A couple weeks ago I happened across a journal from DTS while scavenging through a box in search of something I never found. I forgot what I was looking for as I started reading over the entries and playing the memories over in my head. Some made me laugh as I remembered escapades with friends through the wild city of San Francisco. Others gave me goosebumps as I looked back on things God did to transform me during the school. Then there was this one story. I’d almost forgotten about it, and the sad thing is I’d promised I wouldn’t forget-promised myself and promised Vanessa.
One Wednesday night, a group of us from Youth With A Mission went to the Mission district. By day the Mission is a colorful and vibrant neighborhood bursting with Latin flavor and covered in fantastic murals. There are cozy cafes, unique boutiques and some of the best food in the whole city. By night the scene changes. We headed for Capp Street, an area known for prostitution in a city poisoned by the sex industry from its very beginnings. Our goal was to share the love of God with women working the streets and let them know that there are people who care for them and value them.
As we made our way down Capp street we began to realize that we were too early. We weren’t seeing any women and it was a chilly night. We split into two groups to cover more ground. Rachel, Danielle and I headed around a corner while the others went the opposite way. We walked in circles for a while, not seeing anyone but the odd passerby.Just as I was beginning to think that this night was for prayer walking, we saw someone struggling on the sidewalk. It was a woman whose shopping cart had tipped over and was struggling to pick up all of her belongings which were now completely scattered across the sidewalk. As we approached we saw her bare feet stumbling over broken alcohol bottles and her hand was clutching a crack pipe as if her life depended on it. Her only clothing was a camisole and a pair of ill-fitting jeans she couldn’t zip. She leaned against a SUV and tried to pull herself together. Tried to hide the pipe, to stay vertical, to avoid eye contact. Tried to act like everything was alright.
Rachel was the first to approach her. Not wanting to crowd, Danielle and I stayed a few steps behind and prayed. She told us her name was Vanessa and she couldn’t have been more than forty. She had a son, whom she missed terribly, who was about to turn seventeen. Her husband had been murdered on these very streets a year before and ever since she had been displaced onto these streets herself. In exchange for food and a roof over head she slept with men she didn’t know who beat her up. To medicate her soul she took any drug or drink she could get her hand on. To feed her addictions she did things she had sworn to herself she would never do.
As this woman poured out her heart to us, my own heart was breaking on her behalf. Her life had been full of loss, pain and betrayal. She was grieving-not only the loss of the love of her life, but the loss of her identity. So much of her had been taken,broken, and beat down that she hardly knew herself anymore. Yet in her eyes, behind the tears, there was a glimmer of the woman who used to be and she was screaming to be rescued.
I wanted so badly to help her, to give her something. I began to reach for my shoes-aware of all of the broken glass that could cut her feet. But just as I did, I felt God speaking to me. “Your shoes are worn down and slippery.” (In fact, I had fallen down several times while wearing those shoes because the soles were very worn.)”They won’t do her any good. Stand up!” I was taken by surprise; it seemed very strange to me that God would tell me not to give someone a pair of shoes. Then I heard the Holy Spirit again,”STAND UP!”
Suddenly, I realized how vulnerable our position was. We were on a deserted street and because we were all low to the ground could easily have been surprised and overpowered. As I was realizing this I looked to my right only to see a man a little ways down the street making symbols with his hands. I looked across the street and to the left and noticed a group of guys to whom he appeared to be signaling. They were all dressed entirely in black. My heart sank as I noticed he was pointing at us. While listening to Vanessa I had forgotten where we were.
As I stood, I prayed that God would protect us and send them away. The more I prayed, the more bold I got. I made eye contact with the guy on my right. It was maybe a second, but his face is burned in my memory. He looked at me, then looked at the guys across the street, then back at me. He turned and walked away. The others turned a corner and disappeared. To say I was relieved would be a massive understatement. I was now solely focused on intercession and keeping a look out.
While I prayed, I managed to pick up a few of Vanessa’s arbitrary belongings. A few mismatch buttons here, a paperback novel there, and a pretty glass plate with a winter scene etched into it. Rachael took off her sweater and helped the shivering woman put it on. Next she gave her the orange wool scarf she’d been wearing and put it around her neck. Vanessa began to weep and fell to her knees saying, “There is a God! I know there is a God! I’m done living like this!”
We prayed for her as she cried out to God. She suddenly seemed to be thinking a lot more clearly than she had all night. She was truly hungry for God. She was desperate for healing, normalcy, peace and security. She longed to feel unconditionally loved and accepted. At that moment, I think she did. We prepared to leave and each gave Vanessa a hug as we put the last of her belongings in the shopping cart. Danielle took off her flip flops, knelt down and slid them on her feet.
Once again, Vanessa was completely overwhelmed. She began to fall and I caught her. Now I was sort of half holding/half hugging her as she sobbed. I think that she was so overwhelmed that she didn’t know how to react. To be honest, neither did I. Once she regained composure, she reached into her shopping cart and pulled out the glass plate. It was, by far, her most prized and valuable possession. She wrapped it up in some paper the best she could and handed it to Rachel saying,”Don’t forget me.” Abandoning her shopping cart, she then walked us back to the BART station.(Danielle got a piggy back ride from Rachel who is even stronger than she looks.)When we met up with the other girls, Vanessa quickly bowed out.
I’m not sure I can explain the rush of emotions that followed immediately after such a peculiar night. But when I look back at this I can see God’s fingerprints all over it. Not only did He guard us and keep us safe; He introduced us to Vanessa and allowed us to be a part of her life and love her right there in the middle of broken glass on Capp street. There is a lot I don’t know about Vanessa. In fact, I haven’t seen her since that night. But one thing I do know is this: Vanessa is loved.
