Meet Dennis

I'd like to introduce you to someone who broke my heart today.

I won't tell you his real name; I don't know it. 

Meet Dennis.

Pastor John is talking about Jesus. There's this man sitting beside me; this man who I've met several times, this man who never remembers my name. 

John says something about the way he used to be, and the way he is now. He's speaking truth, he's opening his heart, and he's sharing Jesus. 

This man sits beside me, and all I hear coming from his mouth is, "I hate Jesus Christ."

Pastor John chose tonight to be a night with time for volunteers to share their personal stories with a homeless friend, pushing them out of their shells, and into honest conversations that lead to restoration in the lives of these precious people (homed or not). 

Did he just say what I think? He hates Jesus? Hates. Really?

John calls all the volunteers to stand so they can find folks to talk with, and I look to make sure everyone gets connected with someone, and the only person left is this man who hates Jesus. 

I'm the only volunteer left.

Here goes.

Raped at age eight by an uncle, he's fathered more than ten children. 

He shot his own brother in both of his knees so he couldn't walk, as he and six friends beat him to death. 

He's spent more than ten years in jail, for different crimes. 

He is only 34 years old.

He has scars to prove the stories he tells. Chunks of skin are missing from his back, some that have been grafted to the back of his skull because he was beaten by police officers during an arrest in Las Vegas for selling heroine. 

I asked him what the hardest thing in his life is. 

He told me, without hesitation, it's his addiction to heroine. 

Dennis told me that Dennis isn't his real name.

He hates his real name. 

He hates it because he's named after this gang leader uncle of his.

Dennis' uncle (not the one who abused him as a child, but another of his) was a huge leader in the 'Crips' gang. Dennis learned the way of the streets when he was very young. 

He hates.

Oh, the hate radiates from his words, from his eyes, from his heart. 

Oh, how he needs love.

He talked to me about his addictions, and I told him what it is to be free.

He said I know nothing of drugs or addiction.

"How old are you?"

"Dennis, I'm 21."

I think this may be the twentieth time I've told him that.

He couldn't tell you my name, but he now knows my story.

I told him about the dark shadows in my past, and the holes left in my heart by them.

Then I told him about the freedom I have now.

Freedom.

I told him I have freedom.

And I do. 

Dennis' son was murdered. He was shot, and the man who killed him is being released from jail soon. Dennis anxiously awaits his release, so as to get revenge.

I listened to Dennis share his story for so long tonight, just pouring out this ache inside him.

Oh, how he wants to be known. He aches to be loved, to be free, and you can see it.

It's almost tangible how much he needs community, how much he needs Redemption & Truth. 

I asked Dennis why he murdered his brother.

Silence.

"Dennis?"

He nods. 

"I don't know... But I know I'd do it again." 

Reaching in his pocket, he says,

"Would you like to see what my brother looks like?" 

"Yes, Dennis, very much." 

I look down at the ground, with every ounce of strength I have I try to keep tears from escaping my eyes.

"Look at me," he says, "he was my twin. He looked just like me."

Oh, Dennis.

Can I reach out to you? Will you hear my heart? Can your heart still hear?

I know there's hope.

"Will you tell me their names?" He asks.

"Whose names?" I respond. 
"The men who did that to you, I want to kill them." 

Oh, Lord. Tell me what to say.

"Dennis, I've forgiven them. It's hard. It's so hard. I hated them. Dennis, I killed them a dozen times in my heart. I saw it in my mind, and I did it, over and over. Do you know who that hurt? Do you know who that burdened? Me. It didn't affect them at all. Grace, Dennis. It's set me free. I forgave them." 
"They don't deserve to be forgiven. I want to know their names." 

Dennis says, raising his voice.

"No, Dennis, they don't. Not at all. But neither do I. I don't deserve to be forgiven for the awful things I've done, but whether I deserve it or not... In fact, whether I accept it or not, I've already been forgiven." 

"I don't deserve it." He says, matter-of-factly.

"Nope. But again, you already have been." 

"I'd kill him again... What's your name again?"

"Lee Anne."

