The Streets Don't Love You

I read an editorial this morning about the tragic deaths of young people on the streets of Rochester, New York. The shootings are seldom random. When the victim comes face-to-face with their known assailant, they see the hatred in their eyes. They see the gun pointed at them. They know they won’t survive. The streets are no longer safe. My son lives on Lake Avenue in Charlotte, and he has had police right outside his door. A man was beating a woman in his front yard. He bought a dog, built a fence, and put security lights outside his home. Although he has only been there a mere seven months, he is ready to move to the country and will rent his home.

Whenever I consider how dangerous the streets are in Rochester, I often think of the homeless. It is becoming more and more difficult for them to find a place to rest their cold and weary bodies for the night. The shelters are full and the police have closed off the one and only warm place to sleep for the night and that is the Civic Center parking garage. Soon they will be tearing down the underground subway, another place the homeless reside. They are building luxury apartments and the underground subway will be the parking garage for the apartments. A homeless dwelling for a luxury apartment, it seems ironic, doesn’t it? It is sad but true.

In Fort Lauderdale, Florida, two pastors and an elderly gentleman in his nineties were arrested for feeding the homeless. Their crime was going against a new ordinance that prohibited the feeding of the homeless on the streets. It needs to be in a building. Fort Lauderdale is a tourist community and is home to many affluent people. They want to rid their streets of the homeless because of the almighty dollar. Another sad scenario of what some consider important.

Matthew 25:45 says, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.” When we turn our back on the homeless, we are turning our back on Jesus. A few days ago, I came across a scrounger outside of Starbucks. Scroungers, according to Lars Eighner, author of “My Daily Dumpster Dives” are people in search of cans for money. I have seen this man before when I used to pick up baked goods from Starbucks to feed the homeless with Streets for Christ. I gave him a bag of bagels once or twice. When I saw him a few days ago, I asked him if he would like a cup of coffee and something to eat. He whispered, “Yes, please.” So I went inside and bought him a Grande Salted Caramel Mocha Latte and a sweet roll. When I came out and gave it to him I said, “God bless you.” The look in his eyes was pure gratefulness and he said, “God bless you too.”

Sometimes I have come across people on the streets who are simply out for the money and I can usually tell the difference. When I was in New Orleans, I heard a long sob story from this guy about how he lost his daughter in Hurricane Katrina and he didn’t have a home. I knew he was lying, but God told me to give him twenty dollars. I heard him laughing later about how gullible I was. I walked up to him and said, “I didn’t give you money because of your sob story. I gave you money because God told me to. He wants you to know he loves you and cares for you. This was his gift to you, not mine.” I wish you could have seen the look on his face. He stood in utter humility before me. I could see his remorse. He was hearing the voice of God through me. I wasn’t special that day, but God spoke to him through His vessel. Our God is special in that he cares about those who are liars and cheaters. Most of all he cares about the homeless who are out on the streets.

The streets may not love you, but God does. He uses Streets for Christ, The House of Mercy, Open Door Mission and countless individuals who care about the homeless to minister to them, to feed them, to clothe them, and to love them. This holiday season consider donating to an organization that feeds the homeless in your area. This semester my ENG 101 classes are donating food and clothing to the homeless in our area. They are also giving of their time as well. It excites me to see the power of God at work. Let him work through you as well this holiday season and all year. You will be blessed when you bless others who are in need. Thank you!

Because It's My Name

Last night I went to the Cycles for Christ Thanksgiving Dinner where many motorcycle clubs/gangs were represented. I ate dinner with The Hells Angels, The Brotherhood, Hostile Hordes, The Bastards, and several Christian motorcycle organizations. I was intrigued by the names on their leather vests, names such as Zonk, Ghost, Ratchet and Slider. One young man was labeled “Prospect” because he was waiting to become a full-fledged member. These men cherish their nicknames, or road names, which are usually given after some kind of inciting incident happened defining who they are as club members. Their patches, street names and club insignias are also representative of who they are as club/gang members and they wear them with pride as well. Last night’s experience had me thinking about our given names, but also the reputation we try to uphold when it comes to our names. In other words, we don’t want our names tarnished by our deeds.

I put great thought into naming my children. I wanted them to be a genuine representation of the names they were given. Melinda means “gentle.” Her middle name “Grace” was given as they were wheeling me back to my room after her delivery. I knew it was by God’s grace that I had her at seventeen, especially since it was without much difficulty. Bethany means “House of God.” I had wandered far from God before I conceived her. I also did not believe I would have any children after Melinda. It had been nine years with two miscarriages. When I became pregnant with her, I knew she was God’s gift, and knowing she was growing inside me brought me back to God. Brandon means “Beacon Light.” He has lived out his name over and over again with the adversity he has faced, so much so that one of his close friends wrote his college essay about how Brandon had been an inspiration to him in his life. Finally, Geoffrey means “Reconciliation.” My husband chose his name late one night. I knew his name was God given. Geoffrey’s presence became a restoration of all the promises of God, especially to never leave me nor forsake me and to give me a hope and a future.

