An Evening of Justice and Worship

YWAM Modesto proudly presents "An Evening of Justice and Worship" from Steps of Justice, an educational, inspirational and practical initiative from Youth With A Mission.  Come join us for a night of music and challenge with Phil and Amy Cunningham and Chris and Jenna Wilson.  They will be with us on Tuesday night, October 18th at 7pm at New Hope Christian Fellowship, 300 Trask Ln. in Modesto.  This night is open to all.  A free-will offering will be taken to help support these families on the road with a most important message.

You can find out more about the tour, hear some music and read about Steps of Justice over at their website...CLICK HERE.  If you have any questions, call Chris Whitler at 209-404-4027

A Man Apart - Patrick

This is a poem that was handed to me by my friend Patrick.  We met him at our 9th Street Cafe that we host every Friday morning.  It's a cafe we set up on the street as a way to build relationships with the people that live there.  Through this time and getting reconnected at church, Patrick has rediscovered his faith and has been a wonderful addition to our cafe community.  He is quick to sit and listen to others and offer kind words and comfort to the broken people that come for a cup of coffee and friendship.  He is also very bright and quite fun to talk politics, religion and culture with.  I have re-posted his beautiful and challenging poem describing life on 9th Street with his gracious permission.  -Chris

A Man Apart

When the darkness gathers
And I forget my name
When all my dreams are hollow
And love's a distant thing

With empty soul and pockets
I'm ashamed to meet your eyes
I've lost the skill for living
But I'm too afraid to die

I can't even name that drooling thing
That mocks my broken heart
I don't know how to find the Word
I am a man apart

In Memory Of Sandra - Sierra Gibson

Sierra is a young volunteer that has come out to our Friday 9th Street Cafe.  In her time with us, she developed a friendship with Sandra who lived in one of the motels there.  Sandra died this past May.  This tribute is re-posted with permission.  -Chris

Each tear felt like a memory gliding down my face, free falling from my chin, tapping the pavement. My heart beat sped up to match the rate at which i pleaded on her behalf, begging God to show his loving kindness, his mercy.

Her name was Sandra. She loved me as much as the last crystal piece of her heart could; it may have been jagged and broken, but it was enough to make me feel special. She would light up and blow smoke near me when we spoke of life's railroad tracks and dead ends. There was a hint of roughness to her tone yet i always felt soothed by her motherly character.

Maybe, when she lay awake that midnight after being stripped of hope, she counted me as the 8th blessing in her life. Maybe, a slight smile broke when she remembered how she nurtured me like her own daughter.

I can picture her praying that every word she whispered would float in the air and find its way to my ear, "Don't worry Julie...", like she'd always say.

I felt the sky weigh on my shoulders.  For a minute i doubted every belief i held.  There was beauty in her heart.  Why is it the world had to sabotage such a heavenly trait?  She had power to arise from the pit of prostitution, from a motel room overflowing with violence, and strength in her legs to run from a pimp destitute of compassion.

"Jesus", I cried.
There's so much that lies behind closed doors.  Brokenness lies in my backyard.
Did she know the end was coming?  Did she feel the pain of the last blow?  Or did she cling to the wall and watch the blood flow?

Abuse is like a stamp, applied to a silent woman.
One more statistic to the world, another victim.
One less child of God alive and breathing.
One less friend to a lonely girl afraid to keep moving.

She believed in my dreams even when her life seemed bleak.
She invited me to be me.
How could a woman so addicted to pain violently heal my heart torn at the seams?

I found myself after a while of feeling lost; I was awake, I was not dreaming.
This was My Reality.
I began to stand although i was weak.  My eyes searched the ground for hope.  Yet all i could find were more stories of tragedy that occurred upon this ground.
It's time for light to invade the darkness of 9th street.

Now I'm committed to remember a woman forgotten.
May she find peace in Heaven.  Since she only knew pieces of hell.

I love you Sandra.  I think about you every day.
I'll tell your story to every generation
You were a voice that calmed seas
But never had the chance to speak