"I'd kill him again, Lee Anne, in a heartbeat. I don't deserve to be forgiven, and I won't be. I'll burn in hell just like my mother said I would."

Silence.

"I love you, Dennis."

"You don't know me."

"I don't need to. I love you because.."

"Because why? Because of Jesus?"

I nod. 

"I hate Jesus."

After nearly an hour of conversation like this, diving into the both of our stories, and my desperate attempts to share with him the way that grace has been poured into my life and what that's done to cause me to have grace with people in my life... After a dozen or more interruptions asking about blankets, breakfasts, the Homeless Challenge, bus passes, etc... 

Dennis asked me my name again, hugged my neck, and said goodnight.

Not for the Faint of Heart

A story that I wrote in October 2008.

"Ice"

A ridiculous rap song plays just loud enough to keep me from being able to think at all. I flip the visor down and check my reflection once more. My eyes aren’t too bloodshot. I’m sure no one would notice anyway, they will probably all have bloodshot eyes themselves. My boyfriend, Tucker, turns up the music to be certain his system is heard as his car approaches our destination for the evening – James’ party. James’ parents are out of town, of course. In their absence, James has turned their huge house into the only place to be.

We step out of the car and the chill of the evening takes me by surprise. Taking notice of my shiver, Tucker offers me his oversized sweatshirt. I pull it over my head with a big smile and shove my hands deep in the front pocket. I’m already buzzing from the few hits I had of the joint before we left his house. I probably won’t smoke anymore tonight.

Someone said they’d have other drugs at this party. I hope that’s not true. No, it can’t be. Tuck wouldn’t bring me anywhere like that, right?

My thoughts are interrupted by a drunk guy, offering me a drink, and I wonder if he even knows my name. Girls I’ve never met scream in delight as I walk in the room and they rush to hug me, ‘Oh my god, how are you?’ asks one. ‘I had no idea you were going to be here!’ says another.

“That’s James,” another girl says, whispering in my ear and pointing to the drunk guy, “if you don’t let him get you a drink, I will. He’s loaded. Look at this house. Not to mention, he is so hot. Jump on that.” The other two chime in, “he’s so hot, seriously.”

Smiling in his direction, I agree to accept a drink and he brings back something so fruity I can’t even taste alcohol.

I’m fresh out of a very conservative Christian school – about 3 months now – I know nothing of drugs or booze except for the few encounters with weed I’ve had in the past couple of weeks. I don’t know that ecstasy is the reason for the girl infatuated with playing with my hair, and other girls with glow sticks in the kitchen. I don’t know not to accept a cup that someone else made me. I don’t know much about any of this scene, really.

I’m bored with this room, these giggly girls, and intrusive guys. I should find Tucker. I think someone said he was outside for a smoke. Sure enough, through the sliding glass door, I see his back and then I see smoke creep slowly from his silhouette.

I open the door and grin, “Tuck, Aren’t ya cold?”

As he turns around, I expect to see a cigarette in his hands, a joint, or maybe even a bong. I’m taken aback when he does turn at the revelation of what he is holding: a light bulb in one hand, and a lighter in the other.

What is that? Can I even ask what it is? They will all think I’m so stupid. They probably already think I’m already lame. I am the youngest one here, after all. Well, I’m not doing it, whatever it is.

“Umm, Tucker, can I please talk to you?” I ask, frantically trying to keep my cool.

“Sure, baby, let’s go inside,” He says, reassuringly, as he hands off the paraphernalia to one of several guys who haven’t taken their eyes off of it.

He knows what I’m going to ask. He has to know. He knows my innocence. His friends have already made fun of him because I won’t sleep with him. They call me prude. I don’t care.

“Look, it’s not a big deal we were just… ”

“Stop it. Spare me. What was that?!”

“It was ice. Seriously, babe, it’s not a big deal. Everyone does it.”

“I don’t do it, Tucker. Neither should you. What is ice, anyway?”

“Crystal meth.” He laughs. Then smiling at me, tries to recover “I love how you don’t know these things, it’s so cute.” He says, wrapping his arms around me.