Like the motorcycle club/gang members value their earned names, we often hold fast to our reputations as well. I am a people pleaser. I admit it. But I haven’t always been that way. I used to let things roll off my shoulders, and I didn’t care what people thought of me. I lived my life as an open book. I didn’t try and hide my sin. It was out in the open for everyone to see. God didn’t shout it from the rooftops. I did. Why? I didn’t want to be a hypocrite. I didn’t want to act one way in church and live completely opposite out in the marketplace or in my home. It took a long time for me to care about my reputation, my name.

So now I am a people pleaser. I do too much because I don’t want anyone’s anger rising up against me. I don’t know how to say “no” when I have so much on my plate already. I keep silent so as to not rustle any feathers. “Peace at any price,” at times, is my motto. I am thinking about going back to the way I was before, but not in the area of sin. I want to be a rebel with a cause. I want my name to represent someone who was not afraid to do what was right even it was not a conventional approach. I want to shake up the world.

But what concerns me is the man who cares more about his name than any other relationship or ministry in his life. It reminds me of John Proctor’s words when he was about to be hanged for being involved in witchcraft, and his name was going to be nailed to the door of the church. He begged them not to do it. He cried, “Because it is my name. Because I cannot have another in my life…How may I live without my name? I have given you my soul; leave me my name.” Doesn’t that say it all for some people today? They care more about their reputation than anything else. Even though they walk in sin, they don’t care about the relationships they are destroying. No, they care about their name. It is the single most important thing in their life. I say care about your walk with God. He is the one who gave you breath and the reason you have a name. He gave you a ministry and a family. He surrounded you with people who care about you and look up to you. Your reputation will be built when you put God first in your life, your loved ones next, and everything else last.

One thing I can say about the motorcycle club/gang members who were at the dinner last night is yes, they care about their name. But they also care about the people within their circle of influence. When my ex-husband was in a serious motorcycle accident, his club members paid for Melinda to come and see him. They paid for the owner’s fence to be replaced that he went through because of a pothole in the road. They put on dinners for ALL motorcycle groups regardless of their reputation. They live up to their names.

The bottom line is: do not hide behind a reputation that means very little if you do not live a life of integrity. God knows each of our names and they will be called before the judgment seat of God one day. Let your name count for righteousness.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes!

This past Sunday at church, I heard a very sobering message on Hell. I know. Why is my pastor taking the hell, fire, and brimstone journey on the pulpit? The answer: we serve a just and holy God. A few things he preached on made me step back and take a long, hard look at my life. I have salvation by grace, but the Fruits of the Spirit should be evidence that my roots are not rotten. I have to question whether I have really changed because of God’s grace and mercy toward me or am I just playing the role of being a Christian. There are a couple of issues in my life that are on the forefront of my mind as I think about this idea of being truly changed.

First of all, for many years I was the fire insurance policy Christian. I didn’t want to go to Hell, so I would straighten out and resume my walk with God only to fall again. Insurance policies are the devil’s ploy, not God’s. What was happening was I was singed, had smoke inhalation, and at times was burned while trying to figure out this whole avoiding Hell problem. I lived with so much guilt and condemnation that I could barely keep my head held high when I walked into the church. I was so loaded down with my sins and failures that I couldn’t see or even begin the fathom the mercy of God. I could not accept the notion that by grace I am saved. Nor could I understand that all of my efforts were in vain. I could not claw my way to the Kingdom of God.

Secondly, I am a bipolar Christian. That doesn’t mean I am a case of whiplash in my faith where I jump back and forth, even though it is sometimes true. I have bipolar disorder, and it is difficult for me to gauge my walk with God because of my many mood swings. When I was younger, the manic state and anxiety was the cause of so much sin in my life. Now the depression over the sins of the past and the mistakes of today makes me feel so unworthy to even stand before God at judgment day. I have a hard time seeing I am truly changed. Please know I recognize that my bipolar disorder is not an excuse for my sin nor is it a reason for me to wallow in self-pity over my past failures.

