I had spent the last two years as a substitute teacher (that is another book I should write someday) and was looking for a more permanent vocation. I had this romanticized idea of a job that mattered.  I wanted to give back to others.  I began searching for a job at non-profits.  I didn’t care what it was.  I was ready to hug a tree, save a whale, whatever it took to work for a social cause.  I saw an ad that intrigued me.  It was for a homeless shelter.  Sounded like a good fit.  Homeless is a big problem in our world and maybe I could be part of the solution.  I emailed my resume and actually forgot about it.

       One day I was off from teaching and wasn’t sure how I was going to spend my day.  The following day I was scheduled to speak at an event in Akron (35 minutes from my home) so I decided to use the day off to scope out the location and prepare for the seminar, a day early.  Let me stop by saying, in ten years of speaking…I have never done this.  I got out of bed and threw on a t-shirt, jeans, put my hair in a pony tail and took off toward Akron. 

      Ten minutes later my cell phone rang and it was a lady from the homeless shelter.  I will never forget her words. “We received your resume and would love to interview you.  Our schedule is very tight so what is the chance that you could come to Akron?”  After picking my jaw up…I replied “You won’t believe it but I am already halfway there.” I went on to explain that I was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt but if they didn’t mind, I would be happy to interview in twenty minutes.

            I got out of my car and began to head into the interview until I realized something…I had a huge spaghetti stain on my shirt.  As if it wasn’t bad enough that I was unshowered, with  no make-up, hair in a pony tail, I also had a stain on my shirt!  I then remember the rain coat that I had in my car. Yes…I entered the interview looking a mess and not just any mess.  I was a mess wearing a raincoat on a day with no rain.  Everything was working against me.  I laughed as I entered the building thinking if they hire me it either has to be from God or they must be really desperate.

        I am not sure which was which, but they hired me.  I began my job at the shelter and hated it from the beginning.  During the first two weeks of employment, I went on three other job interviews.  I begged God to get me out of there and to reconsider what He had done.  I informed God that this little social experience was over and I was ready to go back to my other life.  You know…the one where I was comfortable.  The one that didn’t require that I spend my drive home crying.  The situations that the women were experiencing seemed hopeless.  Their stories were sad and well…I didn’t like sad.  I like happy and fun.  I like hope and feel good.  I don’t like stories about drug addictions, prostitutes, sexual abuse and children who are hurting.  One day one of those children asked me to play.  I reluctantly agreed and skipped off to the playroom with an adorable child that was spending her formative years…homeless.   As if that weren’t bad enough…she was born to a mom with HIV. 

         We began putting a puzzle together and suddenly twenty minutes passed.  I looked in her big brown eyes and told her that I couldn’t stay any longer and that we would have to quit the puzzle.  She took her chubby little five-year old hands and put them on each side of my face and uttered words that haunt me still today.  “Miss Joy…never quit!”  A little girl that was living in a homeless shelter and born to an HIV positive mom was telling me not to quit!  That was all that I needed to hear.  We continued with the puzzle and ten minutes later we finished a life-size Barney puzzle.  We high-fived each other as we celebrated our accomplishment.  I returned to my office and she returned to her room.  I am not sure about her…but I returned changed. 

            That encounter was more than just a story about two people in a homeless shelter, but it was a catalyst to this book.  God showed me many things in those first two weeks.  He showed me what it means to be stretched for His purpose.  He showed me what it looks like to be called and what it looks like to find your passion.  More importantly, He showed me that being obedient is not impossible.  It isn’t always easy and sometimes it gets ugly and messy.

            I am not sure where you are in your spiritual journey but if you are ready to allow God to rock your world and to use you in situations that are larger than you then lets start this journey together.

            If you are ready, then turn the page.  If you are not, turn it anyway.

that I am faithful in what God has called me to do and with that said I feel compelled to

say…EXAMINE your heart. Where are you placing your trust? Where is your faith?

If your faith is not in Jesus, then this book is just words from a mom. If you haven’t

acknowledged the amazing gift that Christ offers us and accepted it as your own, the

rest of this will be of no use to you. I beg of you to ask yourself a very important

question: “Have I accepted the Gospel and am I going to allow it to change all that is

within me?” I pray that the answer is yes! If it is, let’s hit the ground and get to work.

If the answer is no or maybe, I ask that you contact me or someone you trust in the

Christian faith and be open, honest and transparent. Oh, how I pray that this book brings

souls to Christ!

If we are truly allowing the Gospel to “transform us”, lives need to be changed,

beginning with us. Allowing the Gospel to transform us basically means “becoming

more like Christ.” D.L. Moody was once quoted as saying, “It has been said that there

will be three things which will surprise us when we get to heaven–one, to find many

there that we did not expect to find there; another, to find some not there whom we had

expected; a third, and perhaps the greatest wonder, will be to find ourselves there.”

If we allow the Gospel to transform us, we will reflect a life that glorifies God

and lives out His Word. No one should ever have to wonder whom we serve. The only

wonder should be how they can have a similar life. Telling someone we are a Christian

should not catch them by surprise.

