⁴ My heart is in anguish within me; the terrors of death assail me. ⁵ Fear and trembling have beset me; horror has overwhelmed me. ⁶ I said, “Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! 
 I would fly away and be at rest ⁷ I would flee far away 
and stay in the desert; Selah

⁸ I would hurry to my place of shelter, far from the tempest and storm.”

⁹ Confuse the wicked, O Lord, confound their speech, 
for I see violence and strife in the city.¹⁰ Day and night they prowl about on its walls; malice and abuse are within it.

¹¹ Destructive forces are at work in the city; threats and lies never leave its streets.   (Psalm 55: 4-11)

It ended with my head buried in the chest of my friend.  Sobs. Tears.  A stomachache.

I had heard about my friends’ prayer walking on Monday nights in Atlanta.  I had only the slightest desire to add my presence to the group, so I had ignored that desire and went about my own business on Monday evenings.  But something changed last week.  Maybe it was because I have many people praying for me, or because I am so terrified about my future that I decided to start talking to God again, but whatever the reason, I was impressed to walk the streets of Atlanta Monday night and pray for the Holy Spirit to do something.  Something big.

Now, I’m a girl who grew up in a tiny town in southern Illinois, so just walking in the city in the daylight makes me nervous.  The city after dark is a totally different creature entirely.  My security needs were only somewhat met by the strong men I was walking with and the pepper spray that was tucked into my coat pocket.

We started at a trendy coffee shop full of tattoos, music, and Mac laptops.  I didn’t really want to leave that shop.

We ventured out, hot chocolate in hand, and I stayed close to my friend Keith.  Let’s call him my bodyguard for the evening.  A large, decrepit building loomed across the street.  The words “JUST LOST” were scrolled on the side in spray paint.  Chris commented that maybe it should say, “JUST FOUND”.  I was just hoping to get moving before someone tried to sell drugs to me.

Then Tim walked up.  Tim was homeless but decently dressed.  Tim looked like a beaten puppy dog.  He shared his story and he sang songs to us.  He said we were his angels.  I’m wondering if it wasn’t the other way around.

After at least half an hour with Tim we resumed our venture down the street.  I assumed that was going to be our one interaction with a city dweller for the evening, and as I stopped on the bridge above the train tracks I secretly wished for that to be true.  The dirty train moved slowly beneath me and I looked from one side of the city to the other.  Even the beautiful parts of the city seemed dead.  Lights were burning inside, but they were all dead.

“The ground could easily open up and swallow this terrible place,” I remarked, if to no one else but myself.

Within the next hour or two we encountered a handful of people, two of which we had lengthy conversations with.  One told us his story of hardship and trial and why he was on the street.  I was skeptical, as usual.  I realized that I don’t trust people much.  And I don’t trust people I meet on the street at all.  I ended up standing on a street corner singing praises to God with this man that I didn’t trust.  Go figure.

The other man had a lot to say.  I thought he might lunge at me at any moment.  I was basically a spectator during his tirade, tucked safely behind Keith’s right shoulder.  I nearly cried when this little man tossed his “homeless” sign over the bridge behind me and when he pointed his finger at me and asked, “What would you say?”  I shook my head and looked away.

He had asked me what I would tell Christ that I am doing to save souls.  I didn’t like that guy.  I was glad when he walked away.

We made our way back to the coffee shop with one of our new homeless friends.  He bought a coffee and some food and we all sat around for a while.  I kept watching to see if he would steal money from the TIPS bucket next to the lids and stirring sticks.  He didn’t.

Within minutes of my TIPS bucket stakeout I had my head buried in Chris’ chest.  I was there for a while.  I knew I was getting into David’s car and riding back to my car.  I knew I had a bed waiting at home.  I knew that I would probably never be sitting at a bar eating a meal bought for me by strangers that I met on the street late at night.  I would be the girl sitting with my hat and scarf, my cell phone and my Mac, sipping a hot chocolate and chatting with friends.

So, why did we leave him smiling, and I left with a stomachache?

¹⁴We know that we have passed from death to life, because we love our brothers. Anyone who does not love remains in death. ¹⁵Anyone who hates his brother is a murderer, and you know that no murderer has eternal life in him.

¹⁶This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. ¹⁷If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?

¹⁸Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.

(1 John 3: 14-18)