for my weeping heart
My heart weeps today.
I am weeping like a child that has fallen and skinned a knee. I am
weeping with shoulders quaking….sobs with white hot tears flowing. My heart weeps today. Lord, thank you for
making my heart so tender that I can see with new eyes the truth of the world.
This is a world that needs fixing and much, much prayer. Yes, Lord, my heart
weeps today.
This weekend is full of protest from every corner of the
country. The young, the black, the brown, the poor, the disenfranchised are
joining together to protest injustice and coming together in solidarity proclaiming
that #blacklivesmatter. And that they do. There is a war going on against a
generation of young black men and somebody needs to be held accountable for the
numbers being snatched from our streets and put in prison for petty crimes or
maybe they just end up dead. My heart weeps today.
My heart is weeping for the
mother that has lost that son and for the grandmother that did her own share of
marching and protesting so that father and mother can go to school and graduate
and get a good job so that they can raise their own in an environment of
opportunity even greater. My heart weeps
today because I am asking what happened?
Wednesday evening was an adventure into downtown that I had
not experienced in a long time. I believe the Lord positioned me to see all
that I saw that evening for a reason. I
actually enjoy that walk for several block down the hill to catch the bus to
downtown. This particular late
afternoon, however, I started to notice how the peaceful , middle class
neighborhood that I live in is quickly changing. A little more trash in the street. A few more bars on windows or empty houses
being restored signaling gentrification. There
were young folks standing around doing nothing here in Maxwell Park
something I personally have never noticed before. I even saw what looked like a homeless person’s
shelter against the elements nestled behind
a dead, dry Christmas tree in a doorway of a boarded up building.
When I finally reached the bus stop I see my friend, a
homeless white woman sitting on the opposite side of the street. I suppose she
wanted to get a different perspective on the going and comings of this
corner. Regardless of the time of day or
even the day of the week that I catch this bus, she is here sitting, waiting
for something or someone. Because of her position today I am able to look at
her closer than usual. She is older, maybe late fifties or early sixties, cap pulled down over her
ears, wearing layers of other people’s clothes and tattered tennis shoes. I never see her with bags so I have to assume
that they are stashed someplace out of site
but near.
Words between us are never spoken. We nod the customary
greeting and acknowledgement of the existence of the other. I stand and wait,
check the time, call for information on next bus and wait for what is really
only a few short minutes but seems like hours.
My nameless, voiceless friend reads.
This simple act speaks volumes.
I silently wish that my site was better so I can see the
title of the book and today I am wondering what is keeping me from just asking.
As usual I say nothing. I believe that
it is some unwritten law between us that we don’t speak, only nod. I’m really curious
and I wonder if the book is one of my favorites, a mystery novel perhaps or
science fiction. She doesn’t impress me
as being someone that would get into reading a romance.
It is not so much what she is reading, it is about the mere
fact that she is reading that is speaking to my heart. This woman that has a
thick, tattered open book on her lap every week is probably a person of awareness.
A woman of strong opinion with the ability to put words together to make a
statement, I assume. How did she arrive
at this point? What circumstance led her
to this state of homelessness in her private library at the corner of Foothill
and Kingsland? I got to thinking that she is probably one of the number of educated,
older Americans that have been shunned to the side like yesterday’s
newspaper. Lost jobs. Lost homes. My
head begins to swirl with questions. Where do these books come from? Does she root
through the same box of books I do that are left by the Friends of the Library? Does she find them in trash bins while
looking for tossed bottles and cans to take to the recycle place? What kind of
work did she used to do? The vestiges of
the recent economic downturn hit Oakland hard and can still be seen everywhere.
Climbing on my bus I promise myself that I am going to open
my mouth and speak to this mystery woman next time. She may just be a nut but then again she
might be somebody smart and articulate that I will enjoy talking to. And
perhaps this might be all that she needs to make it through the day, somebody
to acknowledge her existence for a brief moment.
