A scared stray who'd obviously been mistreated, Old Deuteronomy, as he's called now, is nothing but a class act.
About like an over-stuffed teddy bear weighing in at almost 20 pounds, this big guy brings me lots of joy!
Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Old Deuteronomy, a class act!
You have to know this fellow to really appreciate him!
A scared stray who'd obviously been mistreated, Old Deuteronomy, as he's called now, is nothing but a class act.
About like an over-stuffed teddy bear weighing in at almost 20 pounds, this big guy brings me lots of joy!
A scared stray who'd obviously been mistreated, Old Deuteronomy, as he's called now, is nothing but a class act.
About like an over-stuffed teddy bear weighing in at almost 20 pounds, this big guy brings me lots of joy!
Friday, June 22, 2012
From "the Corner"--June 21
The heat rose to oppressive levels. The crowd that huddled in the shade under Billy's tree in front of his old, delapidated, abandoned house resembled a congregation in the fellowship mode.
During the two-and-a-half hours that I sat there, I heard countless stories and enjoyed conversations with many people.
But the sea change that occurred happened very quickly.
Isaac Nelson, a man who migrated here from New Orleans, ended up in the "walk in" around the corner (an emergency homeless shelter down and around the block from "the Corner) thanks to a fairly tough illness. About mid-way through our time together I went to my car to get bottled water to replinish the supply in my ice chest. Upon seeing me lugging the case of water, Isaac sprang to my aid. He grabbed the water and began filling the ice chest. Two other men quickly rose to assist him.
"Man, I haven't seen guys jump around on a job like this out here, ever," one of our friends razzed them.
As we settled back into the comfort of the porch, two or three other passerbys came down the sidewalk. Isaac opened the cooler and he invited people to help themselves.
Isaac was in charge.
Today, the community took over "the Corner" in a brand new way!
It was a "mission accomplished" moment!
Just before I had to leave, George, another friend, reminded me of a conversation we had about a month ago.
"You know, I haven't been able to forget what you told me the first day we met," he offered.
"What was that?" I inquired.
"When you said there were enough of us to elect a city council member--I haven't been able to stop thinking about that, man."
"As many of you as there are and as few folks as actually vote in Dallas, I'm convinced it's something that you all should keep thinking about. You just need to get organized," I told him.
What a day. I'll keep coming back here.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
A death
Yesterday we discovered that one of our residents at CityWalk had passed away in his apartment. He had been dead for several hours we were told.
I won't refer to him by name so as to protect his identity. His name is important to us. Sadly, it was not known to nearly enough other people.
A number of other residents missed seeing him. They brought his absence to the attention of property management and to us. We discovered his body upon entering his home.
He was basically a loner.
He was almost 67 years old.
He lived on his Social Security income that amounted to $9,627 annually, $802 monthly. His housing was subsidized by a housing voucher provided by the Dallas Housing Authority.
He stood 5' 11" and weighed 140 pounds, a thin, wisp of a fellow.
Pleasant. Minded his own business.
I wish we had done a better job of knowing him.
He died in his own home, not on some side street or behind some building downtown. For that we are grateful.
But, his life is a loss. His life mattered.
I just wish I had really known him.
His friends in the building grieved. That's what communities do.
I won't refer to him by name so as to protect his identity. His name is important to us. Sadly, it was not known to nearly enough other people.
A number of other residents missed seeing him. They brought his absence to the attention of property management and to us. We discovered his body upon entering his home.
He was basically a loner.
He was almost 67 years old.
He lived on his Social Security income that amounted to $9,627 annually, $802 monthly. His housing was subsidized by a housing voucher provided by the Dallas Housing Authority.
He stood 5' 11" and weighed 140 pounds, a thin, wisp of a fellow.
Pleasant. Minded his own business.
I wish we had done a better job of knowing him.
He died in his own home, not on some side street or behind some building downtown. For that we are grateful.
But, his life is a loss. His life mattered.
I just wish I had really known him.
His friends in the building grieved. That's what communities do.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
"Rock"
Yesterday morning my friend of the past 15 years or so, Rockland ("Rock") Richards passed away. He battled heart disease, obesity and the effects of a mighty rough and dangerous life in his early days.
