Praça XV

I spent a lot of time with J- today on the streets. She was alternating between every available drug and trying valiantly not to crack and let the tears that were filling her body slip out. She only allowed a few to slip and she shared almost nothing with me, but we sat and looked at the boats fill with people and talked about what their lives must be like. How from a distance, they all look the same, all faceless and foreign, but that each one of them has a home and people they love and difficulties and aches and losses. Somewhere in that crowd was a woman anxious for her weekend wedding, a man whose parents recently died, a guy robbed earlier that day, a woman rushing home to make dinner for her family, a couple giddily joyous at the news of a pregnancy. And we sat and thought about how God cares for each of them...

J- wants me to make up some reading materials for her before my trip, so she can study when I’m gone. It’s interesting how my relationships have matured with these young people. We talk about things now that I never would have talked about with the Lapa guys. They want to know if I’m afraid of flying (I’m not) and jump to conclusions faster than I can lead them there. (Oh...you’re not afraid of flying because it can’t be any more dangerous than walking home! Haha! Courtesy of J-) We talk about relationships and men and not having a television, about starting a business and how I should dress and act for (and not break my fingernails before) my interview at the business school I want to attend. I promise to go look at the apartment G- might be able to live in after said interview, and she laughs at the thought of me in heels and fancy pants.

J- hasn’t been home in over three years and wants to know if that’s a long time. I think so. She’s too ashamed to go home, and we talk about shame, about the past and the fact that every moment is a chance to change our future. I tell her the story of Jesus and the Samaritan woman, and she barely believes me. She’s seen it once, on video at some shelter, but never really heard it, this story about a seriously promiscuous woman who’s shunned by pretty much everyone so that she has to get water when no one else will be around so that her shame doesn’t overwhelm her. And Jesus, who’s obviously a Jew and therefore, shouldn’t be on friendly terms with her either as a member of a detested race OR as a woman, sits down and starts chatting with her. Lets her know she’s important, that her past really doesn’t matter all that much, because it’s past, and it is her future that’s more important. And then he sends off this two-minute convert off to be one of his first preachers. J- laughs and thinks and her eyes set back in contemplation. What??? Perfection isn’t necessary??? Maybe she’ll come to the realization that her grandmother will just be happy to know that she’s alive, and that taking this step may be the first step to coming off the streets. Maybe she won’t. Maybe her grandmother won’t be happy, or even alive. I wrestle with these questions even as I encourage her to visit with her family...

Two more ladies were jailed over the weekend. We're going to have to try to make visits next week. One of our volunteers brought a friend, a guy who came down to the streets in his suit and tie, and let one of the street boys, named Melchezidek, prance around bare chested and in dirty shorts, wearing his fancy silk tie and suit jacket. I wish I had had my camera to take a picture...it was great! This guy was fantastic with the kids, and I laughed to myself at our group, our odd family. Gringos and blond Brazilians, guys in suits and women in dresses barely covering their bottoms, guys smoking weed in ripped shorts, and a bunch of Americans in grungy street clothes all hanging around holding hands and singing worship songs....we make a funny sight. We're a paradox. I love it!