“I’m starting to not feel well. I just want to go home, Tuck.”

“Ok, I’ll take you now. Let me just find my keys and cigarettes.”

“No. You’re not driving me anywhere… I just watched you smoke out of a light bulb. A light bulb. This shit is insane. I’ll stay put for a while. Thanks.” Sarcastic, angry, and bitter, I roll my eyes at him and leave the room in search of any familiar face.

My stomach hasn’t stopped tying itself in knots since I got here. But something else is starting to come over me. I’m so hot all of a sudden. My hands feel so cold and I touch them to my face in an attempt to test for a fever, but my face is so hot that it feels as if it’s burning my fingers. I feel like I’m on fire. Just as I near the stairs, I see James in a bedroom to my left. He’s alone. He sees me and calls for me.

“I don’t feel well. I’ve never been so hot in my life. I think I need to go home.”

“Here… Lie down in here and no one will bother you, I’ll go out and you can change and lie down. It’s my house, don’t worry. You’ll be fine, and in a few hours, or even in the morning, once there are some sober people around here you can get a ride home. Okay?”

I don’t care to respond to what he’s saying, I just start taking off the sweatshirt that was suffocating me. He quickly leaves and closes the door behind him. I want to shout thanks, but I’m too tired.

How am I so tired all of a sudden? It’s like I can’t even get my body to respond to what I’m telling it to do…

Before I can begin to think about even turning off the lights, I’m out.

When it feels as though I’ve just fallen asleep, I wake to an unfamiliar pain. I try to scream, but I can’t. I can’t speak at all.

The room is dark but for the faint light shining under the door, and all is silent but for the thoughts screaming in my head.

What is going on? Where am I? I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember? I have to get up. I’m so tired, though. What is that pain? Why can’t I move? Come on, leg, MOVE! Just make it to the door and you can find someone to help you. Tell you where you are, take you home. Something. Just get up.

Trying desperately to focus my eyes on anything in the room, I can make out that I’m in a bed. But whose? Where? Tucker. I was at Tucker’s. But wait… then we were in the car. Where did we go? What day is it? Is it morning? I’m in a bed. I’m not alone. I’m overwhelmed with a strange pain that I can’t explain. Oh, god. Make it stop.

Suddenly everything goes black and I can feel my breathing slow as I drift off to sleep again.

I wake as the morning sun fills the room in what I am convinced is an attempt to blind me. The light pours in through a window facing the bed. I stretch my arms and legs only to realize that my whole body is sore, and reality floods my mind and body the same way the morning sun fills this room now. Sitting up as quickly as I can, I see that I’m alone, and my clothes are on the floor next to the bed. I’m at James’ house. I can see Tucker’s car out the window. I’m glad he stayed. I’m certain he will take me home. I dress quickly and find my way to the main room where several people are passed out on couches and on the floor.

“Pssst, Tucker.” I whisper, trying not to wake anyone else. “Wake up, take me home. Please.”

Groaning, he stretches his arms, rubs his eyes, and reaches in his pocket to check for the keys.

“Please, Tuck, let’s go already.”

“God, give me a minute, wouldya?”

We walk in silence to the car, a silence that accompanies us all the way to my house. I’m still just trying desperately to sort out details in my mind.

What actually happened last night? Was I dreaming? But a dream that left me so sore? I remember waking up and knowing I was not alone. I felt someone else. I heard him, smelled him. It wasn’t Tucker. I know his smell. Not to mention, he’d never do that to me. And I’m pretty sure I screamed. I screamed, right? Shit. How could I get myself into this? What if…? Oh god. This can not be happening.

As things become more clear in my mind, my eyes fill with tears and Tucker takes my hand.

“What’s wrong? Is it because I smoked that stuff last night? I won’t do it anymore. I won’t do it ever again. I promise. Okay?”

“It’s not that, Tuck.”

“Then… Why are you so upset? Where did you go last night? I thought you’d left me alone at that party.”

“Unlock the doors, let me out. I just need to go home. I’ll call you later or something, okay?” I say, grabbing my phone and getting out of the car, not the least bit concerned with whether or not it’s actually okay.

