Life has always felt a little muddy and chaotic to me. As I read Donald Miller's most recent book, 'A Million Miles in a Thousand Years', I found myself in the pages. I, like most people, have always known that I really, really wanted something. The problem being I wasn't sure what that 'thing' was. I knew I needed adventure, passion, silliness, joy and love, but I had no idea how to get there. I mainly wanted my life to count for something. I wanted to live a story worth reading. When I was around 5 years old after a nap I remember coming downstairs and finding my mom in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor. She was hemorrhaging (she had reproductive issues) and she was unable to get up. I somehow managed to call 911 and after a trip to the hospital she was back home. Somewhere around that time we lost my little brother a few weeks after he was born. I learned young that life was brief and even worse, that life goes on. Somewhere in my brain this settled the thought that really the only important thing is making your life count for something, doing something that leaves the world different than it was before you arrived. Really, the scariest thought for me was being forgotten and having lived a life that didn't change the world that surrounded it.
In the bedlam of day to day life the question has haunted me for most of my 31 years. The urgency has been with me since childhood; to do something, anything, that made a difference to someone. Conflict, as in any good story, came and conflict went. Doorways were opened and paths were chosen. I got married (young), took road trips, had 3 beautiful little boys, made music, wrote poems, jumped off of things, had dance parties, wept at funerals, got divorced, and experienced more beauty and pain than I ever would have thought possible in 3 decades. The divorce was most recent. And as anyone who has walked that path knows, it's not a good time. I had lots of poorly attended pity parties, where I was NOT crying (my eyes were just sweating while I had a sad look on my face). Self loathing, table for one? Yes, please!
I began to have the nagging realization in the middle of my egocentric dejection, and more often than I would've liked, that I needed some radical refocusing. No matter what I had lost, and was losing, there were SO MANY people in such worse situations than the one in which I found myself. I was becoming a professional in the field of introspection and was realizing the truth in the quote, "Contemplation often makes life miserable. We should act more, think less, and stop watching ourselves live."-- Nicolas de Chamfort.
I don't feel like my story began in this place, but I do feel that a new chapter began. If I were to title it, it would be:
The Bridge Kids
I work at a coffee shop where the customer base can range from businessmen, to writers, to the riff raff (yes, I know- the 1950's called and wants its slang back). We have a large amount of kids who are homeless, on drugs, or just marginalized from normal society. This is where I learned about the bridge kids. A couple of boys were asking for water and complaining about the heat. They told me they lived under the bridge of one of our main highways in town. I don't live in a large city, or huge metropolis, so the thought of these teenagers having nowhere to go broke my heart. Not so long ago they had been cradled in their mother's arms, wrapped in a hospital blanket, and held close. Not so long ago someone had dreamt about who and what they would be. I'm pretty sure the bridge wasn't part of those dreams. So, once I had a Saturday to myself, I went to the store, got groceries, made about 30 pb&j sandwiches, chips, and bottles of water and blankets, I loaded up my van and drove over to the bridge. The scene was shocking and sad. Dirty mattresses were strewn on top of rocks next to the retaining wall next to the train tracks. This is where I met Heather and Chris, a young couple in their early 20's expecting their first child together. Heather was about 4 months pregnant and laying on the dirty mattress while Chris smoked a cigarette and eyed me warily. After explaining why I was there and that I just wanted to help them out, we chatted more easily. As we spoke I noticed more head popping out from under the ledge of the overpass, taking in our conversation. I explained to them that, "...yes I am a Christian..." and when asked, "Are you one of those people that just call themselves a Christian, or try to like do the stuff that Christians should do...?" I said I try to be the second type. There's much more to this story, but it was just the beginning of the kind of story that I want to live. Though it was a little scary to walk alone up to strangers under a bridge with only tote bags full of food, these things become easy when you look into the eyes of a 20 year old pregnant girl lying on a dirty mattress, and all you can see is Jesus.
Since then I've lived many exciting chapters. I've been involved in monthly outreaches with friends who live in the worst part of inner city Baltimore. We have cookouts with prostitutes, homeless people, and feared drug dealers and gang leaders. We blow bubbles with children who are left to run the streets as young as 3 or 5 years old. We pray for gang members who are so surprised by their healing that they start cursing in amazement (which is ridiculously hilarious).
Most recently we have been going to an area of Baltimore called 'The Block'. It is basically the red light district of the city. We go down to this stretch of the city and love on the strippers, bouncers, prostitutes, club owners, and people who frequent the strip clubs. Armed with dozens of bouquets of flowers we park in front of Larry Flint's Hustler Club, and walk the stretch of seedy clubs to give away the love that has so freely been given to us. We've held weeping prostitutes who pour out their pain and dreams to us, we've kissed strippers on the cheek and told them how special and loved they are. It has changed me, and it has changed my story.
It's definitely scary. Going under the bridge, or down to the worst neighborhoods in Baltimore, or even the pressure of walking up to a stripper just getting off shift and trying to tell her something that helps or changes anything in her world is intimidating, but it's also exhilarating. This is the story I want to live for the rest of my life. Doing something, no matter how large or small, to bring a small flicker of hope in the eyes of someone who has been crushed by life, makes me feel alive, and just a little less muddy and chaotic. When all is said and done in my life, I want more to have been done than said. I want my life to be lived, and not just thought about. I want to have wept along with the pain of someone else, and laugh to the point of breathless tears.
So, as I think in the context of 'story', I am intrigued and motivated by the premise of making my story better, making it matter, taking the extra step. There are days, way too many days, where I still feel muddy and lost. Like a ship tossed with no heading. I'm not fond of these days. I'd love to attend the 'A Million Miles in a Thousand Years' conference www.donaldmilleris.com/conference mostly to feel that I am not alone in this journey of living a better story. Thanks so much for taking the time to read and I hope your heart has been stirred.
Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo
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