A Man Named Steven

It’s been a while, so allow me to catch you up before we get to the good stuff.

I have always been drawn to intensity. Save the shallows for someone else… I’ll be deep diving. Knowing this about myself made healthcare look like an attractive career: walking with people through the darkest valleys and holding shaking hands as we pray and work for healing. I wanted to identify a problem, find a solution, and leave each person better than when I found them. Rinse and repeat. And that worked for a while. I could live off of the helper’s high for weeks, making the inevitable crash somewhat bearable. I positioned myself dangerously close to death and loss, because the healing and hope found there is intoxicating. And then somewhere along the way, I felt that season of my life come to a close.

The next chapter of my life is titled “Balloons”, and remains a curveball I never saw coming. If healthcare is pain and depth, Float Franklin was joy and helium. What was intended to be a lemonade stand type hobby, quickly turned into a new, full-time career path. I thought that maybe I had gotten it wrong initially- that maybe I was meant for the light and fluffy stuff. I owned and built a business where I had the autonomy to create, and the joy of taking part in celebrations of every kind. It was the dream, but there was just one small problem: it wasn’t my dream. I was succeeding, but had lost my way. My cup was full… and I had never felt more depleted. So again, the season came and went.

At this point, I had been volunteering with a nonprofit called ShowerUp for years. Every Monday night I would make the drive up to Nashville, and spend my night on the streets with my friends experiencing homelessness. What happens right there in the bustling city is heartbreaking and miraculous, both hard and wonderful, all at the same time. In February, after swearing I was going to be strictly a stay-at-home-mom… I answered the call on my heart to join ShowerUp in an official capacity. This job, smack dab in the middle of where purpose and passion collide, was made for me. I could just feel it.

And now, with seven months under my belt, I am forever changed. This story is just one of many that have rocked the foundation of who I am.

Steven (name changed) is darkness embodied. I have never been more unsettled around anyone or anything in my life. There is darkness in his eyes that I have never encountered before. The kind of thing that makes you divert your gaze, or your path altogether. Steven has two names, representing two very different people. When he goes by Steven, his legal given name, he is fairly pleasant. He gives hugs, tells jokes, and carries on almost normal conversations. Steven almost blends in to the sea of people at shower events, quiet and unassuming. We have learned Steven over the years, and have even witnessed the tiniest glimmer of light in his eyes. We get Steven about half the time, and occasionally for months strung together.

And then there is Beast (name changed). Same body, different person entirely. Beast is fitting, because this personality is almost carnal. The physical manifestations of psychological torment are evident from a mile away… and from his rap sheet. Beast is enraged by kindness, and we are immediately met with an endless string of obscenities and violence. We are not allowed to refer to him by his given name during these episodes, and any attempt at deescalation will fail. Beast screams, cries, throws things and fights. He praises the enemy and claims that he is a child of evil. Every effort made to reach Steven through the lens of Beast has fallen flat. He is well known for his constant antics, and has become widely regarded as a lost cause. I (along with many others) have spent countless nights on my knees praying for deliverance for Steven. And yet, Beast remains.

I am a human, of that I am very aware. I find new shortcomings that make this fact all the more evident every day. One such piece of evidence is in my tendency to doubt when I am not witnessing immediate results. I find myself asking Jesus “Where are you? Why haven’t you shown up for Steven? Why don’t you come and help him?” time and time again. His actions are alarming. His circumstances heartbreaking. Is this situation not dire enough for Jesus to intervene?

A few months ago, Beast had been showing up consistently for months. We had not seen Steven, as Steven, in a dangerously long time. I could feel the hopelessness in myself rising… where was Jesus? Why was He so silent? As Beast fell deeper into substance abuse, we began to worry that he would lose his life all together. When you work with those experiencing homelessness, you get used to people disappearing. With no roots or many times possessions, people pick up and start over pretty much overnight…leaving no trace that they were ever here at all. We are left hoping for the best, and fearing the worst. In order to try to keep tabs on some of our friends, we ask to see their ID. We remember their full legal name, in hopes of being able to locate them later on. Whether that be through social media or obituaries— we prayer for the former but fear the latter. On this particular night, we asked for Steven’s ID. The goal was to then scour the arrest records, and even call the hospitals if we didn’t see him. Just to check. Beast was hesitant to let us see his ID. He was agitated, angry, and nearly impossible to communicate with at all. But somehow, he pulled it out.

As the ID fell into my hands, my breath caught in my throat. Why? Because Steven has a unique middle name. One that makes perfect sense, if you think about it. Steven’s middle name is Jesus.

I heard His voice so clearly in this moment: “Don’t you see? I’m right here- I’m right in the middle of this. I haven’t left Steven. He is branded with my name… He is mine.”

I wish I could tell you that we have seen miraculous healing and transformation for Steven since that day, but God’s timeline isn’t mine. I can tell you that we have not seen Beast in a little over a month, and that Steven has been sober. I can tell you that we have seen more good days than bad with him. And even if it’s not complete healing, it is miraculous. I can tell you we will celebrate the victories!

Darkness. Intensity. Pain. I am right at home here, and now I feel like I know why. Jesus said the church should be more like a hospital. He spent his time in the streets, because that’s where the need was greatest. So you’ll find me there too. Because on the other side of the brokenness… is breakthrough like you wouldn’t believe. Its dignity restored, hope ignited… it’s love in action. And Jesus is right in the middle of it all.