San Francisco Journal Entries: Part One

Last night was an incredible experience--something I will never forget. We had the opportunity to participate in St. Mark's Lutheran Church's Night Ministry. A group of priests walk the streets from 10 pm to 4 am and talk to people. To anyone. The homeless, gay, poor, wealthy, sick. They're mission is to be a presence in the community.

I was in a group with Leiana, Cassie, and David. The priest we were paired with was Monique. She is Superwoman. In the car ride, we learned that she is a single mother of two, with an 18 year old daughter and a 13 year old son. She goes to bed at five in the morning and is up at six. We went to a district called the Mission, where the community is mostly Latino or Black. We stepped out of the car carrying blankets and immediately were approached.

The first man we met was Mike. He asked for a blanket, we gave him one, and I turned to cross the street, forgetting that we were there to converse with people like Mike. I forgot that our destination wasn't our primary goal. We spoke with him for a quite a while and learned that he had just been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and was preparing to go on disability. He wasn't homeless, but wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to stay off the streets. His girlfriend lives in Berkley, but his doctors are in San Francisco so he travels between the two. Monique gave him some money, I'm not sure how much, to pay for the bus fare. I could tell that was an unusual practice, but she apparently felt comfortable giving some to Mike.

As our conversation was wrapping up (we passed out a few more blankets while speaking with him), an older gentleman, claiming to be 70, asked if he could have the last part of Mike's cigarette. Mike obliged. Monique asked the newcomer what his name was and he replied, "Tonight, it's Jesus Christ." He walked with us as we crossed the street. He mostly spoke to me about who knows what. It was obvious he had a mental disability of some kind, and most of what he said made no sense.

We were about half way up the block when we met Wally and Joe (or was it Willy?). Neither of them were homeless, but they were on the street selling shoes and purses. Monique had an established relationship with them, and that was cool to see.

All of a sudden, we hard a popping like a fire cracker coming from the direction we had met Mike. Monique and Wally (I'm pretty sure it was Wally) talked about whether or not we had heard fireworks or gunshots. Monique thought it was a shooting while Wally and I tried to convince ourselves it was fireworks. Then we heard the sirens.

Monique started running from whence we came, towards the shots, and we followed. Three or four people down, a shooter had entered a bar with a machine gun and opened fire before running down an alley. Monique actually saw bodies. I stayed away from the door knowing the images would haunt me forever.

The police started setting up a line and asking us to move back. The four of us did so while keeping Monique in view. She was waiting to see how she could help. Later on she would tell us that sometimes police officers see the collar and let her under the line. That wasn't the case tonight. One police officer started yelling at her and threatening arrest. She remained calm and did not back down. She was standing with the mother of one of the victims. She didn't speak English and the officers didn't speak Spanish, so Monique translated and was finally able to get the mother to her son.

We later saw that woman enter an ambulance with her son. We still do not know if anyone was killed. Apparently this was a gang shooting between the Nortenos and the Surenos (Northerners and Southerners). Some people were scared and shaking, some were trying to get inside the crime scene, and some were just quietly observing. I was calm, not processing exactly what had happened. We stayed at the crime scene for at least an hour, if not two. Once everyone had cleared out, we continued on.

At the end of the block we found a man puking up his guts and blood. Monique had us stay back while she gave the man a tissue to clean up. The interchange was brief, but impactful.

We continued down the road and stopped outside a hotel. Monique told us there had been a homicide there recently. She knew the victim and spoke with her sobbing husband outside the night of the murder.

We walked past an alley and saw a man about halfway up. I thought he was holding a gun. It was an umbrella. I heard a loud pop and thought it was gunfire. It was a car driving over a manhole cover. I was on edge for the rest of the night.

Monique took us to Francisco's, a taqueria stand and bought all of us tacos. I had never tasted anything so good, and it was steak. I hate steak. I think I was just glad to have something familiar. It reminded me of Mexico. Monique spoke in Spanish with the people there, and I was able to understand everything, which was exciting. The next time she spoke Spanish with someone, I translated for the group.

By the time we finished our loop, the cops were starting to leave. I was struck by the fact that the club next to the bar in which the shooting occurred was business as usual. I can't imagine living in a place where shootings are the norm.

Later on, it dawned on us just how God had saved us from being in the line of fire. Monique just had a feeling at the last second to park somewhere else and to head a different direction than usual. She said she always listens to those feelings. Thank God.

We ended the night in the Castro, a very happy place. It's the LGTB district of San Fran. We were only there for ten or twenty minutes, but it was a good way to end the night. I was told by a stranger, "Honey, you're beautiful. Smile more, it'll make you happy." Simple words, but a nice reminder nonetheless.

When we got back to the hostel I started processing what had happened, and went into physical shock. Jonny sat up with me while I just kind of stared into space, not saying much, and shaking. Eventually I came out of it and we talked about other things. We were up until four. Jonny's kind of awesome.

The experience is one I will never forget. Monique is one of the strongest people I know. I learned so much from her. I'm still not extremely sure what to do with the whole experience, but I'm glad I had it. There's a reason I was in that group. I may never know exactly what it is, but I'm sure I will use it later on in life. Again, not sure how, but that's kind of...exciting, isn't it?

I Can Do This

I just watched Waiting for Superman, a documentary about the education system in the U.S. I cried quite a bit. Even as I'm writing this, my vision is blurred. Everyone should see this film, even if they aren't going into education. Most people will be parents one day, and this applies to parents, students, and teachers alike.

I'm so glad I was able to see this film because it reminded me why I'm becoming a teacher. I've been having some doubts about my career choice of late, largely due to the Education Foundations class I'm taking this semester. We've been talking about how the system is broken and one person can't change it. It's all been rather depressing. I know my professor is showing us the worst aspects of the education system to make a point, but it is nonetheless discouraging. I began to feel that it would be impossible for me to impact kids' lives. I started wondering if I should drop the education aspect of my major and work in a museum.

This film showed me why I have to be a teacher. It affirmed my belief that this is something God is calling me to do. It's not just something I'm passionate about, it's my everything. Teaching is how I'm going to make my mark on this world. And I don't need to make one to feel significant, I need to make one to be sure that I fulfilled a purpose. And my purpose is teaching. There is no longer any doubt in my mind. And I am grateful for that, because I've been having a lot of doubts about myself lately. But now I know...I have the strength of God behind me, so of course I have the strength to say "No" to the naysayers. I have the strength to fight for my students. I have the strength to change things.