In my last post, I mentioned the fact that my boys and I were going to join a small, peaceful protest to show our disgust for the way that KCMO is treating our Off-Grid friends. The protest never happened, but it set into motion a night that has impacted the eight of us who showed up to be identified with the homeless, very much.
As we arrived at City Hall and didn't find any of our friends, I called Jim, the crazy person who introduced my church and my family to this group of marginalized people, to find out what happened to the gathering. He had little more information than we did but told me that Crystal, a house-less lady whom we dearly love, was sitting in the camp that she shares with a few other people, all by herself. My boys, myself, Josh, a friend of the family, and Morgan, my second son's girlfriend, were all disturbed by this and decided to venture to the camp and collect Crystal if possible.
Following Jim's directions, we drove into a completely commercial district, ventured over a levee, hiked though a patch of woods, and eventually found the camp where Crystal sat in an armchair, in a very large structure, with a single candle for light. Bandit, the dog who was tied up at the entrance to the cabin, barked loudly to announce our approach, but was quick to lick our extended palms with an inviting wag of his stubby tail. We sat with Crystal and talked about the fate of our other friends, her love for her dogs, and any supplies that she was lacking. We asked her to come home with us until this whole mess was sorted out but Crystal convinced us that packing in the dark would prove more stressful than sleeping alone, and there was no chance that she was going to leave without her dogs.
Bear in mind as you imagine Crystal that this woman simply can not take care of herself, but she takes her responsibility to care for her dogs very seriously. She told us several times as we talked that Missy, her personal dog, had all of her shots, was legally tagged, and was spayed. She makes sure to find someone who is willing to take her dog to the vet when needed. Crystal loves her dogs and would prefer to sit in an over-sized tent, all alone, in a subculture where looting a defenseless camp is always a risk, rather than sleeping in a soft bed, in an air-conditioned house, if it means leaving her dogs behind. As a person who has no pets and really doesn't like sharing my living space with animals, this shocked but inspired me.
We left Crystal in her camp and drove home. The van-ride back to our house was silent as we all struggled with helplessness. Questions like, "why?", and "who can we contact?", and "what else can we do?", and "this makes no sense, is this really happening?" banged ceaselessly through our heads. None of us slept well as we had received a commitment from Crystal that if we returned the next day, when she could pack in the daylight, she would come home with us. Her one and only prerequisite was that we take and care for her dogs. To love on Crystal without loving on her dogs is not to love on Crystal at all.
We returned to the homeless camp today after work and Crystal was packed and ready. We collected the two dogs and the bunch of us drove to our house. We sat in the backyard and all of my kids completely loved having two dogs to play with. We bought dog food, found a shelter for the pups, and talked the sun down. We ate dinner together and slowly settled into beds for the night. As I thought about our evening together, it struck me that the most responsive Crystal was to our love was when we were accepting and loving on her goofy dogs.
I don't want to overstretch the metaphor, but as I watched Crystal absolutely glow with joy as she watched my kids delighting in her puppies, all I could imagine was God glowing with joy when people take delight in His goofy children. I could hear Jesus telling Peter, "If you love me, feed my sheep". I could hear Jesus saying, "When you do good things to the least among you, you do them to me." I must be honest, I have always made these verses far more spiritual than they felt tonight. I have taken them as stern commands from a demanding God. Tonight, that all changed. Tonight, in my mind's eye, God looked like a wrinkled, 90-pound homeless woman, rocking back and forth with joyful satisfaction as she watched people love what she herself loves. John 21 and Matthew 25 don't sound like commands tonight. They sound like the heartfelt request from a loving God to please, oh please, love what I love.
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