I wasn’t expecting to see heaven until I died. But on December 13th, 2005 God had different plans.
Trekking up the interstate 5 from Los Angeles to Orange County wasn’t easy, but there was a place for 20somethings to worship and hear about God’s goodness on Monday nights, so I made the commitment to not only attend service each week, but to serve on the ministry team. Each week I would stand at the center doors to greet people at the beginning of service and pray and counsel with people at the end of service.
Every week was the same. Drive an hour. Pray with the team. Stand for worship. Sit for the study. Pray and leave.
But one particular evening someone stood out from the others. She wore fishnet stockings with holes, black combat boots, a red, plaided skirt with large, silver safety pins, and a jean jacket with tons of buttons covering the front and back. Her hair donned streaks of blue and green and her eye lids were smudged with black liner showing off her eyebrow piercing. Standing in the back of the room with arms crossed, she anxiously clicked her lip ring against her teeth.
No one spoke to her because it looked like she didn’t want to say much. I stood up and introduced myself. Hey, she said with a head bob. My name is Heaven. I asked if she needed prayer. No, I’m just waiting for someone, she said nervously. But I knew she was lying.
Our conversation continued with more and more lies. I don’t know how I knew she was lying, but knew that I knew. After 20 minutes of shallow questions and deep lies, I asked her to stop lying to me. It was sobering question for a girl living on the streets. Wait, wha—what are you talking about!? I don’t need this! I don’t even know you, she said angrily.
There was a moment of fear that overtook me as she came up to my face, but I knew God wanted her attention. I didn’t know, but I knew that I knew. With the boldness that could only be divine, I blurted out, Heaven, God loves you and brought you to this church and knows about all the bad things that happened to you and knows about the drugs and your girlfriend and the bad things your family did to you. Heaven, God loves you! He brought me into your life to tell you He loves you. He still loves you… Then I inhaled and waited. I waited for her to respond.
The tough street kid with piercings and tattoos who yelled in my face melted into a weeping child in my lap. She didn’t cry. She wept a deep, bitter sob. I held her in my arms as she released sorrowful, angry tears. I don’t know how the things I did, but I knew that I knew God wanted to tell her He loved her. He still loved her.
We spent the next hour by ourselves in the prayer room after everyone left and she poured out her confused and tragic life. I hugged her and stroked her matted green and blue hair and promised I would pray for her. She took off a brass ring from her middle finger and gave it to me. Promise me, she begged. Promise me you’ll never forget me when you look at this ring.
Today, five years later, I wear her ring and continue to pray for her. Whether she’s on the streets or in a church, God loves her. He still loves her. And I will continually tell her that.
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