years later...

Here's a quick story, unrelated to the beautiful Patagonian Andes, but very much beautiful.  Come on back to the blog in a few days for "day 1", and the continuation of the Torres del Paine tale!

I met her and her boyfriend in Denver, in 2006.  They lived homeless; I lived in a college town in Texas.  That first day we met, we sat and talked for hours and I remember little things, like where we were and even what they were wearing (bandanas, back-packs that were bursting at the seams, etc.).  I learned about their travels and even their struggles.  They were very transparent from the beginning.  I will never forget that.  These two were among the first street kids I met through Dry Bones.

The three of us became very close that summer.  I would look forward to seeing them downtown, at our picnics in the park, and even occasionally at church.  As time went on, I learned more and more and more about their stories.  They were both addicts, struggling through life with that suffocating demon and it's unrelenting torment.  They went through periods of sobriety, even a time or two in rehab, but the heroin seemed to always find them time and again.

Years slowly went by, and there were months when I wouldn't see either one of them.  They broke up eventually, which was for the best I suppose, but I was able to stay in contact with them individually.  He and I would go get lunch at Illegal Pete's, the best burrito spot in downtown Denver, and talk for hours.  She and I would sit down across a table from each other at Denver Women's Detention Center, a high security women's prison that scared the hell out of me.  The beeper gates, metal detectors, occasional armed guards, high barbed-wire fences, and visitor dress-code all played a part in the intimidation.  Women in this place were there for a reason, and it was never good.

She and I talked and wrote letters when we could.  I watched the ebb-and-flow of her life and imagined the possibilities.  Could she be free from the grip of heroin?  Could she raise her twins, be a great mom, and be able to not merely survive, but thrive?  Could she escape the streets?

On her last stay at Denver Women's, she began to answer those questions.  She was pregnant while in prison, and had the twins shortly before she was released (talk about a tough pregnancy).  She chose to enter a program for moms coming out of prison, and went there with her children immediately after having them.  This program was very intense, much like prison in a sense, but designed for people who truly desired change.  I don't know much about it because her time was spent accomplishing her goals and working towards her future - not sending letters.  So, we lost touch for a year or so.  I always wondered about her.  Every once in a while a co-worker of mine, Susan, would give me an update from something she learned about our friend.  Other than that, I was in the dark.

A couple months ago, there was a knock on our office door.  In walked my friend of 5 years.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  She had no scars, no scabs, no outward evidence of her previous addictions.  She looked so healthy.  She had no teeth; they had been removed for various reasons, temporarily leaving her mouth empty.  But even that was great to see.  It meant she was actively pursuing ways to better herself and realizing just how valuable she is.  We hugged for a long time that day and she showed me pictures of her twins - beautiful kids.  We chatted for a few minutes, and then she had to get going.  She had to go to work.

I saw her again just yesterday.  She came up to our office to say hello and to show off her new teeth.  She looked reborn.  Her hair was smooth and healthy, her skin was fresh and alive.  She flashed a smile with her newly acquired teeth, and in that one smile, I watched years of heartache and struggle begin melt away.  In front of me stood a determined and free woman.  Here stood a woman who had overcome much, and was thriving.  I swelled with pride for her accomplishments and was filled with wonder at her strength and at God's love.

Thank you, friends, for the way you love and support Dry Bones.  We never know when we will get to experience stories like this one, but when we do it sure is wonderful.  I hope you feel a part of it.