Inventory Story

By Nicholas Sabin.

So I guess this is growing-up time.
Taking inventory of your vital parts,
your quirks and your queries,
your dreams and your worries,
sorting them into boxes of 'fit' and 'don't fit,'
as if self was so easily assigned.

And where do I draw the line?
this thing keeps splitting me apart,
the challenge of being but not being there yet
the challenge of trying but not understanding it,
pushing away 'gainst the remains of my life,
trying to separate what's been combined.

Oh, to structure a feasible design,
something to hold me tightly 'gainst my heart,
the yearning for shedding the gossamer past
the aching for breaking the shadows at last
I'm trying to walk past the things that I was,
as if self was so easily defined.

I'm putting down memories, swallowing wine,
applying new logic to my personal arts,
saying farewell to what to rend me to shreds,
open embraces to loves and new friends,
I'm taking my paces to what I might find,
intent on discovering what fate had in mind.

Who am I? (A survey)

So Sunday night as Josh, our Regional Director, brought us home from our “retreat,” he basically told me that I’m loud. I was kind of surprised, because I don’t see myself that way. I actually see myself as shy. Perhaps this is because I know that when I am faced with one-on-one interaction with someone I don’t know well, I am nervous. I’m afraid that we’ll run out of things to talk about and just have to sit around staring at each other awkwardly.

Ruth told me today that she thinks I’m loud. Meredith, one of my teammates, told me that she thinks of me “loud not as in boisterous but like you want to and will get your ideas heard.” Today Jared, a friend who works with us at the homeless shelter, told one of the guys in the rehab program that I have “the beautiful ability of pushing people outside their comfort zones.” One of the guys in the rehab program calls me “Giggles” because I laugh loudly and often.

So now I want to know what YOU think, faithful blog readers. Am I loud? How do you see me? (And yes, incredibly hot IS an acceptable answer.)

Help my unbelief!

Willie, one of my favorite regulars at the clinic, and I were just talking about life (like we always do) and about the human lifespan. He says women can live to be 120, but men’s lifespans are 10 years shorter, and that you have to learn and get wisdom every day until then, that every day is required to get there. I asked him if he wanted to live to be 110 and he said yes. I was surprised; I mean, he sleeps downtown in a sleeping bag and has been homeless for 30 years. But then he told me why: because God has been good to him up till now, and when he gets to 110, he can say, “He’s been good to me every day.”

Wow. What faith. A man who has been homeless for 30 years can say that God has been good to him every day. Do I say that? Do I believe it? What a puny faith I have!

Short Story

I just had something short that I wanted to post. I have lots of other things I should tell you, like how I broke up my first fight at school today, how I meet so many interesting people when they ask me for money on the street, a guy on the street who sang about my “ugly ass,” etc., etc.

But I would like to tell you quickly about a “Sabbath experience” I had on Monday. I was down in Chinatown shopping for a Christmas present for one of my teammates (we exchanged names) when I saw three of our regulars from the clinic.

They all gave me hugs and we talked for a few minutes about when I would be at the clinic next, where Ruth was and so forth, when one of the guys, Sam, decided to give me a list of things he wanted from the clinic when he next visited. This list included socks and other regular items, until he told me that he needed “Undawears because my butthole is COLD!”

Yes, kids, that’s right. This is my life: talking with homeless men about the state of their buttholes. How did I get here?

Be sure to stay tuned. Maybe next time I’ll tell you about the time the first grade teacher I work with wrote the word CRAP on the board. Or about my ugly ass.

God is God, and I am not

After talking to one of my best friends tonight, I realize what a heavy burden love is. True love wants what is best for its object, even if that means pain or struggle or heartbreak. And sometimes that’s exactly what it means.

I understand, once again, what it means to wrestle in prayer. I cannot make an important and possibly life-altering decision for this friend; she has to make it for herself, which means it is out of my small and inept hands. Praise God that it is not out of His! I realize that His help alone will allow her to make the right decision, and that my frustration at her inability to have done so thus far stems only from my great and true love for her.

And it amazes me that while this situation bothers me and burdens me, it is a blessing, because it helps me realize how deep my love for her truly is. And how much deeper and more true God's love is.