When he found himself at CitySquare (back then Central Dallas Ministries), he stuck with us until his untimely departure yesterday. I will miss him.
The Central Dallas Church and CitySquare are seeking the funds necessary to provide a funeral and burial for our friend. He was a very poor man materially. But what wealth of heart and soul he possessed.
Almost three years ago to the day, I posted what follows about my good friend and partner in community building. I post it again today in his memory and with a hole somewhere inside as I think about not being able to talk to him again, at least for a while. As you'll read, he didn't let me get away with much, especially when it came to taking time for the truly important. I don't think I learned that lesson as well as he would have liked, and I know I haven't mastered it as well as he.
Thanks for everything, Rock.
___________________________________________
Rockland is my friend.
I've known Rock for well over a decade. His life story is amazing, hilarious and, at points, frightening.
Rock is a reformed drug dealer, thanks to his focus on Jesus and family.
Back in the day, Rock was earning between $50,000 and $75,000 a month selling crack and other illegal substances. He drove great cars, wore great clothes and moved among the big shots inside the Dallas drug scene.
He knew lots of rich, white college kids.
The brother has been shot several times. He can lift his shirt and show you his scars.
One evening he found himself trapped in a Cadillac and caught in a crossfire resulting from a drug deal gone bad. It is a miracle he got out alive. The story is scary beyond belief, but hearing him tell it is so funny.
Then, he got grand kids.
Completely ruined his old life.
He told me that when these babies came along, he knew he had to change his ways. And, he did.
These days Rock is an active member of the Central Dallas Church.
Rock's health is not good. A couple of weeks ago, he was taken to the hospital in critical condition. He was experiencing life-threatening complications resulting from a medication he was taking for his heart condition. He spent several days in ICU.
I made a real bad mistake. I didn't go visit him while he was in such bad shape.
I had my reasons--most relating to my dad's condition--but, none really justify my failure.
When Rock got out, he called me.
"Larry, how's your dad?" he asked when I answered the phone.
I told him and offered my lame excuses for not coming to see him.
"You should have come by, Larry," Rock said. "I love you, Larry. You need to remember that! Stop and smell the roses, man. Check in on a brother when you can," he concluded.
I called him yesterday to tell him about my dad's passing. He and dad were friends too.
I'll work harder at staying in touch.
I love him too.
When he found himself at CitySquare (back then Central Dallas Ministries), he stuck with us until his untimely departure yesterday. I will miss him.
The Central Dallas Church and CitySquare are seeking the funds necessary to provide a funeral and burial for our friend. He was a very poor man materially. But what wealth of heart and soul he possessed.
Almost three years ago to the day, I posted what follows about my good friend and partner in community building. I post it again today in his memory and with a hole somewhere inside as I think about not being able to talk to him again, at least for a while. As you'll read, he didn't let me get away with much, especially when it came to taking time for the truly important. I don't think I learned that lesson as well as he would have liked, and I know I haven't mastered it as well as he.
Thanks for everything, Rock.
___________________________________________
Rockland is my friend.
I've known Rock for well over a decade. His life story is amazing, hilarious and, at points, frightening.
Rock is a reformed drug dealer, thanks to his focus on Jesus and family.
Back in the day, Rock was earning between $50,000 and $75,000 a month selling crack and other illegal substances. He drove great cars, wore great clothes and moved among the big shots inside the Dallas drug scene.
He knew lots of rich, white college kids.
The brother has been shot several times. He can lift his shirt and show you his scars.
One evening he found himself trapped in a Cadillac and caught in a crossfire resulting from a drug deal gone bad. It is a miracle he got out alive. The story is scary beyond belief, but hearing him tell it is so funny.
Then, he got grand kids.
Completely ruined his old life.
He told me that when these babies came along, he knew he had to change his ways. And, he did.
These days Rock is an active member of the Central Dallas Church.
Rock's health is not good. A couple of weeks ago, he was taken to the hospital in critical condition. He was experiencing life-threatening complications resulting from a medication he was taking for his heart condition. He spent several days in ICU.
I made a real bad mistake. I didn't go visit him while he was in such bad shape.
I had my reasons--most relating to my dad's condition--but, none really justify my failure.
