things are going well. we spend much of our day with the homeless, the hopeless, and the weak.
there is:
love
compassion
time.

hope is growing.
pray that we are like jesus among these broken streets.

more stories to come.
thank you for your prayers.
god is listening to and answering your prayers.
and we can tell.

in peace,
evan

here are some thoughts i felt inspired to jot down the other day.

[Derrick has fallen asleep, and is now snoring, waiting for his turn on the computer. My time on the computer was completely used up looking for proxies to navigate around our web filtering service so I can check my facebook; which, realistically isn’t that important to me. I probably spent a whole hour looking for a proxy until I finally gave up. I decided to do something with this rare opportunity when derrick is sleeping (the man honestly never sleeps), so I put on my chuck taylor’s and turn on my ipod to coldplay as I take the elevator to the roof. Its cold out today, and even cooler on the roof of our 6 story home for the summer. I’ve got about 3 layers on and I’m trying to bare it as I read “the barbarian way” by Erwin mcmanus. I found a dull part of the chapter to take a break in and turn off my music to hear the sound of the streets down below. I hear that usual siren in the distance, some angry Californian probably honking at someone from out of town, and I hear a man shout “woohoo!”, which is hard to hear over the hum of the air conditioner behind me. I roll my eyes at the air conditioner and press play on my ipod while I continue to read about the barbarian way. I finish the chapter and turn on “mirrors” as I stare down below at the 100 or so homeless people. I keep looking for someone to notice me looking down at everyone but they all seem very engaged in whatever it is that their doing; smoking a cigarette, crack, etc. Everything that catches my eye is so stereotypical; a bright blue broke down chrysler minivan drives down the street as a homeless man scours a trashcan for something useful. I’m looking down at them for a while, walking down the side of the roof to get a better view, thinking surely someone will notice a strawberry blonde head bobbing it’s way across the rooftop. Thoughts of standing on the edge come to mind; too risky. Jumping and shouting would surely attract them but I’d hate to ruin the surreal moment I’m having. So at this point I’m starting to feel like i’m begging for someone to look up and notice my presence on the rooftop. The more I think about my wanting to be noticed I come to the conclusion that I want them to realize that they are noticed. I want them to know that I care about them; as much is as possible for me. I didn’t come out to LA this summer for myself. I came for these people. These very people I am watching from the rooftop on a cold, almost sullen Sunday afternoon while they pass drugs, pieces of leftover food, and cigarettes around. I give up this idea that they will ever understand how exactly it is that I care about them as I swipe my security card and press “5” on the elevator panel to return to my floor.]