All Hope Is Not Lost

The last time I saw her she seemed happy and unusually talkative. She explained that the night before was pretty rough. She had done a line or two in a bathroom stall at the Ice House downtown. Apparently her friends had gone on without her maybe even unknowingly. The next morning she remembered hearing the janitor’s mop sloshing near her head. She had spent all night there, passed out. She giggled a bit and fidgeted with her sweatshirt that was two sizes too big. She was still riding it, I could tell. Otherwise her eyes wouldn’t be as lively as they were now and she definitely wouldn’t be interested in talking to me.

We asked her if she needed anything and she just smirked, nodding no. She said she had a place to stay but we couldn’t know what she might be trading or what she had to do, if anything, to receive that shelter. The minutes rushed past us while she jabbered about a few other street youth that she hadn’t seen in awhile. Mentioned she was doing her part to “move up in society” or at least that’s how most service providers describe the task of job hunting. I wondered if she was wearing her finest interview clothes. The pin stripped pants were worn and matched perfectly with the overall baggy theme. Drugs had withered her shape down to an outline and I wasn’t sure what she might have looked like a year ago.

This week was different. I hadn’t been on the streets for over a month now and was uncertain I would remember any one’s name. Since so many youth might have two or three names the task always seems impossible to me. But then – out of the corner of my eye, we caught a glimpse of her. She was bundled in a sweatshirt, not quite as baggy as the last one. She hunched over on a curb and I could tell she saw me too. The sun had decided to grace Denver with it’s warmth that afternoon so I couldn’t imagine that she was chilled. About a foot down from her sat a gentleman. They were together. I had never seen him before but that didn’t mean anything. If it weren’t for the indentations in her arms and neck, I wouldn’t have placed her either. She was different today. Her eyes were solid dark brown, heavy and dead looking. I noticed she had put on some weight since last time I’d seen her, which was a relief. She didn’t make eye contact and wasn’t interested in talking. Took a few bottled waters and snacks and pretty much ended the conversation. She was coming down from a high. “Recovering” you could say although it was painful to witness for the mere minutes I was there. If I had just been walking to work or out shopping I wouldn’t have even noticed her. It was as if she melt into the cement pattern, camouflaged by her peers. Someone said that this was her norm. Not too personable and sometimes even mean. The day we saw her energetic and happy was only a facade. A façade that many youth experience and it can change overnight. It made me wonder what the past month was like for her. How many ups and downs? How many nights on the street or crashing in some dangerous situation?

The sun looms lower and before you know it, your day has folded into evening. A week or two might go by before talking with a friend that you planned on meeting with months ago. Perhaps your to-do list never seems to end and your chasing that task till the end of the year. But what about those whose survival changes in days, hours, even minutes? When you blink and all the options you thought you had before have now dwindled down to: what can I swap for food or cash…or where’s my drug that makes my reality a little bit better? One day you’re surrounded by your street family and the next, you didn’t pull your weight with them so there you sit, alone indefinitely.

It took me about 20 minutes to get home from downtown. I parked the car and sorted through the images I’d just seen. “Focus now” I think to myself  “you have dinner to help with and baths to give”.

That night, when all is settling down, I ask my girls what they want to pray for. The usual requests go out for their “cousins who live far, far away” or a safe night, their teachers at school. But tonight, my oldest looks at me and says “I have an idea Mommy”. “Oh really?” I said, “what is it?” Proudly she replies “let’s pray to God for the boys and girls far away that don’t have a house or toys". I remembered earlier that week talking to her about Haiti and what had been going on there. But tonight, my mind replayed the events of that afternoon… and I thought of her. “Well,” I reminded her, “there are lots of girls and boys right here that don’t have a house or toys”. She stared towards her bed for a moment as if trying to process what I had just told her. Was she picturing her friends without a bed? No piles of stuffed animals to cuddle with at night? Was she wondering what kids do all day without newly polished toys or dress up clothes? I’ll never know what goes on in her young mind but one thing I do know is that she’s pretty intuitive The next sentence out of her mouth summed up why I feel inclined to do what I do. She reminded me that all hope is not lost.“Ok” she said “then we should pray for the whole wide world and Jesus can help them”. I looked down at her, her eyes burning with enthusiasm, “that’s right” I said softly, ”so, let’s pray”.