Thursday morning the YWAM staff gathers early for intercession.  they pray for YWAM across the globe and for their own neighborhood, the Tenderloin.  This week, we paired up and walked the streets to pray.
A couple of block away I discovered a woman crouched in front of the metal security gate of a closed Asian grocery. In spite of the hood covering her chopped-cut, in-need-of-washing hair I recognized her.  A. had been a regular at Because Justice Matters last summer when I spent two weeks here. She was working hard to stay clean so she could get into treatment.  I knew the BJM staff had worked hard to help her get into a hard-to-find, over-full treatment center that served women.  I knew she had gained some good "clean and sober" time and was waiting for an opening in a post-treatment "sober house" program.  Then, she relapsed and disappeared into the black hole of San Francisco's community of homeless addicts.

A looked awful. No socks. ragged shoes with holes. Not a single thing in hand - not a backpack or tote bag or even a personal hygiene kit.  Is she living in those nylon running pants, hoodie and holey running shoes?  When did she last eat? or shower? or sleep in a bed?

A let me pray for her.  When I told her I remembered her (I had, in fact, prayed for her consistently the entire year since I met her in summer of 2012) she smiled. "You've got a good memory," she said. Then, she recognized my prayer partner.  "How are you?" she asked....as though she were meeting a long-lost friend. As though she didn't look sick and battered and exhausted.  Her smile. This was the A. I remembered. What a sweet, loving soul.  My heart felt as if a giant fist was squeezing it without mercy.

 "Please come by and see us at the YWAM base," I encouraged. "We miss you.  Nail day is always Monday. Always.  And YOU are always welcome."

People who have never been addicts or homeless often ask questions or express opinions about the how and why of addiction and homelessness.  Some say, "They choose to sleep on the streets. There are beds  and shelters all over San Francisco."
Others say, "Evidently someone like A doesn't want to be sober.  Everything was done for her and she relapsed and left the treatment program."

I'm learning new things.  Some people choose the streets over shelters because some shelters are infested with bed bugs. Others cannot endure sleeping on cots with people only feet (or inches) away. The paranoia, fear, anxiety and other symptoms of mental illness simply spiral out of control in such a close and closed-in setting.  And, I learn from people in recovery that relapse is common. for some, the closer they get to the "real world" of job training or school, the more terrifying sobriety becomes.  The greater the pain of possible failure - and the fear of it.  Better, some think, to relapse now than to risk falling from so great a height.  Better the addiction they know than the scary world of self-sufficiency they would have to manage as sober people. 

A. shows me that nothing is as simple as it appears.  She is still the kind,gentle soul I remember. And, it is a miracle she is alive.

Tonight I asked Father for another miracle. That He would bring A. home. That He would intervene and re-wire her body so it no longer drives her to drugs and alcohol.  That she would be able to SEE and FEEL Him and His love surrounding her.