When Rock got out, he called me.
"Larry, how's your dad?" he asked when I answered the phone.
I told him and offered my lame excuses for not coming to see him.
"You should have come by, Larry," Rock said. "I love you, Larry. You need to remember that! Stop and smell the roses, man. Check in on a brother when you can," he concluded.
I called him yesterday to tell him about my dad's passing. He and dad were friends too.
I'll work harder at staying in touch.
I love him too.
[Originally posted on Thursday, December 20, 2007]
Saturday, February 06, 2010
Dan's blasted fish!
For some stupid reason we planned our trip so that the race came at the end of our week. Bad move. Not good to board an airplane back to Dallas the day after enduring 26 miles.
Among the week's activities was a fishing trip. We were after big salmon and we found them. We flew into the back country, landed on the river and stepped from plane to boat for a half-day of fishing.
Within half an hour I had landed a 26-pound fish. I must say, I was feeling pretty good. After about another 30 minutes of watching Dan try to catch something, I was beginning to feel sorry for him. That is, until I watched him haul in the largest fish of the season to that point: a 56-pound monster (pictured above--er, the fish is on the left!).
I really was proud for him. It was a thrill to watch!
But, I must add, he keeps bringing up that blasted fish. As a matter of fact, he sent me the picture again just last week. I think he's afraid that I'll forget. Not a chance.
Nice fish, Dan. Real nice fish.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Monday, February 09, 2009
Robert Emerson Glaze
My dear friend, Bob Glaze passed away on Tuesday, February 3 after a long and courageous battle with cancer.
I cannot begin to say how much he will be missed by so many people here in Dallas. And, I count myself among that number.
Bob had a distinguished career in the Dallas business and philanthropic community. He was Trammell Crow's lifelong friend, right hand partner and CFO in the early days of that amazing enterprise. As Dallasites know, Crow died about two weeks ago.
Bob was a consummate business man. His vision, talent and ability to see through complex problems and challenges with hard-nosed practicality and a can-do attitude inspired those around him.
He was one of my most important mentors.
He listened to John Greenan and me make our very first "pitch" on the 511 N. Akard project in Downtown Dallas. We brought him a pretty concept book. We were so proud of that book! He looked through it. Carefully set it aside and began to question us about our proforma projections and our financing plans. He challenged us to "put it on a page or two" and have the background to answer the tough questions. We kept coming back to Bob because we knew he cared and he would give us the guidance we needed.
Bob lived his faith. He cared for the poor. He loved his family. He loved his work. He loved this city.
Over the past year, I would call him from time to time, and he did the same for me. It always helped just to check in and hear his voice. His questions were always spot on. His concern for me never faultered, no matter how bad he felt.
Several years back Bob sent me one of his trademark letters inviting me to join him and others of his many friends for a Thanksgiving Luncheon. I gladly accepted the invitation. When I arrived, I found scores of his friends gathered to be thankful over a wonderful meal and reflections by our host on how important we were to him. I learned that first year that the meal was an annual tradition with Bob that he had hosted for years. It was a great honor to be on his guest list.
Bob Glaze blessed my life. He made this city better. He enjoys a well-deserved rest today. The rest of us have a ways to go yet. I find myself looking forward to our reunion.
Thanks, Bob. You will be missed and never forgotten.
Read more about Bob's amazing life here.
.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
What is poverty?
My buddy in Memphis, Justin, sent me this link from YouTube.
The title, "What is poverty?"
The answer will surprise many.
The answer stands at the heart of what we have learned here in Dallas over the past almost 15 years.
What makes people poor?
Consider your answer before you watch.
I'd love to hear what you think, especially in light of your own experiences.
.
The title, "What is poverty?"
The answer will surprise many.
The answer stands at the heart of what we have learned here in Dallas over the past almost 15 years.
What makes people poor?
Consider your answer before you watch.
I'd love to hear what you think, especially in light of your own experiences.
.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
The Bucket List
Looking to see a movie with a message?
Needing to laugh long and hard?
Searching for meaning in the face of death's reality?
Wondering about the importance of friendship and community with others?
Go see The Bucket List, starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman.
Needing to laugh long and hard?
Searching for meaning in the face of death's reality?
