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I stood, and focused all of my attention on Cassandra. I tried to soak in the volume of her joy, every animated detail of her face as she spoke to me, and her Jesus. I wanted to memorize the moment, to really remember the fullness of human change and movement.

I wanted to remember the words she chose to describe the last few years of her life. She talked about the "chains" of her years of streetlife, the "heavy" boredom of days upon days in the same doorway, the "itch" for another high. She let her 5 ft frame (and 1 ft weave) rise and fall in her recollection, and her her arms wind through her reminiscence. Her eyes widened, her scarlet-red shirt and her shirt-red lipstick portrayed and punctuated her elation.

But it was simple. And most of her explanation was a prayer. She was not speaking to me, but allowing me to eavesdrop on her praise. Because she had her own apartment, and she could sit and soak in her own tub, and even though most of the rooms were empty, her boundless presence filled them for now, and filled them well.

I can't capture all of Cassandra in this moment the way I would like to, and I'm thinking about this as she speaks. I think about the privalege it is to stand so close to the joy of someone else, and to invite it in.  I write this blog to pass on what I'm given, but I'm afraid that today, my words are not sufficient.

The First Snow with LaTasha Roe

... and as we stood outside her new apartment--her nearly-empty, save a sleeping bag, new apartment--the first few flakes of snow drifted down, and around us. I have never seen her smile like that: her eyes so squinted (just like mine) showing both rows of teeth, the wrinkles around her eyes delighting in the chance to bear witness to the occasion. Because this time, this winter, as the snow continued to fall and accumulate, LaTasha could go inside whenever she wanted, to a place that was hers, where no one could tell her to move along.

Knowing that this was now true, that everything had changed, we chose to stand outside just a little longer to watch the snow, pausing to look at each other with memories of the last 2 years of her struggle in both of our eyes.

There was nothing for me to say to her, in all of the holiness of that moment. But LaTasha never lacked words:

"Damn, girl! I forgot how cold this shit is!"

Trust and Obey

Mr. Nkrah is famous for singing: loudly and not always soberly, in a beautiful East-African accent, in a suit he has worn every day for a month. He claps, he stomps, and hymns fill the air. I think he is told to "shut up" more than anyone else who visits us on a regular basis, but I don't see how anyone could be annoyed by that kind of joy.

I had not seen Mr. Nkrah for a while, since before Christmas, and when he came in my office today, his joy was gone. As he was walking in, I realized how different he looked when he was not smiling, when his shoulders were slumped, when his eyes were turned downard instead of upward. He was a different man.

He slammed four quarters three nickles, and nine pennies on to my desk, and then, as if apologizing, slowly and silentely arranged them in small towers.
Then he said:

"I need mo-ah."

"That's not what you need, Mr. Nkrah."

I started tapping my hand on the desk, in a slow steady rhythm... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

and then started humming... ... ... ... ... ...

and I watched a miraculously beautiful change in Mr. Nkrah's whole body. First he started nodding, then his whole body started rocking, then his glowing teeth emerged and his eyes came alive, and he slowly started singing:

... "when we walk wit da Lord
in da light off His word
what a glo-ry He shed on a-wa way!
when we do His goodt will,
He abide wit us still,
and wit all who will trust and obey!"

He got louder and louder, and by the last line, he was banging my desk...

"Trust and o-bey! Dere is no otha way! I am hap-py in Jesus! Trust and o-bey!"

He stood up, scooped up his change and said,

"Anna, ok."