So after my pastor’s sobering sermon, I had to look at my life and see how I had changed. I had to examine my roots to make sure they weren’t rotting beneath the surface where no one could see. And if you believe that line, it is a lie. When the roots are rotten, the fruit is too. So I looked at the fruits in my life. There are a few. But the things I have done to hurt myself and others are more plentiful. Those baskets are full. But I learned something from my serious introspection. I have covered my face with ashes, as if in mourning, over my sin for far too long. It is time to wash off the grief of the past and move on. Job 11:16 says, “You will forget your trouble and remember it as waters gone by.” I was a woman disgraced, but those waters have passed and the sin is forgotten. Not in a boastful way, but I did an inventory and saw that there were areas of my life where I had changed. Even though bipolar, I could see the calming of the seas of turmoil, the rampant rage of mania diminishing, and the peaceful rivers of grace taking over my life. Sometimes I touch the lives of my students in ways that are transforming. I have mercy where others judge. I am changed.

Yesterday, I stepped out in faith and proved I changed by letting go of some things that were a stumbling block in my life, rocks of offence. When I did, God showed me in his deepest love, which by the way made me giggle as I was driving down the road to work, that I am not the person I was because I am stronger. My strength lies in the arms of God. For when I am weak, I am strong in him. Psalm 91 has seen me through many storms: ovarian cancer, my son’s drug addiction, and my bipolar disorder. It holds truths that no man can take away from me.

“He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honor him” (Psalm 91:15).

Be changed today!

On Parade

Every summer when my children were young, we went to the Webster Fireman's Parade. We arrived early for a front row seat and spread our blanket on the curb. Eating sandwiches we packed or food from a local vendor was part of our tradition. My children loved the screaming firetrucks, especially when the fireman threw candy into their eager hands. I personally loved the majorettes who wore their colorful costumes and danced their way through the streets while twirling their batons with uncanny precision. Even for a grown woman like myself, the spectacle was captivating.

Recently my life went on parade, and I am the spectator on the curb watching each and every event whether good or bad march before me. Sometimes the mistakes scream like firetruck sirens through the montage of my memories. Other times the sweet candy of desire is thrown at me trying to entice me into what I choose to reject. The dancing majorettes are people who were party to my indiscretions. They are waving at me as if to say, "Do you remember?" The problem is I do. I remember with regret.


When the parade first begins I am intrigued, but isn't that how we are lured into the enticing trappings of sin. When I open my eyes and see the parade for what it truly is I am paralyzed, not by fear but by the recognition that I once marched in the parade. I was the majorette trying to grab the attention of a wayward soul. This past week I was promoting a new class in Creative Nonfiction. I went to six classes and shared a piece I published about an event from over 25 years ago. Every time I read, I became more and more uneasy in my spirit until the last day. On that day, the professor in the classroom said, "I like the angle you took because I can see you were not the victim but rather a strong woman who endured a terrible moment." I left the publication on my dining room table and my daughter read it. She sent me a text about how amazed she was that I could handle such a situation. They were both right. The grace of God gave me strength to make it through one of most difficult experiences I ever had to endure.


The parade isn't just a sinful past. It is memories of harder times, times when I was fighting against cancer. This past week a woman died who I met last year at the Wendi Logan Breast Clinic. She had ovarian cancer and opted to have her breasts removed as well. She was so healthy when I saw her last. When I went to the clinic last week, I was going to inquire about her but I forgot. I saw her death notice on Sunday and was floored. She was so vibrant and beautiful and now she was gone like a vapor in the wind. Of course, my survivor's guilt kicked in again. Why did I live? What did I have to offer? These are questions that always come to mind when I lose someone to cancer. They are questions I may never have an answer to in this lifetime.


This morning I realized that when the parades start in my life or I start questioning my mortality, I tend to bring out the big guns in an attempt to fight the battle on my own. I don't need to. What I need to do is rest in the arms of God. I need to let God fight my battles for me. I need to stop trying to arm myself with worldly defenses and let God be my defense. I can't win the battle on my own. I am clueless about warfare. When I have a tremendous General willing to defend me against the enemy, one who did it at the cost of his very own life, I should let him take his rightful place. I can let MY defenses down because "when the enemy comes in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord will lift up a standard against him and put him to flight" (Isaiah 59:19). I can fly higher without the big guns. In fact, I can soar.


Now on a good note. My parade often reminds me of the good things in my life. I have a husband who has loved me unconditionally for over 30 years. He has been my rock. I have children who are now grown and having babies of their own. In one year, I have been blessed with three more grandchildren, two were born within the past three months. I watched Harrison come into the world on October 6, and it is a memory I will cherish forever. I have created a beautiful family,and I will never do anything to dismantle this precious gift given to me. When I see this parade, I stand with pride. For all I have lost is but a pittance in comparison to all I have gained. So let the sirens blow for this spectacle because it is worth celebrating. I am truly blessed.

There But For the Grace of God, Go I.