Wondering about the importance of friendship and community with others?
Go see The Bucket List, starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman.
I promise, you won't be disappointed!
.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Friendship changes things
Those who support the wholesale deportation of undocumented immigrants, mostly from Mexico, who have been in the United States for up to two decades, are simply wrong.
These radical voices who characterize as "amnesty"moderate and sensible proposals to create policy that would acknowledge and account for the presence of these immigrants clearly do not enjoy personal relationships with any of the immigrants in question. And, when did "amnesty" become a four-letter word in our nation?
I know, I know. The law and law and order. I get that.
But, law is never adequate when dealing with the human reality and all of its dilemmas, especially when shaped by market forces and the human spirit.
For over twenty years we have taken advantage of the cheap immigrant labor that we allowed to flow unchecked across our southern border. Now some want to legislate a policy that would ignore this contribution to our national benefit. As a friend said to me recently, "I would assume it is better to keep jobs inside our country, rather than exporting the work overseas or outside our borders." I think he is correct.
Of course, the idea that we could deport millions of people is laughable.
But, let's move beyond politics and public policy.
What happens when people connect as friends? Or does friendship not matter any more in America?
Two weeks ago yesterday, my father was laid to rest. Among the crowd that came to honor his memory and to comfort our family were two bright young people, Monica and Jose. Many readers here will remember their situation and their current standing in federal immigration court in Dallas. [For those who don't, type "Monica" in the Search box above and read the story.]
I can't tell you how much their presence meant to me and my family. They were accompanied by other members of their families. They carried bouquets of flowers to leave at the grave. They came to express their sympathy and their love. They are my dear friends. They love me and my family. We love them.
To send these children back to a country they do not know would be wrong. That judgement is true from a policy standpoint. It is also true from a human and moral standpoint.
Call it "amnesty" or whatever. Finding a way for these bright young people and their families to remain in the United States, continue their education and work to make the nation stronger and more productive is simply right--it is the moral high ground and it is simply common sense.
Friendship changes things. People who do not know undocumented immigrants like these two young people should either make some new friendships or simply be quiet.
.
These radical voices who characterize as "amnesty"moderate and sensible proposals to create policy that would acknowledge and account for the presence of these immigrants clearly do not enjoy personal relationships with any of the immigrants in question. And, when did "amnesty" become a four-letter word in our nation?
I know, I know. The law and law and order. I get that.
But, law is never adequate when dealing with the human reality and all of its dilemmas, especially when shaped by market forces and the human spirit.
For over twenty years we have taken advantage of the cheap immigrant labor that we allowed to flow unchecked across our southern border. Now some want to legislate a policy that would ignore this contribution to our national benefit. As a friend said to me recently, "I would assume it is better to keep jobs inside our country, rather than exporting the work overseas or outside our borders." I think he is correct.
Of course, the idea that we could deport millions of people is laughable.
But, let's move beyond politics and public policy.
What happens when people connect as friends? Or does friendship not matter any more in America?
Two weeks ago yesterday, my father was laid to rest. Among the crowd that came to honor his memory and to comfort our family were two bright young people, Monica and Jose. Many readers here will remember their situation and their current standing in federal immigration court in Dallas. [For those who don't, type "Monica" in the Search box above and read the story.]
I can't tell you how much their presence meant to me and my family. They were accompanied by other members of their families. They carried bouquets of flowers to leave at the grave. They came to express their sympathy and their love. They are my dear friends. They love me and my family. We love them.
To send these children back to a country they do not know would be wrong. That judgement is true from a policy standpoint. It is also true from a human and moral standpoint.
Call it "amnesty" or whatever. Finding a way for these bright young people and their families to remain in the United States, continue their education and work to make the nation stronger and more productive is simply right--it is the moral high ground and it is simply common sense.
Friendship changes things. People who do not know undocumented immigrants like these two young people should either make some new friendships or simply be quiet.
.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Rock
Rockland is my friend.
I've known Rock for well over a decade. His life story is amazing, hilarious and, at points, frightening.
Rock is a reformed drug dealer, thanks to his focus on Jesus and family.
Back in the day, Rock was earning between $50,000 and $75,000 a month selling crack and other illegal substances. He drove great cars, wore great clothes and moved among the big shots inside the Dallas drug scene.