I was born and raised in Charleston, West Virginia. Of four children, I am the

only one who moved out of town. It is not uncommon for my mom to call me and give

me updates on former classmates who still live in Charleston. I will never forget a time

when she mentioned that she had run into one of my close high school friends. She was

puzzled why my former high school classmate laughed when mom told her that I was in

full-time ministry at my church. That was hard to explain and truthfully, disheartening to

hear. I was a Christian in high school, just nobody knew!

Let me use marriage as an analogy. Imagine a bride and groom at the altar

pledging their undying love for one another. Promising to “forsake all others til death us

do part.” Days after the honeymoon, the bride informs her husband that from this day

on they would just be roommates. That all of the promises she made on their wedding

day no longer mattered. She promised not to ever divorce him because she liked the idea

of being married but didn’t want to concern herself with the journey they could share

together. All she cared about was the fact that she was someone’s wife and no longer

single. So in this analogy, I purposedly allowed the couple to have a honeymoon instead

of severing the ties immediately. Why? Because I believe this happens many times after

we give our lives to Christ. We accept Him and we are suddenly on fire. We are sharing

the Gospel like it is the most amazing story we could ever tell. Then, we suddenly go

back to our old ways. Living the Gospel becomes harder, comes with resistance and even

loss. We justify our actions by saying “why bother.” I am going to heaven. Do I really

need to do anything else?

If I allowed my marriage to become like the one just mentioned, I would only

have a roommate and not a partner. I would have a friend but not an intimate partner.

I would have companionship but often feel lonely. If I allow my relationship with

Christ to become the same way, I am missing out on the blessings that come with an

obedient walk with Christ. I am missing out on the rewards that come with furthering His

kingdom. I am missing out on an intimate walk with the “lover of my soul.”

Each day as I turn off my office light and log out for the day, I leave with hope that maybe it will come tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow affordable housing won’t be so scarce, that jobs will be offered and we can close the doors and go out of business. I often wonder what our building would become when we can stop being a homeless shelter. Maybe it would become a spa or a retail business. I love the irony in that. Everyone on staff would embrace the end to homelessness and enthusiastically search for new employment.

If a woman is still at the shelter on Friday, she will be there on Monday. It is rare that anything changes for a client over the weekend. Agencies that offer assistance are closed, staff is smaller and hope is on hold for the weekend. There is always tomorrow, but not on Fridays.

At the end of each Friday there is almost a sense of defeat, knowing that another week has passed and there is still a need for the shelter to exist. Each Friday night as I walk to my car, there are always women outside for a smoke break. Walking to my car, I am haunted by “Have a good weekend, Ms. Joy” and “See you Monday, Ms. Joy!” Oh the injustice and unfairness of my weekend at home with family and friends. My weekend of freedom to go where I want. . . the injustice of not everyone being able to have “a good weekend.” The injustice of not everyone being able to have a home. That is why I hate Fridays.

Actually it’s not Fridays that I despise. It’s the injustice of homelessness. If I worked at an orphanage, it would be my anger at orphans being without a family for one more night. If I were employed at a battered women’s home, it would be the disappointment in a woman being out of her home one more evening as she nurses her wounds and disguises her bruises. It all comes down to the injustice of the underserved and the overlooked and the marginalized of our society.

Scripture calls this group “the least of these.” I call them my new friends. Scripture calls them the orphans and widows. I call them the lady who sat with my at lunch or the child who drew me a picture yesterday.

I often sit in meeting where politicians and social service agencies discuss the plight of the homeless and brainstorm ways to eradicate the problem with a ten -year plan. It seems that we have taken this population and reduced them to statistics and demographics. I sit and listen and have to do all that is within not to run out of the room and run straight to the nearest church. I want to storm into the Pastor’s office and shout, “WE NEED YOU!” I want to then run to the next church and confront them on why 45 women and children are living in a homeless shelter within walking distance of their steeple- bearing building. I want to ask them to preach from the pulpit the command to serve others and not stop until every person embraces the call on their life and exhausts themselves for the Gospel. I want to intrude on every women’s Bible study within reach and beg them to come and help their sisters! I want to ask them to stop planning teas and potlucks and begin planning ways to walk alongside an overwhelmed mom or a woman in search of a job and housing. It sounds so simple and I am in no way bashing the church. I believe that churches are doing amazing things to help the marginalized, but are we doing enough? I am actually doing the proverbial “preaching to the choir.”

I haven’t always had this passion for the underserved of the world. I am guilty of ignoring their needs and driving past them, passing judgment on what I assume is their laziness. I am guilty of being too busy to stop and pray for a woman who is hurting or to offer a kind word to a broken sister. I am not leading this battle. I am searching just like the rest of you. But I do know something, I am hoping and praying that the homeless, the orphans, the widows are not judging us. I am concerned that they can look and see themselves being let down. I am hoping that they don’t see us as “religious women” but that they see us as faithful women.

