The Homeless Man in My House

Image from Smithsonianmag.com

Last summer I took a homeless man into my home for an overnight stay. His stench followed him up the stairs where he steamed up my bathroom with a hot shower-- using my bath soap, wash cloth and towel.

My Visit to a Safe House for Girls of the Sex Slave Industry

Image from www.sharedhope.org

"Front door opening," announced the electronic voice as I entered the kitchen where *Shayla was busily preparing Valentine's candy for an upcoming banquet. I walked past the cubbies where girls hang their coats and studied her face for a moment.

"Do you like school?" I asked.

What else do you ask a sixteen-year-old who's spent most of her existence earning her keep from a pimp's bed?

On Being a Misfit and Loving Lesbians

photo credit: Gizmodo Shoes

I tossed and turned for a while in bed last night, thinking about what a misfit I am. How I don’t seem to fit neatly into any cultural corner: I’m eyed with suspicion by my gay friends when I profess to be a born again Christian. I’m eyed with suspicion by Christian friends when I confess to enjoying the company of my gay and very nonchristian friends.  And sometimes I'm painfully aware that  I do not belong in groups or events involving certain brands of people in pretty packaging with plasticky smiles and platitudes dabbed on saintly lips and—that is a good thing, actually. But it makes for a lonely existence at times.