked him, "What then shall we do?" And he answered them, "Whoever has two tunics is to share with him who has none, and whoever has food is to do likewise. -John the Baptist (Luke 3:10-11)

     So... I may have done something a little crazy.

     I am an adjunct instructor of theatre at a small Baptist university in Missouri. Every three years we take our students to New York City so that they can get a taste of the life there and participate in workshops that help them understand the industry. As an added bonus, they get to perform an hour long showcase there.

     Six years ago, I was a student on this very trip. We were the first group to go ever. The budget was small and we were trying to keep costs low, so we stayed in a church located in Hell's Kitchen. The bunking area was up about five flights of stairs that we had to climb each night (which, believe me, involved a lot of wailing, nashing of teeth, and one member declaring that she would "sleep on this landing"), but before we could even enter the building we had to step over a homeless person who slept on the stoop of the church.

     When people ask me why I didn't try to go to New York, I always tell them that I went to New York on this trip fully intending to come back. But the city smells like urine. It just does, and no one can convince me otherwise. It is a beautiful and vivacious city, and I love it, but it smells like urine. But that is not the real reason I decided I couldn't go to New York. It was because of that homeless man.

     That homeless man reminded me that there are people, actual people, that live on a sidewalk. And some of them live on the church steps. Don't get me wrong, this church is great and they reach out constantly- they just can't help everyone. It makes me wonder, though... why did that man chose that spot? It could have been random, of course, but was he thinking, "If anyone were going to invite me in, it would be a church"? And night after night we all, all eight southern baptist students, stepped over this man. Once in the pouring rain.

     Then there was the girl who looked to be about my age who was sitting by the line that led into the theatre where we were going to see a Broadway show. I looked at her and I couldn't shake the urge to speak to her. But I knew better. This girl was probably mentally unstable or addicted to drugs and I wasn't going to waste my time talking to some strung out person who would probably cuss me out and not even remember me the next day.

     I'm telling you, reader, that girl haunts my very dreams.

     I'm getting a second chance with this trip. I'm packing as little as possible and then I'm going to pack every shred of winter clothing I can fit into my suitcase. I've asked my church to pitch in and I already have more than I can carry myself. I'm going to carry and wear these items from place to place and I'm giving them away. I am going to watch and pray from place to place. I'm going to get down on my knees in front of the homeless, look into their eyes, and ask them what they need. And then I am going to give it to them (hopefully). And then I'm going to sit next to them and talk to them about their lives. I want to know how they got there, who they were before, and what I can do to help. I'm going to buy them coffee and breakfast and we're going to have communion together on the sidewalk.

     This makes me so uncomfortable. But I was poor until Jesus made me rich. I should identify with these people more than I could ever imagine.