He knew lots of rich, white college kids.
The brother has been shot several times. He can lift his shirt and show you his scars.
One evening he found himself trapped in a Cadillac and caught in a crossfire resulting from a drug deal gone bad. It is a miracle he got out alive. The story is scary beyond belief, but hearing him tell it is so funny.
Then, he got grand kids.
Completely ruined his old life.
He told me that when these babies came along, he knew he had to change his ways. And, he did.
These days Rock is an active member of the Central Dallas Church.
Rock's health is not good. A couple of weeks ago, he was taken to the hospital in critical condition. He was experiencing life-threatening complications resulting from a medication he was taking for his heart condition. He spent several days in ICU.
I made a real bad mistake. I didn't go visit him while he was in such bad shape.
I had my reasons--most relating to my dad's condition--but, none really justify my failure.
When Rock got out, he called me.
"Larry, how's your dad?" he asked when I answered the phone.
I told him and offered my lame excuses for not coming to see him.
"You should have come by, Larry," Rock said. "I love you, Larry. You need to remember that! Stop and smell the roses, man. Check in on a brother when you can," he concluded.
I called him yesterday to tell him about my dad's passing. He and dad were friends too.
I'll work harder at staying in touch.
I love him too.
I've known Rock for well over a decade. His life story is amazing, hilarious and, at points, frightening.
Rock is a reformed drug dealer, thanks to his focus on Jesus and family.
Back in the day, Rock was earning between $50,000 and $75,000 a month selling crack and other illegal substances. He drove great cars, wore great clothes and moved among the big shots inside the Dallas drug scene.
He knew lots of rich, white college kids.
The brother has been shot several times. He can lift his shirt and show you his scars.
One evening he found himself trapped in a Cadillac and caught in a crossfire resulting from a drug deal gone bad. It is a miracle he got out alive. The story is scary beyond belief, but hearing him tell it is so funny.
Then, he got grand kids.
Completely ruined his old life.
He told me that when these babies came along, he knew he had to change his ways. And, he did.
These days Rock is an active member of the Central Dallas Church.
Rock's health is not good. A couple of weeks ago, he was taken to the hospital in critical condition. He was experiencing life-threatening complications resulting from a medication he was taking for his heart condition. He spent several days in ICU.
I made a real bad mistake. I didn't go visit him while he was in such bad shape.
I had my reasons--most relating to my dad's condition--but, none really justify my failure.
When Rock got out, he called me.
"Larry, how's your dad?" he asked when I answered the phone.
I told him and offered my lame excuses for not coming to see him.
"You should have come by, Larry," Rock said. "I love you, Larry. You need to remember that! Stop and smell the roses, man. Check in on a brother when you can," he concluded.
I called him yesterday to tell him about my dad's passing. He and dad were friends too.
I'll work harder at staying in touch.
I love him too.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Retreat reading. . .
Want a feel for and a visual narrative on everything Vietnam?
Read Nelson Demille's Up Country.
I read it during my recent "retreat time" away from the city.
Demille's main character, Paul Brenner, a retiree from the Army's Criminal Investigation Division, accepts an unusual assignment that takes him back to Vietnam for the first time in over 30 years.
Read Nelson Demille's Up Country.
I read it during my recent "retreat time" away from the city.
Demille's main character, Paul Brenner, a retiree from the Army's Criminal Investigation Division, accepts an unusual assignment that takes him back to Vietnam for the first time in over 30 years.
His purpose: to investigate a murder allegedly committed by a U. S. Army Captain during the midst of a bloody siege. The identity of this officer turns out to be quite a surprise.
It's a great read, especially if you're looking for insights into the Vietnam War and its horror and humanity.
The last paragraph of the book says a lot that draws me back to the city:
"The journey home is never a direct route; it is, in fact, always circuitous, and somewhere along the way, we discover that the journey is more significant than the destination, and that the people we meet along the way will be the traveling companions of our memories forever."
It's a great read, especially if you're looking for insights into the Vietnam War and its horror and humanity.