I wonder what the world would look like if we all found our cause. What would it look like if we all took the scriptures seriously and to heart and lived the Bible out with an unbound and relentless obedience. I am not sure what it would look like, but I do know one thing. . . it would look different! The world would look different, the church would look different and we would be different.

As I walk to my car, I am haunted by “have a good weekend Ms. Joy”…”See you Monday Ms. Joy!” Oh the injustice and unfairness of my weekend at home with family and friends. My weekend of freedom to go where I want…the injustice of not everyone being able to have “a good weekend”. The injustice of not everyone being able to have a home. That is why…I hate Fridays.

Writing the book has been a wonderful experience….most of the time. The writing process itself has taught me discipline. It has taught me the importance of setting goals and priorities.
It has taught me time management. I have learned to take constructive criticism and use it to further the process. The hardest part …it has taught me to ask for things that I have never asked before. Tomorrow is a new hurdle. Last night my three generations of support helped me hand out invitations to an event we are hosting while we are here at the beach. Tomorrow at 8:30am we have invited women from the resort to come over for coffee, muffins and a discussion on compassion. We don’t know who will come or if anyone will come. All that I know is that we walked in obedience. That is all that He asks of us. Please pray for our gathering!

Quick scene change…

I now sit on the front porch of a beautifully decorated and comfortable beach home. To the right of me is a family planning their day and to the left of me is the Atlantic Ocean. To the right I hear memories being created and to the left of me I hear the calm breaking of waves and seagulls. In the midst of this vacation and respite my heart still is drawn to the brokenness of others. Not just to the women and children of ACCESS but to the brokenness of people everywhere. I look at the homes that surround our cabin and realize that each person that is vacationing here has a story. Each has a story that is probably mixed with trials and treasures. Each has a story that is not always happy and carefree. Each has their own story of brokenness. It is a common thread that unites us. There needs to be another commonality to our stories. That would be hope. Not the hope that the world provides but the hope that only Christ provides.

Our views change physically but need to remain constant spiritually.

What and where is your view today?

Six months ago I sat in church waiting to take communion. The pastor introduced the bread and the wine, explaining their significance and the importance of this most holy sacrament. I ate the bread, I drank the juice and was about to dispose of my cup until something stopped me. It was weird, it was unexplainable at the time…so I just threw the cup in my purse. Days later I was searching for something in my purse when I heard a strange rattle. It was my communion cup! I held the cup in my hand and just stared at this tiny little clear vessel. The Lord spoke to me at that moment. Now I knew why I couldn’t throw this cup away! The cup needed to be an important reminder to me.

I spend Monday through Friday at ACCESS Homeless Shelter for women. Friday at 4:00 pm I clock out, turn off my office light and leave for home. My weekends are full of fun activities, family events and yes…church on Sunday and once a month…communion. As I walk out that door, 45 people are left inside. Women and children who will spend another weekend at a shelter. Women and children who may not have the same opportunity to enjoy activities, family events and church. Many of our women profess a faith in Jesus…but because of their situation…cannot attend a church. They don’t get a chance to experience the blessed experience of partaking in communion with other believers.

To me…this little cup represents one more month that our shelter needs to exist. Oh how I wish we didn’t. How I wish we could “go out of business.” How I wish the 45 could be sitting with me at church!

Each month, after I take communion, I place the cup in my purse. Unfortunately, as the picture shows, six months have gone by and our shelter still needs to exist. The rattle in my purse has become louder.’

I want the rattle to end! I want homelessness to end for these women and children. I want brokenness to stop for them. I mostly want you and I to look upon their brokenness and do something. Join me!

I returned to my office for awhile and then came back down to “peek” at the fellowship time. I could hardly see through the tears in my eyes. What I saw were seven women enjoying time together. What I saw were seven women laughing and sharing stories. I didn’t see four women from a church and three homeless women. I didn’t see four women who “had it all together” and three who were still trying. What I saw was the church being the church. What I saw was God’s love being shared without a Bible open. What I saw were lives being changed.

What I saw were women who made an amazing “effort” to reach the broken.

What I saw…was a beautiful thing!

They need for us to come to the realization that our lives are not our own. They need for us to realize that they are hurting and need someone to walk alongside them. They need someone who is willing say “Let me help you…let me walk this journey with you…let me give you what I am able…let me help you bridge the gap…let me be your friend. Notice I did not mention anything spiritual. I truly believe and have seen it play out that what they really need first is to see that you care. I am a huge advocate for relational evangelism.

I am so grateful for the reporter that took time to get to know Ted. I am so grateful that he did not let any judgments or prejudices overshadow his kindness. He simply noticed a person in need and stopped.

So simple…yet so unnatural for us today. I love my job. I love the people that I meet. I love that in the midst of a busy saturday I have the honor of taking a dear homeless woman to lunch for her birthday. I love the fact that she is excited and doesn’t care where we go. I love Jesus!