There are levels to this surrendered life. When Jesus meets people, He instantly prepares to give. Money, wisdom, time, love. It’s never about Him. He died a long time ago. And yet … a longing for home and intimacy aches within each heartbeat. There is a level where singing the same songs, sitting comfortably in cushy pews protected by four walls is enough. But every time He crosses paths with a weary or tormented soul, His spirit is stirred. They, too, are His reflection. They remind Him that there are places within Him that are unsure, undiscovered, weary, and tormented. This makes His pew uncomfortable. It makes the four walls close in on Him. There are levels. Every cliff He comes to is an entrance into the next one. The question for Him is no longer, “Will I jump?” He has no choice. His question is, “Will I have the necessary trust needed to pass this test?” Does He still care? Still want it? Home. Intimacy. He’s so wounded He’s not even sure how He’s been able to make it this far. Does He still believe? A mustard seed is all He needs, and yet He feels as if He only has half of that. Despite all these thoughts, His feet are still moving. Proof that He’s not in this by Himself. There are levels to this. Endure.
I had fallen into community organizing by a fluke. I was heavily involved in my church, but not on religious stuff. I was hurting. I threw my heart into seeking Jesus. I had been looking for the way to live life since being a small child. I looked for it in men, friends, money, success, but every time I thought I was close, I ended up at a dead end. I found myself back in my childhood church where my grandparents raised me. It was a huge sanctuary with a handful of members to fill it. I stayed mainly for the youth. There were teenagers there who didn’t yet see the value in a church service, and I took pride in meeting them where they were. It was like getting a second chance at life. They would talk to me openly about their lives and experiences.
As I listened to their stories about relationships, sex, school, fears, loss, and depression, I realized I had come full circle. The very things I had encountered were the same stories that allowed me to relate without judgment. I understood their tears. I remembered. May I never forget. Jesus’ Life began pouring out of me. Every cry was met with a scripture that I used when I encountered the same demons. I started meeting people from all backgrounds—Muslims, Hispanics, Seventh-Day Adventists, atheists, Asians, Filipinos, blind people, deaf, homeless, wealthy, lesbians, transgender—it didn’t matter. I had relationships with people from all backgrounds. I listened to their stories without judgment and I loved them right there.
I would send poems out in text messages and I got so much feedback that I started a Bible study that met monthly. The meetings focused on displaying how scripture was practical and applicable in our world today. I found that most young people couldn’t see how that was true. They didn’t see the connection between their stories and Jesus’ life. That didn’t scare me; in fact, I understood it one hundred percent. That understanding is what provided the space to connect with people from different backgrounds and to bring them together.
I started organizing community block parties as a way to promote awareness and honor within neighborhoods. I also started partnering with other community organizations to push for restorative justice and effective communication training within Oakland public schools. I published pamphlets once a month that began circulating in different communities. Writing was a release for me. I was able to express my thoughts about the world and the things around me. It’s important to have a member from your community representing their community. Too often the people who are helping and on the front line representing our communities are not members of it. How can you serve and represent a place where you don’t know the people? The first step in any organizing is knowing the people you are serving.
For me it wasn’t about starting a nonprofit and collecting a check. It wasn’t about busy work or titles. I didn’t care anything about a platform or a name. It was always about the love. It was always about my story. About telling the truth. For me it was all about Jesus. I had watched so many people twist up His name and His work. It was always important for me to live a life that honored His mission way more than talk about it. Every song I sang, every event I organized, every poem was always created from that spirit.