cold...

This past Monday was the coldest 24 hours we have felt so far this winter.  It dipped close to 0 degrees, and went well below that with the wind chill.  This is what happens when the clouds that serve as a blanket suddenly clear out, leaving the earth exposed with no way to retain any degree of heat.  Even during the day, in the sun, the chilled air threatened to freeze any exposed skin.  The moisture from my breath froze into ice-sickles that clung to my beard.  I tried to dream of beaches or the scorching heat of summers back in Texas.  It didn't really help.

No one really stands around chatting when it is that cold.   The chill will creep through the soles of your shoes, up into your feet, until you finally feel it penetrate your core.  Street corners that are usually bustling with vendors and pedestrians sit silent, icy, and lonely.

This may all seem a bit dramatic.  Perhaps it is.  But imagine if you had no escape from the frozen concrete.  Whatever dramatization I or anyone else could possibly come up with, would still pale in comparison to the actual experience of living stranded and houseless in the winter.

I reminded myself that I had only been out there for a couple of hours...

That night, as we do every Monday night, we invited a few friends of ours who are sleeping outside, to spend an evening with us at the Dry Bones apartment/office/hideout.  We sat on comfortable couches, ate delicious, hot, home-cooked food, and enjoyed conversation and a lot of laughter.  We sat for hours, all of us avoiding the inevitable moment when we would have to leave the warmth.  I passed around hand warmers and you would have thought I was doling out gold coins - or possibly stacks of Subway gift cards.  "Put those in your pockets, in your sleeping bags, in your shoes, down your shirt," I suggested.  I have strategically used those magical sources of heat on nights spent in the wilderness, why not practice those same strategies on the streets?  We all swapped stories of our coldest nights.  I think they won.

Eventually, and in no hurry, my friends bundled up and walked out the door.  Unfortunately, their situations didn't change that night.  They trudged to their squats on the outskirts of downtown.  The moment felt much more bitter than sweet.  I think that God feels the sorrow and tastes the bitterness of the circumstances just as we do.  He knows the pain, and no-doubt hates it.  But I also believe that He is good, that He is active and working in the pain and hurt of this world, and that His love can and will change everything.

I pray they left encouraged.  I pray they left with a sense of worth and value.  I pray their stomachs didn't growl for the rest of the night.  I pray they left with motivation to experience life in new ways.  I pray that Monday night was the last straw and that it served as a catalyst for change.  I pray they continue to know their own value.