Hold On

Hold On

A guest took me aside this morning.  “I need to talk with you.  I need to get off these streets.”  So off we went to a place on the front porch where our conversation would be semi-private.  She shared with me the suffering of her life, from physical and emotional violence done to her, the grind of living on the streets, doors being closed wherever she turned for help, and the weariness she was feeling. 

I sat and listened.  Occasionally I offered a few possibilities of some other places she might turn to for help.  Some she had already tried, and here she still was, on the streets.  We devised a plan for next week, which included Manna House helping her replace her eyeglasses which had been smashed, and trying with a few places where Manna House has some connections.

            Earlier this morning, another guest shared with me that her mother had died last week.  She handed me the funeral program to see pictures of her mother, and to read a little bit about her life.  I learned that her mother had adopted eight children, one of whom was this guest at Manna House.  As we talked, I learned more about her mother’s remarkable generosity and love.  I could only imagine the heartache this guest was feeling over the death of her mother.

            The sharing of suffering happens almost every morning at Manna House.  A guest will take aside one of the volunteers and begin to tell of being raped, or being beaten up, or put in jail, or loved ones murdered, or crushing physical disability, or frustrating journeys between government and church offices seeking help, or what it means to be bi-polar, or schizophrenic, or medications that make one numb, or trying to live in the midst of addictions, or losing a job, or never getting a job because of an old felony conviction, or having one’s belongings stolen while one sleeps, or waking up to find a rat gnawing at the shoe on one’s foot.

            Tuesday morning I asked a guest, “How are you doing?”  He responded, “I’m barely holding on.” 

            “Well, hold on,” I said.  And then we talked a bit more, and we got into thinking about the old Sam and Dave song, “Hold On” (written by Isaac Hayes and David Porter, at Stax Records right here in Memphis).  We took a listen, thanks to the magic of cell phones.

“Don’t you ever feel sad
Lean on me when times are bad
When the day comes and you’re down
In a river of trouble and about to drown
Just hold on, I’m comin’
Hold on, I’m comin’”

As the song played, we both smiled, and the guest began to laugh.  “Now that’s what I needed to hear,” he said, “I’m holding on.”
            Early on Monday morning, listening to the coffee percolate, and praying the psalms, I realized again how important it is for me to pray the psalms before opening the door at Manna House for hospitality.  The words order my emotions and shape my devotion.  I get tired going to Manna House.  Every one of us who serves there are volunteers with a lot of other demands on our time and energy.  I get frustrated and angry and sad listening to the stories of our guests that have so much suffering.  They tear at my soul.  I need God’s graciousness to keep going.

“O God, hear my cry for help.

From the ends of the earth I call;

my spirit fails.

I pray that you make new this heart.

Lead me to a place of rest,

for you have been my refuge,

my strength against the foe.”  (Psalm 61)

In other words, hold on.