“Would you just tell me what happened, please?”

There’s a concern in his voice that I’ve never heard before, as there should be. But I can’t talk about it now. I can’t even think about it. I just want to go home.

“Something just terrible, Tucker. Terrible.”

Free

Sometimes I forget that I just need to fall flat on my face.

Break completely before I can be fixed.

I've ached and begged, cried out in desperation. 
Nothing has worked. 

Maybe it hasn't worked now;

but it's never felt more real.

It's never seemed closer.

Thank you, Lord, for giving me strength.

Thank you, Precious King, for opening my eyes.

I'm beginning to feel free.

Free.

Free.

A word I've ached to use to describe me.

Soon. So soon.

Hello, goodbye.

Hello life,

Can I take a break today?

Just take this ache away.

Hello love,

I'm terrified of you.

I've never felt this way.

I'm terrified I'll never feel it again.

I'm more terrified that you'll never love me -

Love me the way I ache to be loved.

Hello me,

Maybe your fear isn't that no one will or could ever love you.

Maybe your fear is that no one will love the way you ache for them to.

Hello heart, 

Please stop aching so.

I beg you, just let go.

Hello reality,

Can't you leave me be? 

Let me live without misery.

Hello hope,

My distant friend.

Hello Life,

I hear, I know;

"Just let go."

I do not know how;

Just take it, now.

((LORD:))

Take this life when I don't have the strength to give it; 

When I don't know how to just let go. 

Africa takes the cake

Today, I dreamed of Africa.

I closed my eyes and remembered.

I felt the embrace of love and beauty; 

Saw their faces, heard their voices.

I breathed in the scent of simplicity.

I closed my eyes and remembered. 

I felt the cool night air,

I saw the stars shooting across the sky.

I felt the whisper of Your love.

Today, I wished for Africa.

I wondered if life will ever be so good.

Great as it was, full as it was.

Never have I been so alive.

Will I ever be again?

intense emotion overwhelms; escapes

Hello, dream.

Hello, love.

Hello, hope.

You'd like me to run away?

Embrace a new day?

Say goodbye to all I know?

Let it all go?

Leave it behind....

New me, new day.

New me, new name.

New me, not the same.

Let me go.

Run free, say goodbye; to misery.

Mystery of all mysteries... Let me be away.

Run until I can not breathe.

Breathe in the new air;

Expel the old.

Would any one notice in one month?

Would they all have forgotten my name?

Dream, you do taunt me so.

Torture me with my fears,

Tease me with my secrets.

Lose me with your hope that freedom exists.

I do not understand.

Worth.

I need you so much because I'm broken enough [strong enough] to know that I can't do it alone.

I want to be rescued.

I want to be set free.

I want to be pursued.

Chase after me.

I'm running; I...

I'm aching; I...

I'm dying.

You.

Take; break; ache; lose.

Give; live; love; gain.

Seek me, find me, know me, choose me, love me. 

Know me.

You lose me if you don't.

I lose me if you don't.

Time to give up; time to embrace pain.

Letting go, losing life seems a gain.

I'm not worth it.

I'm not worth the fight. I'm not worth the chase.

I need too much; I want too much.

I, am not enough.

I'm not worth it.

I'm not worth the effort. I'm not worth the sacrifice.

I ache too much; I push too much.

I, am not enough.

You're worth it all.

You're worth everything. You're worth my life.

You're enough; you're more than could ever be.

You, are all there is. 

You're worth it all.

You're worth my fight. You're worth my ache.

You give love; you give life.

You, are all I want. 

I never was.

I am not.

I never will be.

To go back to where I was would just be wrong; I'm Pressing On.../We're going to make it after all.

Sometimes you must say goodbye to familiar places in order to move into the new. 

Moving forward means letting go.

In order for me to believe that I can be loved, I must let go of the lies I've believed until now.

Moving forward means letting go. 

Snakes shed their skin.

Moving forward means letting go.

Beginning a new chapter means completing the current one. 

Moving forward means letting go.

Starting a new day means finishing this one. 

Moving forward means letting go.