The last paragraph of the book says a lot that draws me back to the city:
"The journey home is never a direct route; it is, in fact, always circuitous, and somewhere along the way, we discover that the journey is more significant than the destination, and that the people we meet along the way will be the traveling companions of our memories forever."
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Considering the circumstances of my demise
No one who believes in life can choose the details of his or her ending.
My parents continue to teach me about the tough reality of growing old. Movement to life's end can be halting, harsh, humbling, humorous and, at times, horrible.
So, I find myself working on a check list of hopes relative to the conclusion of my own journey. Here's what I've come up with so far:
1) I hope I live fully until the last minute, sixty seconds after which I long to fall over dead and gone. Then, let the party begin! I am currently working on a list of friends who will be invited to tell jokes on me at my funeral, that is, if they can rise from their own wheelchairs.
2) I hope to be delivered from long stints in unfamiliar and dangerous hospital beds where the floors around are always too slick for common sense, weak legs and distended bladders. I suppose bugs in the rugs are more of a threat than broken bones on the linoleum.
3) I hope never to be "delivered" to any "skilled nursing center"--since I now know that is simply code for "nursing home."
4) I hope never to be "roomies" with anyone who doesn't remember his name or who insists on singing off key all night long.
5) I hope when someone says to me with a stupid grin, "Well, I bet you have seen lots of changes," that I have the good sense to say, "Well, not nearly enough!"
6) I hope I never need a pill box to keep all the meds straight, morning and night, that I can't keep up with in my head.
7) I hope, if I have to have doctors, that they will have the good sense to talk to one another, at least occasionally.
8) I hope I never end up on some chaplain's list for "rounds" and prayers that I haven't asked for. Why does that line, "May I say a prayer for you?" always make me angry?
9) I hope my running buddy, Dan and my development partner, John and my long-time friends, Edd and Randy, as well as others I won't list here, come by to see me just because they want to and not because they feel obligated. I also hope they sneak in hamburgers and milk shakes!
10) I hope I get sweeter and softer--however, I fear I'm already headed in the opposite direction!
11) I hope I'll be able to communicate to my children, grandchildren and, if I live long enough, great grandchildren just how much I love them in a manner that will make them laugh and understand deeply without feeling any embarrassment.
12) I hope I remember my name, at least every now and again.
13) I hope I'll keep up with technology so that whatever is coming after my laptop will be something I use daily. I hope I can think clearly enough to write something or someone every day.
14) I hope I still read the box scores during baseball season. I hope I can get out to a game or two or 10 every year.
15) I hope that I die before I leave the battle I most believe in.
16) I hope, even if I am forced to sit down, that I never give up.
17) I hope I don't outlive those I love the most.
I'll keep working on this list. You got one?
.
My parents continue to teach me about the tough reality of growing old. Movement to life's end can be halting, harsh, humbling, humorous and, at times, horrible.
So, I find myself working on a check list of hopes relative to the conclusion of my own journey. Here's what I've come up with so far:
1) I hope I live fully until the last minute, sixty seconds after which I long to fall over dead and gone. Then, let the party begin! I am currently working on a list of friends who will be invited to tell jokes on me at my funeral, that is, if they can rise from their own wheelchairs.
2) I hope to be delivered from long stints in unfamiliar and dangerous hospital beds where the floors around are always too slick for common sense, weak legs and distended bladders. I suppose bugs in the rugs are more of a threat than broken bones on the linoleum.
3) I hope never to be "delivered" to any "skilled nursing center"--since I now know that is simply code for "nursing home."
4) I hope never to be "roomies" with anyone who doesn't remember his name or who insists on singing off key all night long.
5) I hope when someone says to me with a stupid grin, "Well, I bet you have seen lots of changes," that I have the good sense to say, "Well, not nearly enough!"
6) I hope I never need a pill box to keep all the meds straight, morning and night, that I can't keep up with in my head.
7) I hope, if I have to have doctors, that they will have the good sense to talk to one another, at least occasionally.
8) I hope I never end up on some chaplain's list for "rounds" and prayers that I haven't asked for. Why does that line, "May I say a prayer for you?" always make me angry?
9) I hope my running buddy, Dan and my development partner, John and my long-time friends, Edd and Randy, as well as others I won't list here, come by to see me just because they want to and not because they feel obligated. I also hope they sneak in hamburgers and milk shakes!
