i have not written on this blog for a while, for one fairly decent reason which i have been chewing on for a good long while:
there are seasons when this ministry is hard and taxing work, when opportunities to bring a cup of coffee to someone who's clearly had a bad night and has slept on the boiler room stoop, or to kick someone who's drinking off said stoop, when those opportunities start and end the day and fill much of the hours between. we lived that season for four years, more or less.
then we moved to second street. not to escape all of that, but because we were needing to get out of a too-small apartment and this sweet house was available and so it felt like a gift to us, a move-in, settle-down kind of gift. and it is.
except.
we have met - -and fed -- a total of one homeless person in the months we've lived here. we used to have guys living on our porch, in our garage when we were away; they were everywhere. seriously. and so incidental hellos and plates of food and truth were dished out frequently, which made me feel like i had my finger on the pulse of something. which may or may not be true, but i felt like i did anyway.
and now i don't.
and this is why:
there is not a liquor store at the end of our street.
there's just an on-ramp, and who needs that when you've gone completely off the rails?
which leads me to why i haven't written on this blog: because the work of the boiler room used to revolve so much around our ministry to addicts. if you've read the first year, that's nearly all of what we did.
with spectacular failure, and heart-breaking success, i might add.
and now it isn't.
we have a church and are dreaming about a school (!) and planning a wedding (!) and holding a baby (!) and loving house church and helping people move into this neighborhood to live missionally. and the truth is, the work of the boiler room has stretched and deepened, both. it stretches from davis to bridge and covers a lot of the area between. and it goes deeper than plates of food. the truth is, we're realizing that loving our friends who are addicts sometimes means not waiting for them on the porch anymore, but watching through windows and from behind closed doors, praying they turn tail and return home, promising them that when they do, we'll fling wide open the door and welcome them.
and the truth is, my role in all that has become less. danmike (not his real name) and brooke and tim and the abbot are on the front lines; i'm the one back at base camp tending the fire and the children and dreaming and wondering and questioning and planning over coffee or wine with this fine team now and again. because this work, this raising the children, discipling the women, this is the work God has put in front of me, and God help me I want to do it with grace and a thankful heart.
and while this blog is not about me -- though you wouldn't know that from reading this post -- i have been reluctant to write about the boiler room because it's hard to give daily reports on a pulse i haven't felt. which makes me feel like i'm not really doing sbr ministry and have no business acting like i do.
so i don't.
which doesn't mean life isn't humming along on 5th street and beyond, because it is.
yesterday at love feast jeffry showed me a rock which looked like a different animal -- a dog, a porpoise, an eel -- depending on the angle at which you looked. i am not making this up. here, a dog. turn it over and it is clearly a porpoise.
which made me think this blog needs to be turned over and maybe around. from this side, it reports. turn it over, squint your eyes, and you see something entirely new. something that's been face-down to the dirt all this time.
so i'm squinting and still trying to figure out what this side of it looks like. because it's more complicated now than the early days when i must have walked between our house and the sbr a dozen times a day. when the only ministering in the neighborhood happened at either our house or the boiler room. more complicated now that this good work is spread out among ten -- soon to be eleven -- housefuls of people with their distinct yet intersecting circles of ministry. and harder to report on all that is happening when my own circle doesn't seem to extend beyond my living room many days.
which is why i'm thankful to jeffry for looking long enough at the rocks in the alley, and for patiently sitting with me until i also saw the porpoise. and the dog. never quite saw the eel, even though i sort of told him i did.
and thankful for you, still patiently reading, still praying.
::jenn::
p.s. our
4th annual stockbridge boiler room independence day pancake breakfast and parade
will commence at 10a. monday morning. there will be a band. a pick-up truck. lots of longboards. candy. streamers. and sausage links. why would you want to be anywhere else?