Being remarkable in life - doing business well, being true to your passions, living authentically - means saying goodbye to the typical, expected, and even taught. 

Moving forward, means letting go.

Dear Husband.

Dear Husband,

Most days, I don't believe you exist.

See, to believe you exist, I must believe that you could love me. 

That's not to say you aren't capable of loving. 

Rather, that I'm incapable of being loved. 

I'm not like most girls, for many reasons.

One of which is that I can't envision my dream wedding.

There's not one of these, because I don't have this dream.

To dream, one must hope.

My heart cannot bear to imagine such a world...

A world where someone should love someone as wretched as me.

I dreamt of you the other day... 

for the first time in this life.

You were radiant, stunning, you. 

You asked me to be your wife. 

I told you, "I cannot."

"Why?" You said, hanging your head. 

I hate to see you hurt, sweet man.

"I could never, ever, be good enough." 

If I vow now to never let you get close to me, will you promise to find someone who's better? 

Find someone pure, someone whole, someone that deserves someone as wonderful as you?

I'm terrified that I'll never let you love me, and I cannot let you waste your life trying, only to be hurt, disappointed, broken. 

Be free, sweet man. 

Love someone who will let you love them.

I cannot.

I could never.

This burden that I bear burns a hole in my soul. 

This brutal, gaping hole that begs to be poured into, but refuses to receive. 

Never, ever, 

Yours.

Confessions of my heart/Letter to a friend turned blog post.

I have realized in the last few weeks that I think that I love people selflessly - in that, I give and give and give - but in reality, I'm loving people desperate for them to love me the way I love them (quite selfish if you ask me).

I constantly push and challenge the people in my life daily to be true to their passions, to be more of the person that they were created to be.
I tell my friends that they are better for the people around them when they are pursuing their passions.
Yet, still, I do not write. (This will be the most I've written in 2 weeks most probably.)

I have heard myself telling the people that I love, very simply, "I love you exactly the way that you are, but I love you enough to not let you stay that way." I've found that I am desperate to see people pursuing truth, hard truth, that pushes them to be more amazing versions of themselves.

I went to the Florida Film Festival yesterday - a friend of mine bought tickets for me - and it was incredible. I love film. I watched 4 full length films yesterday. I am so passionate about people and stories, and I get so caught up in a good story, it's magnificent.

Anyway, it's art. I think all good art (and some bad) draws you into the heart of the artist, into their brokenness and hurt, into their passion and joy. It was an emotionally draining weekend, I must say. (Art show Friday night, Film Fest Saturday, Art Fest Sunday).
I came home afterward, tears filling my eyes, and I had to face my fears.

I rarely spend time alone, because (as I realized this morning) I am afraid. I am afraid to be alone because all the things I try to hide from, the demons from which I run, catch up to me when I am alone.
I realized that I am completely terrified that no one can or will ever love me, because I do not deserve it. And much more terrifying, I simply cannot make myself believe that HE actually loves me. I'm so wretched.

There are so many more things I could say that would make these things make so much more sense (or so I think). But I'm afraid I may have already said too much, burdened you with the things that haunt my recent days.

I guess I will leave you with this, (also recent realization) I love people... I am passionate about KNOWING people. I have this desire - this aching desire - for intimacy with people; to know what makes them ache, to know what brings them joy, to know the hurt inside them that makes them live life the way that they do.

This is what drives me, and I've been so terribly burnt because the people I've met in the last two to three years (since really jumping into this journey with Jesus) do not really care to KNOW the people around them. They want people to hang out with.

People want to have fun, to be carefree and happy. (Which is beautiful, and a healthy desire when there's balance to it.) People do not want to be pushed, challenged, called out on their bullshit, or faced with hard truths.

This is why I have so few friends; because so few that I meet are willing to go so deep. I can only meet and spend time with someone so many times before I'm ready to get to KNOW them; to help bear their burdens, to help them let go of those burdens, to pursue Truth together.

This is the (selfish) love I so feebly attempt to live.

Welcome to actually knowing me.

Welcome to the beginning of knowing what I mean when I say, "Love is an Action."