DAVID LAWRENCE

Have you Aged Out of Foster Care?
We would like to hear your story!

SalaamGarage Local Seattle has launched a storytelling project about the youth who have aged out of the foster care system in the Seattle area. Our goal is to raise awareness about the reality the former-foster youth face when they leave foster care.  We are planning to build an exhibition of the stories we document, self-publish a book and get these stories out to the community’s eyes and ears!   

We are seeking individuals who have aged-out in Seattle (all ages) who would like to tell their story, you can sign up to get involved at the link below.
http://tinyurl.com/7jxwfd8


Once you sign up we’ll contact you!  We look forward to meeting and collaborating with you!

Thank you,
SalaamGarage Local: SEA team


  

SalaamGarage Local: Seattle
www.local.salaamgarage.com

It’s a 11:15 and I have to be up in roughly six and a half hours. I spent the evening with a few friends. Some new, some old. We spent about an hour standing in the park, talking, and kicking around a soccer ball. The weather was nice and we embraced the breeze and the company we were able to share with one another. Tonight was different though. Different from a lot of other nights. I realized something.

I realized that Seattle has become home. It’s hard for me to say this because I’ve always set a bar that said nothing would ever compare to Orlando. I told myself that the people here and the times we have had, as good as they may seem, would never be the same as what I had in Orlando.

But the truth is, I’m home. Seattle is home. Do not get me wrong, some days I miss Orlando. I miss the people, the warm weather, the beach, and my family. But I’ve grown to love this city. There is so much life here. I’ve been given so much. I’ve almost been here for two years now and am finding my place.

I know without a doubt that I am here for the long run. This is where God has called me to be. I am embracing this city and learning to slow down and sit still.

So thank you Seattle for welcoming me. Thank you Jesus for giving me new life, and for making a home for me here. I’ve messed up in this place more than I can imagine but at the same time, I’ve done nothing but grow and experience grace, one mistake after another.

And in this. I’m seeing Jesus. I’m seeing what the gospel really is. I’m being shown who I was created to be. That I am child of God. Someone with gifts and talents. Someone who is free and doesn’t have to fully have their shit together.

I’m really thankful for that last part. Because on my best day, even amongst the blessings, I’m a mess. But the good news is that there is grace. Lot’s of it.

I’m sorry for those who paint God as a hateful one.

I’m sorry that every time there is a gathering within the gay community that some joker claiming to follow Jesus is there holding a sign proclaiming that “God hates Fags”.

I’m sorry that as you were coming out of your local planned parent hood, there was someone holding a sign proclaiming that you are going to hell for using birth control and that you God hates you because you aborted your child.

I’m sorry that someone had the nerve to stand outside the funeral of those soldiers in Iraq who died while fighting a war and say that because these soldiers were fighting a war and killing people in another country for the sake of “peace” that they are now burning in hell.

I’m sorry for the times that I, YES, I, have acted like complete and utter asswhole and and not loved you. There have been so many times when I’ve treated others like complete crap and altogether denied who God is and preached the opposite of the gospel of Jesus for my own selfish gain.

I want you to know that the truth is that God doesn’t hate “Fags”. He loves them. He loves you. He doesn’t view you as a fag or hate you for being gay but see’s you as his beloved child despite your sin or shortcomings.

God is not a God is looking down on you with hate as you walked out of the clinic after aborting your child. Better yet he loves you and is mourning with you over the loss of your child and because that child is His as well. And to go even farther he forgives you. I promise he does. He’s looking down on you with love and has a longing to be in community with you.

He is not the people who are condemning soldiers to hell for their actions. The people holding those signs while screaming hateful words have no right whatsoever do decide who is or is not in hell as a result of a wrong doing that was committed. That is only something God can decide but in that I promise he loved those soldiers, he really did, and still does and once again he loves you.

And to address my wrong doing, again I am sorry. God cares about you so much and wants to know you. He wants to be in relationship with you. I’m sorry for the times I’ve painted a false picture of who Jesus is and chosen to not engage in your story or hear you out because I was to busy with myself.

I’m sorry because ultimately I’m just like the people holding the signs. I’ve slept with girls and treated them as objects while knowing that they are beloved children of God and that they are not an object but my sister. I’ve poured drinks and encouraged others to get drunk to forget their problems and to just have a “good time” instead of sharing the love of of Jesus and acknowledging that there is more to life outside of this feeling of complete brokenness.

I’m sorry because who I often have said god is and shown him to be and who others have shown him to be is not who He is at all.

Rest assured that He is someone who loves you. He loves you despite all your crap. He loves you despite all your wrong doings.

Know that You’re not a hateful message on a piece of cardboard. You’re not someone who doesn’t matter as I’ve often shown you to be.

You’re loved. You’re loved by Jesus and through the acceptance of his love you are able to be seen as perfect. Through the death of Jesus he has brought forgiveness of sins. Both yours and mine. Know that.

Over the last couple months I’ve realized that God has instilled in me a huge desire for creativity, specifically in the area of story telling. I’m fascinated by stories; stories of our creator, his works, and the people and things he has brought into existence.

I’m called to live this desire out. What does that look like you may ask?

In short I don’t really know. I guess you could say I’m in the process of figuring that out. That’s the beauty of stories though. Most of the time we have no idea where they are going and we are left with no other option other than to just watch them unfold.

I’ve been blessed to live in a house with 8 other dudes for the past year and half. Living in a confined space with that many people is not easy. I’ve been nothing but challenged but in being challenged I have experienced so much growth.

I’ve walked through some of the roughest times of my life with the guys in this house. They’ve seen me at my worst but have done nothing but point me to Jesus and help me walk through whatever I’ve had going on.

I’m thankful for these men and they all have stories that I believe should be told. So over the next two months I will be posting a series of photos along with a short bio of each of the members of our home.

I’m beyond excited to be doing this. I’m stoked at what God is going to do through this little project over the coming months because this is a completely new territory for me. I can’t wait to share the works that God has done in my brothers and in my own life as well.

And away he walks.

Typewriter in hand.

The pounding of keys has lead to defeat.

Was it the merely the noise? The sound of keys hitting a paper.

Ink spilling on top of a empty sheet.

White as cocaine, splattered with black.

The keys stopped.

And suddenly so did he.

Blank stares.

Empty thoughts.

His hands stopped and so did the pounding, the splattering of ink.

His words have died.

What had so much importance now seems so small.

A pounding of keys, mashing of fingers.

Where have my thoughts gone.

Where have I gone….

My thoughts they disappear.

I look down. Everything has disappeared.

I’m alone. Streets have emptied.

I went from pounding keys, vomiting words, to here.

To now.

To the present, that feels like nothing.

I don’t know where the time has gone or really where I am going.

But here I stand. A type writer in hand.

Staring at my hands. Wondering where it has all gone.

My thoughts, my mind, my inguinity.

Death.

Decay.

All around.

Here I am.