10) I hope I get sweeter and softer--however, I fear I'm already headed in the opposite direction!
11) I hope I'll be able to communicate to my children, grandchildren and, if I live long enough, great grandchildren just how much I love them in a manner that will make them laugh and understand deeply without feeling any embarrassment.
12) I hope I remember my name, at least every now and again.
13) I hope I'll keep up with technology so that whatever is coming after my laptop will be something I use daily. I hope I can think clearly enough to write something or someone every day.
14) I hope I still read the box scores during baseball season. I hope I can get out to a game or two or 10 every year.
15) I hope that I die before I leave the battle I most believe in.
16) I hope, even if I am forced to sit down, that I never give up.
17) I hope I don't outlive those I love the most.
I'll keep working on this list. You got one?
.
Monday, July 30, 2007
A neighbor
Living in my inner city neighborhood feels a lot like a small town. It reminds me of my childhood in, what was then, small town Richardson, population about 1,200.
No matter where I go around here, I run into people I know and who know me.
Saturday evening, I stopped at the Chevron station at Carroll and Live Oak. As I filled my car's gas tank, Buford approached me intending to ask if he could wash my windows in exchange for pocket change.
As he approached with squeegee in hand, he recognized me.
"Well, hey there, Preacher," he said, as if that were my name, with a sense of relief that he knew me and that I knew him. "How you been?"
Before I could answer, he broke into a conversation about the Central Dallas Church and its move and how he had not been able to find it. I reminded him again, as I had the last time we talked, of its new location.
I asked him if he was ever going to get off the streets. He just hung and shook his head, all in one motion.
I'd really like to help you," I told him.
"I'm going to give you some money and you're gonna go buy some food and a drink, or whatever," I continued. "But, I know that doesn't really help you!"
"Hey, Preacher, I'm going to have a beer before the nights over," he explained, "but, I won't use your money for the beer."
"I don't care if you buy a beer with my money," I told him, to his surprise, "All I care about is seeing you get off this street. I like you and I know you like me. Right?" I asked.
"Yeah, thanks, sure, right," he replied with a big smile, as he crossed himself and touched his heart with both hands, his street version of the sign of the cross.
So, why do you stay out here?" I pressed him.
He hung his head again.
I told him about apartments we now have available for him and others like him. I explained what he needed to do to get one.
"I can work for it, Preacher," he offered with some new enthusiasm.
His quick assurance reminded me that everyone, almost, wants to work for what they receive. Everyone maintains some measure of pride and self-respect no matter what their baggage.
"Just come by my office next week and let's get you into one," I urged him.
We talked some more.
As we talked, a realization swept over me.
He was my neighbor and my friend, and he regarded me the same.
He just wanted to talk. He didn't want me to leave. He needed my friendship. We talked for a long time before I had to leave.
If we have a chance of changing things for him, it resides in this reality.
For years I've been trying to help him move off the streets. For years it hasn't happened.
He told me that his companion of many years, Darlene, had passed away. Darlene, a haggard woman who lived the last of years of her life in a wheelchair that he pushed everywhere, had meant everything to Buford.
"I miss her a lot," he shared.
"I'm really sorry," I told him.
When he sensed that I had to go, he threw his arms around me and gave me a big bear hug. He wished me well and said he'd come by to talk some more.
Being in the same neighborhood makes us neighbors. I'm hoping that we can find a way together to get him into an apartment he can call home. He deserves better than camping on the streets of our small part of this huge city.
Driving away, I realized that Buford only wants what I want: to be loved, to matter to someone and to be heard and understood.
We're all the same.
No matter where I go around here, I run into people I know and who know me.
Saturday evening, I stopped at the Chevron station at Carroll and Live Oak. As I filled my car's gas tank, Buford approached me intending to ask if he could wash my windows in exchange for pocket change.
As he approached with squeegee in hand, he recognized me.
"Well, hey there, Preacher," he said, as if that were my name, with a sense of relief that he knew me and that I knew him. "How you been?"
Before I could answer, he broke into a conversation about the Central Dallas Church and its move and how he had not been able to find it. I reminded him again, as I had the last time we talked, of its new location.
