November 24, 2001

He stood across the street – maybe fifty yards from where we were talking – waving his arm, calling her back.  She stood with us, I’ll call her Suzy, and in five minutes or less began to tell us her story.

The first time Suzy came through line was summer.  One warm evening, in the midst of our “regular” crowd came a group of young people that appeared to have fallen out of a punk rock concert gone horribly wrong.  Bodies covered with odd tattoos, faces lit up with smiles that reflected thousands of dollars of dental work as kids, they waited, some laughing, some, like Suzy, in dark silence, for a meal.  In her silence, Suzy stood out.  She wears her tattoos on her head and face.  They’re hard to miss.  When I talked to her, she had little to say, but the visual impact touched each of us.  She became more than a topic of conversation, we made it a point to keep an eye out for Suzy.  Counting the nights she was not in line – sharing bits of information gathered from those she was.  Something about Suzy, in the middle of the poverty we see weekly, touched us uniquely.

Now Suzy stood in front of us, short of breath, asking for a meal, a jacket, anything.  She was too late, everything was gone.  Another five minutes and she would have discovered an empty corner, under a street lamp that works sometimes, in front of a cathedral that’s been closed for years, windows missing, door’s boarded up, next to an empty lot with a deep hole in the ground where the original Union Rescue Mission once stood.  A corner that’s little more than a lonely spot of concrete in the darkness of the heart of LA.  Long since abandoned by traditional commerce and Christianity, Home to Jackets for Jesus every Sunday night for 13 years.  A corner of Hope to the tens of thousands of men and women living in poverty we have served in Jesus Name.  Suzy may have been hungry, she couldn’t weigh more than 90 pounds.  She had to have been cold, fog rolling through the high rises and into the city, she wearing only a threadbare t-shirt and cheap pair of jeans that fit poorly.  Now she was too late and about to face rejection, again.

Suzy, in her poverty, is unforgettable, a question waiting to be asked.  The hard question on the final of life we would all rather avoid.  With nothing left to offer I reached out and told her how much we cared- how we were concerned for her and kept her in our thoughts and prayers.  She lowered her proud eyes, shadowing her tattooed face, put her hand in her hair and whispered, “thanks.”  I didn’t need much of an opening, so when she spoke, I jumped right in and asked her to tell us her story.  What a bold question!  What audacity!  Imagine, a stranger you’ve only met several times embraces you then asks you to summarize your life in five minutes or less.  Who could do it?  Suzy did.  No time to think.  No outlines or notes to go by- thinking on the fly, she jumped right in.  We soon learned that her tattoos reflected a heart that cried out for God.  We were family, prodigals all, some just a little closer to the warmth and fellowship of society, all of us longing to be secure in the Healing Arms of The Father.

Suzy ran away from home at the age of eleven.  Now twenty, she has spent nine years on the streets of other states.  Skid row has been home for just three months.  She has no room, she sleeps in a parking lot, against a building, several blocks from our corner.  When she was fifteen she had her face tattooed with the marks of a warrior, to show that she is fearless.  Last year she found Christ.  She had a crown of thorns, tattooed on her brow, covering her upper face and encircling her head and upper neck.  She wanted God to know that she was ready to be a martyr for Jesus whenever He needed her.  She was obviously crying out to belong.

Looking into her eyes, no longer repelled or curious about the tattoos, I asked her if she was still serving Christ.  Tears stood on the brink of her eyelids, not hesitating to answer, still fearless as a warrior, she was direct and honest, “I still believe, but I’m not following Him.  There’s so much I need to repent for…”  My heart was breaking.  Her “boyfriend,” not skinny and emaciated, but apparently strong and well fed now began to wave his arm, to call

for her.  I shudder to think who he earns his money from.  Knowing our time was short, I reminded her that she could still call home, (not knowing if this were true or not), that God still loved her, (I’m certain about that), and that there was not better time than today, with Thanksgiving just days away.

Seemingly stunned for a moment, she hesitated to answer, than looking directly at our small group she asked, “What day is it?”  I felt as if someone had knocked the breath out of me.  There in the darkness twenty five years rolled away and I remembered living in the far country.  I remembered asking a stranger what day it was…  my heart went out to Suzy.  She was disconnected from family, from God, from time.  We would celebrate Thanksgiving in warmth, wealth and comfort.  Suzy didn’t know it was Thanksgiving.

Now angry, the man waiting for her made it clear she’d better move- fear was in her eyes.  Reaching out, I asked if she would do me a favor- she stopped – how many men must have pushed this young girl around over the years for “favors” – “Can we pray for you?”  “I can’t now- I’ve got to go.”  “Not now, but this week, we care about you, can I keep you in my prayers?”  “Yeah, yeah… that would be ok.”  Then I asked her what I always try to ask for from the people on the streets I pray for, “Will you remember to pray for me, my name is Eric…” by now she was in the middle of the street, she stopped and looked back,  “that’s Eric, will you pray for me?”  “Sure.  Okay.”  And she was gone.

This week as we prepared to feed over six hundred people on Thanksgiving through Central Community, with each meal I prayed for Suzy.  As I sat down to eat with strangers and discovered one of them was a man we had given a ride home from the streets late one night, I praised God for the miracle that drew us together again and wondered where Suzy was spending Thanksgiving.  As my twenty year old daughter and I put our turkey in the oven late Wednesday night I praised God for her safety and prayed that Suzy might be safe as well.  Sharing in the wealth, security and comfort that our family enjoys at Thanksgiving my heart broke for the certain loneliness, poverty and insecurity that Suzy experiences daily.  And I hoped that she was praying for me.  That somehow she would begin to take her first steps towards Home, if not for herself, as a lonely warrior for another.  I could never have survived all she’s endured.  The least and the most I can do is pray.  Will you join me in praying for Suzy today.  She’s not lost to Our Father.  He knows right where she is – He knows what time it is in her life today – His heart is breaking for her and all the other Suzy’s living in poverty.

Corners of hope, it’s a good thing to offer the many who are still lost in darkness.  There are bigger works to support with your prayers, work and finances, however, there are very few that are reaching out to Suzy, that even know she’s on our streets and looking for hope.  Christmas is coming.  My prayer is that Suzy is serving Jesus this Christmas and that she has the opportunity to celebrate His birth with people who will love and care for her in His Name.  You can help.  Will you join me in praying for Suzy?  It’s easy to point a finger in judgment, a little more difficult to humble ourselves and remember that we too once wandered in the far country.  That though our children may not have run off and put tattoos on their faces that still their hearts carry scars and they are often lonely.  Healing and The Way Home begins when we reach out to another in love and then leave them with Jesus.  He wore the only crown of thorns that counts.  He’s The Warrior who still calls us to battle for the hearts and spirits of every Suzy.  He’s The Light that never goes out on the corner of Hope we call Home.  He’s The Reason we go to the streets every Sunday night.  You’re an important part of the team.

Thanks so much for all you do.  Set a little aside for our Christmas party on the streets this year.  It will be December 23, (the Sunday night before Christmas day), you’re invited to join us.  Don’t forget to pray for Jackets for Jesus.  Don’t forget to pray for Suzy.

for changing lives,

Eric M. Denton