I have the gift of mercy. Whether it comes from having my face in the miry clay of sin most of life or because it is a God-given gift, the fact remains, I extend mercy to those whom many believe are undeserving of it. A friend recently left his wife because of an affair. It was heartbreaking news because, by all appearances, he had the quintessential marriage. In some ways, I was jealous of what they had because they shared so many common interests. My husband and I are polar opposites, but maybe there is some level of truth to the old cliché: “Opposites attract.” I felt his wife’s pain. I felt her loss. But I also understood the internal conflict and guilt he was feeling because I had been in his shoes. What did Atticus Finch say in To Kill a Mockingbird? "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb into his skin and walk around in it." I equate it with going through cancer. No one understands what it feels like when chemotherapy hits your veins throwing you into a wall of internal chaos. No one can even fathom what it is like to throw up every time you try to eat or what it is like to see your hair on your pillow every morning. No one understands what it is like to screw up your marriage because of bad choices unless they have been through it themselves.

So I reached out my hand in encouragement to my friend, and he reached back with his feelings of guilt. I knew his heart. Is there a problem? Yes. I am often judged for showing empathy, compassion, and mercy to someone who, by the world’s standards, has screwed up their life. Therein lies the problem. When did we take God’s place and become judge and jury? Doesn’t the Bible say, “Judge not, lest ye be judged.”

Showing mercy, for me, goes far beyond identifying with someone. Currently, I am doing

a Social Justice: Homelessness and Poverty theme in my ENG 101 class. I want my students to reach beyond their inner circles and into their community. I never knew when I started this journey that I would find so many students who have experienced homelessness and poverty and would be willing to share their stories with me. My heart soared but, at the same time, I felt such deep empathy for their experiences.

I have been out with the organization Streets for Christ. The leader, Ryan Ballard, wants “the power of the Gospel of Jesus Christ [to] transform the lives of the homeless and encourage them towards a new direction.” His faithful warriors, who go out on the street every Friday night, strive to show unconditional love toward everyone they encounter. When I went I found it to be a powerful experience. Extending mercy changed my life, and I knew the old saying was true: “There but for the grace of God, go I.”

Recently, Sister Grace Miller, from The House of Mercy, was arrested for protesting the homeless being locked out of the Civic Center Garage, one of the only warm places in Rochester for the homeless to sleep. There are not enough shelters for the homeless population, so where are they supposed to go? "We're willing to risk arrest for the homeless that the county does not care about,” Grace Miller told the media. Sister Grace is the epitome of the gift of mercy. She was willing to go to jail for her desire to keep the homeless warm, for understanding their plight, and for meeting their needs. She is my role model for extending the mercy of God.

Having empathy, showing mercy, and being a compassionate person should be part of the human condition. Unfortunately, it is not. Many people would rather judge harshly than show mercy. My challenge to everyone reading this blog is whenever you encounter an injustice, a mistake someone has made, or anything you find offensive, put yourself in their shoes. Think before you speak. Listen to their heart. Extend your hand of mercy rather than pull it away in judgment. Two words come to mind: Unconditional Love. Also, remember these words: “There but for the Grace of God, go I.”

July 10th, 2014

I intended to write about something said in an email message to me recently: “Stop striving and start living.” Today, I had a different thought because I was struggling yesterday with the assumption that God is not in the business of answering prayers anymore. This past year I have prayed diligently for people who have died or have had a recurrence of cancer. It is disheartening, but I had an epiphany today.

We have been waiting for the arrival of my newest grandson, Teddy. Yesterday, Heather’s blood pressure was high, so she was sent to triage where they monitored it. They were concerned about preeclampsia. I prayed! I put her on the prayer chain. I prayed some more. Three hours later, she was sent home because her blood pressure went down. I knew it was an answer to prayer. I knew it was a little nudge in my spirit saying, “I am listening Kathy.”

In my devotions this morning, I read, “Silence takes the emphasis off words and builds intimacy where they’re no longer necessary.” I realized that “stop striving and start living” and this quote are in the same vein. They speak of trust. Sometimes we long to hear the words and to have the answers to the prayers of our heart, but we need to step back and just breathe. When we strive, we fail to hear the still small voice that tells us that HE has everything under control. I am a control freak, so it isn’t easy for me to just live and let God do the work he has planned in each of the situations I am praying about. But when I trust, it builds intimacy.

Recently, I spoke of my “radio silence.” Sometimes there is either “radio silence” with God or I am on the wrong frequency. But if I just trust that everything will work out as he planned it, my intimacy grows with the lover of my soul. When I trust, I grow! When I grow, I trust. It is really very simple. So, I guess it is time to stop striving and start living. It’s time to trust those moments of silence knowing it is all part of building intimacy.