Finding Community, Finding Home, part 2

Finding Community, Finding Home, part 2

Community in Chicago at Jesus People USA did not immediately feel like home and it took a while for me to think that they “got” who I was. There were a lot of misunderstandings along the way.

One of my first jobs was making sammies. Our work crews that went out during the day (comprised entirely of men) required packed lunches. I was on a crew that made sandwiches, slapping peanut butter and jelly between two pieces of bread. Not the most nutritious lunch for those doing hard manual work all day outside, but it’s what we had. The addition of chips and homemade cookies if you were lucky. A piece of fresh fruit was considered a luxury.

I then got moved onto a kitchen crew where we literally worked ALL DAY, from 4 a.m. getting breakfast out first for the workers, then for moms and kids going to school. If you were late, then nothing. The day finished around 7 pm after cleaning up.

At first none of these jobs were me; I could identify with hardly anyone in the community. But I might not have been giving it a chance. When you come with the notion that it is “seasonal” work, you tend not to get too close or latch on in any meaningful way.

In fact, if I were being honest, the place was the opposite of what I wanted. I loved being outdoors and here I was trapped in the city, with dirty windows and trash blowing everywhere and making mini-tornadoes at sidewalk intersections. I grew up upper-middleclass and at the mission every day I was exposed to homeless folks, street drugs, gang violence, arson fires, teenagers huffing tally, and even dead people. None of this felt like home.

Yet, all the rough-around-the-edges vibe satisfied my sense of mission. This is exactly what I expected: to do good works, to try and help, make the world a better place, show the love of Christ. I learned to see beauty in small surprising places—much like a story Marie James told me in her memoir Orphan Girl that I helped give voice to.

When I was interviewing Marie for her book she told a story of being trapped in a mental institution. Now, she did have mental illness, but was not receiving treatment being locked up. Every day she woke up to the internal pain and the painful truth that she was shut up, forced into an asylum. She suffered in her soul and spirit. One of her favorite things growing up in an abusive household where she was treated less than as a foster child, was trees; the big welcoming branches where she could sit, orchard trees that offered food when there was little to be had, and comforting shade. Trees always reminded her of life, of hope. But, hidden away in the mental hospital she feared she’d never see another green thing again. On top of this it was winter. There was very little she could look forward to. She had come to her wit’s end and contemplated suicide staring out her room window. The night before there had been an ice storm, when suddenly the sun came out and shone through the tiny twigs, a green bud, encapsulated in snow globe ice. It was like a message from heaven to hang on, that this was not the end, that there was hope if she just kept looking and believing. The world was a glorious place full of glowing crystal trees.

I eventually found connection in the community: Julie, Hilde, Sandy, Marsha, Sarah, Jeanne, Karen, Dawn. Yes, things could get crazy—but even that energy fed me. I never knew what was going to happen next, except it usually involved a good story and a late-night trip to Cook County Hospital or car ride to go rescue someone.

More than anything—I felt accepted, I felt love, there was mercy and grace.

NEXT POST—A Personal Calling, or Vocation