The Tangible, Sobering Kingdom

It's been nearly 3 weeks since I posted about Cynthia, an artist living on the streets of Golden Hill. I created an online store to help sell her bookmark-sized original works of art, put the word out to friends, and those first sevens pieces of art sold in a single day. It was more than a little bit awesome.

I couldn't wait to see Cynthia and tell her the good news. It took though nearly 3 weeks to track her down. The cell phone number I had for her didn't work, and I hadn't seen her in the neighborhood.

On Saturday afternoon though, while I was in the front of the house watering the grass, I heard a "hello." Looking up, there she was. "Hey Cynthia! I've got some good news for you." I can hardly describe how good it felt to say those words to her. Sophia and I invited her inside, talked a bit, and gave her the thirty dollars from selling her work on Etsy. She hung out for awhile, met our girls and my mom, and told us some more about our home "back in the day," when it was a run-down drug house. She's been in the neighborhood for many years, and has seen a lot.

On Sunday night she came back with over a hundred new works of art for me to look at, and choose which to post online. As we spread them out on the table that night, and looked through every single one, we were amazed both at her talent, and the hope that this seemed to represent.

She was back over again Monday night, signing the ones we're going to post online. We had a good conversation, heard a bit more of her story, and got to finally pray with her. It felt good, hopeful, and right. I also saw though some of the pain in Cynthia, hearing a bit more about some of what she's up against, some of her pain and loss, and how her life has been—in her words—on a decline for a long time.

She told us of her Van Gogh dreams, only unlike Vincent, she'd like to earn the money from her art before she dies. I don't know what will come of selling her art online. Really though, I'm not sure this is really all about money and selling art. That's part of it. There's something though about getting to know Cynthia and hearing her story. She's part of my neighborhood and the pain of it's past. And in a small way, I guess she's becoming a part of my family's story. I still don't know her well, and we had to have some sobering conversations with the girls about the realities of entering into the lives of desperate people who are hanging on by a thread. I've been involved in the lives of people struggling with homelessness, addiction and other demons, and it can be a really sticky, uncomfortable, difficult mess.

I also know though, that that's where Jesus is. On the street, in the pain of addiction, loss, and struggle. He's also in the passion and hope of cool art, and what it represents. He's in the good news of thirty bucks when it's really needed, a glass of cold water and a listening ear. He's in the eyes of Sophia, my mom and girls, as I watched them invite Cynthia into our home, treating her just like any other friend we might have over.

I know a little bit more of what Jesus looks like over these last few days, and it feels really, really good.

If you want to check out Cynthia's art, you can visit her Etsy store here.

/jon