While on the number 40 Downtown Oakland bus we come to a
stop where I see a large number of people with grocery bags and pull carts
standing in line at what appears to be a church. Again, God made me take notice. Though many of these people were (and it really didn’t matter that they were) Asian
they all had that same look on their faces. Looks of desperation to get
whatever was being given away. I observed one man with two plastic bags running
to the spot. He was so worried that he was too late. Somebody on the bus
chuckled, I don’t know. As I studied his face and looked at the others for
those brief seconds, I noted that they all were older folks and say what you will,
they looked hungry. Four o’clock in the afternoon was kind of late giving away
food baskets but my heart was celebrating those that made it just in time. I hoped
that each and every one of them was going to get enough to feed their families and
themselves until that same time next week.
Dear God, this is supposedly the richest country in the world and there
are still folks begging for bread.
My heart weeps today.
I am not particularly naïve in my thinking. There are some people that are just plan
greedy in this world. If something says
free on it they got to have it. It doesn’t matter what it is. If I know nothing
else, however, I know that there are people that are hungry right outside of my
immediate neighborhood. There are
children that depend on school lunches and mothers that deny themselves so that
their children can eat. There are old people in Oakland that live not far from
Lake Merritt that struggle to make the rent and don’t have money left over for
food so those giveaways are oh so important.
My heart is weeping for the invisible.
Continuing on to downtown I get off the bus at Broadway and
immediately smell that familiar aroma of marijuana which is bad enough but I
look at the number of black youth again standing around doing nothing. By now it is near five o’clock and folks are
leaving their jobs in the highrises. They are walking through that thick haze of smoke. Head
down they pass the fella with the very large music player on his shoulder
grooving to a beat that only he can hear. Oh and did I mention that he was
white? The smoke, the confusion, the mixture of everything that is odd and
different and I am saying to myself if I close my eyes this could be San
Francisco but most of those folks have moved over here because who can even
afford to be homeless over there? Folks
moving fast to get out from downtown before dark and others just there because dat’s
dey spot. My head is spinning and I don’t
know if I have a contact high or if I just can’t think my way through the scene
at Broadway and Civic Center.
Then I spot them. Older women and men just like me. These folks are also moving as fast they can
and I know they probably got caught up at an appointment that went longer than
usual or shopping and the cart is heavy.
Folks hoping that someone will be kind enough to help load that cart on
to the 72 so they can get home to the safety of the television and locked
doors.
As I sit there observing, I wonder where they live. Do they still have
the house that they have lived in for over 30 years or did the bank take
theirs, too? Foreclosures on a loans that are beyond anything they can think or imagine.
My heart weeps today because Oakland is changing just like
San Francisco has changed and I want to cry foul. Oakland is a beautiful place. I love its
creativity, its color and its history. But as we progress what is the real
cost? Who is going to be left out,
pushed out and shuffled to the side? I am not
fearful for myself because I know I will be taken care through God’s grace. But I wonder who is going to care for those
that I saw on this route to downtown?
Will I sit and do nothing, say nothing?
The bible asks the question in Matthew 7:9, “Or what man is there of
you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?” I think not. What do you have that you can use to make a
difference in this war on our young people, our hungry, our aging? God has
gifted you with something that is to be used to build up His kingdom. As my friend would say, “What you got in the
house”? As for me I write.
H is for my weeping heart.
#soulwriter #whatithoughtwassojustaint #gracefulaging #livingwithpride
Books by Debi Mason:
What I Thought Was So Just Ain't - Aging through God's Grace
Amazon.com (paperback)
Amazon.com (Kindle edition)
Barnes & Noble (paperback)
Barnes & Noble (NOOK edition)
ISBN-13: 978-0692236475
Release: June, 2014
Arizona Clay: A journey of self-discovery
Amazon.com (paperback)
Barnes & Noble (paperback)
ISBN-13: 9781606964880
Release: June, 2009
Follow me on Twitter:
@DebiOak