I asked him if he was ever going to get off the streets. He just hung and shook his head, all in one motion.
I'd really like to help you," I told him.
"I'm going to give you some money and you're gonna go buy some food and a drink, or whatever," I continued. "But, I know that doesn't really help you!"
"Hey, Preacher, I'm going to have a beer before the nights over," he explained, "but, I won't use your money for the beer."
"I don't care if you buy a beer with my money," I told him, to his surprise, "All I care about is seeing you get off this street. I like you and I know you like me. Right?" I asked.
"Yeah, thanks, sure, right," he replied with a big smile, as he crossed himself and touched his heart with both hands, his street version of the sign of the cross.
So, why do you stay out here?" I pressed him.
He hung his head again.
I told him about apartments we now have available for him and others like him. I explained what he needed to do to get one.
"I can work for it, Preacher," he offered with some new enthusiasm.
His quick assurance reminded me that everyone, almost, wants to work for what they receive. Everyone maintains some measure of pride and self-respect no matter what their baggage.
"Just come by my office next week and let's get you into one," I urged him.
We talked some more.
As we talked, a realization swept over me.
He was my neighbor and my friend, and he regarded me the same.
He just wanted to talk. He didn't want me to leave. He needed my friendship. We talked for a long time before I had to leave.
If we have a chance of changing things for him, it resides in this reality.
For years I've been trying to help him move off the streets. For years it hasn't happened.
He told me that his companion of many years, Darlene, had passed away. Darlene, a haggard woman who lived the last of years of her life in a wheelchair that he pushed everywhere, had meant everything to Buford.
"I miss her a lot," he shared.
"I'm really sorry," I told him.
When he sensed that I had to go, he threw his arms around me and gave me a big bear hug. He wished me well and said he'd come by to talk some more.
Being in the same neighborhood makes us neighbors. I'm hoping that we can find a way together to get him into an apartment he can call home. He deserves better than camping on the streets of our small part of this huge city.
Driving away, I realized that Buford only wants what I want: to be loved, to matter to someone and to be heard and understood.
We're all the same.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Debra's Story
We encounter thousands of people during the course of every year.
Every person has their own fascinating story.
In the press of our days we know that we must never forget the individual faces. We must be eager to hear and explore the personal stories.
Over the past 13 years this amazing community has taught me that every time I stop and listen, I learn and I am changed.
The power and the beauty and the purpose is always discovered in the stories of the people.
Below is a link to a video about one of our dear friends at Central Dallas Ministries, as well as a letter that she wrote to our community.
Debra's story, like so many others, is amazing! I believe it will lift your soul, to say the least!
I encourage you to set aside a moment to hear how people like you played an important role in changing the direction of her story and, thus, her life!
Dear Friend,
My name is Debra. Three years ago, I was unemployed and living in an abandoned crack house with no water or electricity.
Because of your support of Central Dallas Ministries, I now have my own apartment and a stable job. I’m even able to give back to CDM as a donor! It is amazing that people like you care about people that you haven’t even met.
Thank you for that, and please keep caring!
Sincerely,
For more stories about CDM's neighbors, please visit:
http://www.CentralDallasMinistries.org/faces/
Every person has their own fascinating story.
In the press of our days we know that we must never forget the individual faces. We must be eager to hear and explore the personal stories.
Over the past 13 years this amazing community has taught me that every time I stop and listen, I learn and I am changed.
The power and the beauty and the purpose is always discovered in the stories of the people.
Below is a link to a video about one of our dear friends at Central Dallas Ministries, as well as a letter that she wrote to our community.
Debra's story, like so many others, is amazing! I believe it will lift your soul, to say the least!
I encourage you to set aside a moment to hear how people like you played an important role in changing the direction of her story and, thus, her life!
Dear Friend,
My name is Debra. Three years ago, I was unemployed and living in an abandoned crack house with no water or electricity.
Because of your support of Central Dallas Ministries, I now have my own apartment and a stable job. I’m even able to give back to CDM as a donor! It is amazing that people like you care about people that you haven’t even met.
Thank you for that, and please keep caring!
Sincerely,
For more stories about CDM's neighbors, please visit:
http://www.CentralDallasMinistries.org/faces/
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