LOVE LETTERS TO THE POOR, CHAP. 5

 LOVE LOST IN THE RAIN

A sorrowful bucket, no longer sweet

My “survivor radar" is always on high beam and was even more so as a person of  "scrambling economics" during my 31 years of life in downtown San Francisco. With a poet's singular scope, I sought the unusual, the empathetic, the empathic, the heartfelt, even the true and raw brokenhearted.  I found it almost constantly.  While I am not a formal “poet” in my writing style, I do have the heart and spirit of a poet, one who seeks the unseen and the beauty hidden in plain view!

Showing apartments for rent for 17 years in SF and fully ending in Dec. 2014, I had plenty of small but soul-feeding experiences in multiple neighborhoods in the basic conducting of  "house commerce" in the rambunctious City of Saint Francis.  Also once I fully returned to fellowship with God, I gradually began to grow in partnership with Him and dear Holy Spirit would begin to feed me deep ideas, bring unexpected beauty or poignant scenes across my path. Sometimes these were happy, sometimes a bit sad but always a slice of God's healing and helping Presence through the fray of big city life. Poets are most often in "heat-seeking" mode to open awareness of a “fold in the ethers" on my immediate path. Just stumbling along in grumble mode does not cut it and I have plenty of stumble-grumble frontline raw experiences which I cannot recommend pursuing. Once I simply began to set down my "poverty sword" and asked for some views with God's eyes, beauty began to blossom more intensely.

I regularly showed apartments in an ordinary building on California St near Fillmore St., at the beginning edge of most prosperous area of Pacific Heights, the wealthiest neighborhood of San Francisco. To the side of the building was one of those quirky small side streets in SF, often only one block long. Ordinary older buildings lined this block, tucked away off the artery of California St. I was parked a handful of blocks away. Finishing my showing, I left the property in my usual swift walk, striding through the spitting rain. Well, I am not tall but I can sure move quickly, with a warrior's focus. As I neared the end of the block, I spied a large metal bucket on the sidewalk. An odd thing to see alone on the sidewalk, as I approached it I was stunned by the contents. Multiple bottles of expensive perfume, obviously partially used, sat in a forlorn state, likely abandoned in sadness and anger, spattered by the cold rain, left behind. For a brief moment, I considered taking a bottle or two with me, as these were obviously costly designer fragrances, not inexpensive mass market offerings. Gazing with a few moments of sorrowful longing and yet empathy for the likely young lady's broken love, I thought better of disturbing this tearful shrine of farewell to a marriage or love affair. I went on my way, sobered, saddened by the loss to a dear and unknown human being.

Big cities are such pressure places of compacted humanity, both for good and for bad. The myriad numbers of us who have been through living low income in a metropolis, many of us with sensitive and creative spirits, seek these transcendent moments to humble us, to feed our spirits and for me, to keep my hand clasped to God's, with no letting go for a moment. Being resourceful is only part of this.  Listening for the still, small voice of Holy Spirit is 100% the key to growth beyond survival, slowly and steadily forward. 

Even though I no longer reside in San Francisco, the intensity of my survivor’s spirit still firmly lives in me. I continue to hold fast to God’s hand and continue to heartily seek His face in every area of my life. I still seek the beauty He puts on my path evety day and it sustains me through this difficult world.

Wendy Williams March 13, 2023