Speaking the (straight) truth in (authentic) love
Pacific Lifeline changes lives through accountability and grace
“I’m addicted to miracles,” says Carmen Hall.
And after more than five years as executive director of Pacific Lifeline (PLL) in Upland, Calif., she has witnessed plenty. Yet for Carmen and her staff, watching “with sheer awe as the human spirit chooses to rise” never loses its wonder.
Laying the ground rules
Pacific Lifeline is a Brethren in Christ–affiliated shelter celebrating 101 years of ministry. And for the last two decades of that century of service, it has been dedicated to reaching out specifically to women and children facing homelessness or the prospect of becoming homeless. For the women who come to PLL—women who are either victims of domestic violence, going through drug rehab, on probation, or on parole—it is no ordinary shelter. PLL is where the paradigm changes, where they begin, says Carmen, to experience “a shift in how they see their world—a shift in what they want for their world.”
Focused on developing self-sufficiency, the one- to two-year residential program (which can serve six families at a time) provides therapeutic support and a curriculum-like process that involves goal-setting and a structure that is alien to many of the residents. Carmen asserts that the rigorous program at PLL makes it “college level” in the world of shelters and is not for everyone. Case managers, doctors, and therapists throughout the state assess when a client is ready for the program. Those seeking refuge at PLL must then complete a 13-page application. When accepted into the program, participants must sign a covenant agreement that sets out the expectations for being a part of the community: They agree to abide by a curfew, complete daily chores, and attend classes where they learn skills including parenting, nutrition, and self-defense. Within this environment of support and accountability, residents are asked to give up self-destructive habits, trading them in for self-discipline and increased maturity of thought and action.
And if they don’t choose to stick to the rules, there are consequences, which are well defined within the written agreement. “My theory,” Carmen says, “is by the time you get to our home, you’ve wasted a lot of your life. This is no time to sit down. I mean business. The carrot is that you have a free place to live, food, and medical care. You will work. You will take care of your children. And if you don’t, there’s the door.”
Carmen likens PLL to a household and her role there to that of a parent who isn’t afraid to say “no” to the daughters under her care. A former high school principal who has children of her own, she has experience combining tough expectations with generous grace and love, firmly grounded in her belief that God is all about offering second chances.
Encountering obstacles, celebrating breakthroughs
Leaving behind their own set of obstacles, Pacific Lifeline “daughters” face a whole new set of challenges when they come to the shelter. Adapting to a structured environment in which they are held accountable is extremely painful and scary for many of them because they have lived in both physical and emotional chaos. Carmen explains, “Chaos blinds us to options. Or it sends us back to the dance routine [of bad decisions or unhealthy patterns of response].” But as women begin to experience acceptance and respect in this new environment, they are able to risk finding a new path.
That path may involve severing harmful relationships or reconciling damaged ones. Reuniting women with their own families and children—some of whom have been in foster care for years—is a niche specialty of the agency. The needs of the children involved are as paramount as the needs of the mothers, Carmen says. Although it may take months to successfully reunify families, being reconnected with family members who have been hurt by one’s behavior and choices “helps create wholeness” in a person’s life.
Against seemingly insurmountable odds, wholeness comes to many of Pacific Lifeline’s daughters. There is Mary*, a meth addict for nearly 40 years, who earned freedom from her addiction and, in a symbolically significant step, hosted a party for her son’s 11th birthday. It was the first time they had ever celebrated his birthday.
And there’s Tammy*, a felon recently paroled from prison who had seven children, all in foster homes. While at PLL, she was reunited with her one son—but in the meantime, she was secretly seeing the boy’s father, a runaway felon. “We set the rules down and she broke them all,” Carmen says. So they set what seemed like impossible boundaries, and then they watched yet another miracle occur as Tammy responded to the new boundaries. “She achieved it all,” remarks Carmen. Now in dental hygienist school, Tammy has reason to be proud, of her own accomplishments as well as those of her son who—
inspired by his mother—has made his own turnaround and become an honor student.
Unfortunately, not every story has a happy ending. When women have lived under an abusive or skewed
authority—or perhaps under no authority at all—adjusting to the community expectations at Pacific Lifeline can be extremely difficult. Carmen says that, for the women, experiencing the boundaries at the home “becomes a point of safety, but there is always a point of rebellion on the way to change. Always. Because [living] in that construct will flush up memories, patterns of behavior, all kinds of things that were usually the genesis for the behaviors and choices that have led to difficulty for the individual.”
The benefits of mutual risk-taking
Just as the women who enter the program at PLL take a chance by opening themselves up to new relationships of influence, the staff members likewise risk much. “What does it mean to hope in someone when there is no guarantee?” asks Carmen. Every day, the team must put their love on the line because “there’s always the chance for failure.”
The metaphor Carmen uses to describe how she feels about the work at PLL is striking. “I am on the edge of a cliff. Surfing. Naked. We are all exercising vulnerable hope. Naked hope. . . . But people will make it more often if they know there is even one person who has hope in them, who cares enough to be disappointed.”
The territory of community accountability and the ensuing confrontation is not easy to navigate. Carmen says, “It’s uncomfortable. You never get used to it, and there’s nothing about it that’s fun. But we make a choice as a team . . . if we care for them as if they are our daughters, then we will get hurt. But there’s the chance that they will raise to that level of wanting to have that mutual sense of gratitude and respect. There’s something about raising the bar. When they can achieve certain goals, people start to see their dignity and their value.”
And so, community life at PLL shows that grace and forgiveness are not the polar opposites of accountability and enforcing consequences. The channel for grace often is accountability. The staff of PLL—Carmen, a case man-ager, three therapists, an office assistant, two part-time maintenance staff, and two part-time public relations and grant-writing personnel—works together as a team to provide a consistent environment for the residents of the home. Carmen says that “what creates the right to influence is when we care—enough to discipline, enough to confront.”
Responding to love
The environment of the PLL home shows the women there that they are respected and valued. For the first time in a long time—and sometimes for the first time ever—these women have their basic needs met.
“They learn what it means to be cared for,” Carmen says. And “great love always calls out for a response.”
When a woman begins taking responsibility for her own life, making good decisions, and sticking to the goals she has set for herself and her children, the PLL staff begins to notice that she becomes more outward-focused. There’s a recognition of the needs of others, and an
understanding that she has something to offer those around her. When Carmen’s husband received a difficult medical diagnosis this past December, a number of the residents made cards for him, left messages, and made sure that Carmen didn’t stay too late in the office.
PLL alumni have the opportunity to be part of the grad program, which offers ongoing support and fellowship to the daughters of Pacific Lifeline. And the staff delights in seeing that many of these women begin to participate in the community on a deeper level, coming to the point where they themselves can speak truth into the lives of their sisters and provide mutual accountability.
As they walk beside, work with, and watch these women changing the course of their lives, Carmen and her co-workers are amazed. “It is always about God doing miracles in people’s lives through their hopes and their dreams. He always exemplifies, over and over, second chances. Not everybody will take that chance, but when they do, it is a beautiful thing.”
Susan K. Getty is a writer and artist who lives in Dillsburg, Pa. She’s the editorial assistant for the Office of Marketing and Public Relations at Messiah College (Grantham, Pa.) and a member of the Grantham (Pa.) BIC Church, where she is one of the oldest members of the youth group.
