Jackson Browne

The music of Jackson Browne moves me.  Music with heart, a social soul and a prophetic challenge all rolled into one experience. 

Check out his website here.  You'll f ind all sorts of interesting options for changing the world at his site!  Love this guy.

So, I'm a thief. . .

Not long ago on a Monday evening after work, I broke into the Central Dallas Food Pantry.

Big time no-no, I'm telling you.

Place was locked up tighter than a drum.

No staff.

No interview process.

No forms to document output or outcomes.

Just me, using my key to get inside the food storage area after hours.

Total disregard for policy, protocol and process.

So, I'm a thief.

The saga began when I noticed an extremely skinny, as in skin and bones, Willie Nelson looking fellow climbing out of one of the trash dumpsters back of our building.

In his hands he cradled a discarded mess of shredded cabbage packed in a plastic bag.

Must have been near 100 degrees. No telling what the expiration date read on the package.

I approached him and introduced myself.

"Where did you get the cabbage?" I asked.

"Out of your trash," he replied.

"I just got out of the hospital this afternoon and I'm not doing so good," he added. "My stomach is hurtin' something awful."

"Gee, I'm sorry to hear that," I said, wondering what his plans were for the evening.

"Could you get me a few cans of food from inside?" he asked.

"Inside"--there's the term. After hours everyone who comes by because their hungry knows that "inside" is where the relief is to be found.

"Sure," I declared without much thought.

Immediately, an internal conversation got underway in my head, as I reviewed our "rules and regulations" about how to use and access the Food Pantry.

The way I figured it, I was in violation of about 100 rules and procedures.

The word "thief" rose up in my throat. I quickly pushed it back down and encouraged my new friend to follow me.

He rode a bicycle weighed down with plastic bags filled with soft drink cans for recycling. Guys like this keep our neighborhood cleared of all such trash.

"You can park your bike inside the back door and we'll go up and around back down to the Food Pantry," I laid out our plan of attack.

Luckily my keys worked! I've done so little in this part of what we do over the past many years that I wouldn't have been surprised if they had changed the locks on me. The Food Pantry was our only hope since I was flat broke!

The door opened and we were in!

I had to urge my buddy to fill up two shopping bags.

"I don't want to be greedy," he told me.

Now the guy is flat killing me.

"No chance of that here," I reassured him.

He told me that he had a small trailer parked over on Good-Latimer in South Dallas, so he wasn't without a roof over his head.

"I sure wasn't looking forward to that cabbage!" he exclaimed.

He finished packing away the loot and we made our escape.

No one saw us.

But, I had to get it off my chest.

We broke several rules, I'm sure.

I just can't stand seeing a man fishing "food" out of our trash.

Maybe I'll throw myself on the mercy of the court!
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Checking the news. . .

Forgive the quality of the image here.

I captured it on the move with the camera in my phone.

The corner is just off Michigan Avenue in downtown Chicago.

What you're looking at is a homeless man reading a newspaper he dug out of the trash can.

I noticed him as I approached the corner and as I waited for the traffic light to change. I was there long enough to observe him making his way through several pages of the front section of the newspaper. He was lost in his reading, sort of like me over my cereal in the morning.

It occurred to me to try to record the scene simply because of what it conveys about this one man, homeless persons in general and all of us who walk the streets of cities like Chicago.

Just because this man is among the poorest in his city doesn't mean he isn't interested in finding out what is going on. He couldn't afford to buy a paper, but he found a way to get what he felt he needed.

As I recall the scene with the help of this blurred imagine, it hits me again that we are all about the same when you get right down to it.

Thoughts?

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Pain and poverty

What I am about to say may sound self-evident, but I think we seldom experience the grace of true understanding when it comes to people who live in poverty.

"Poor people" hurt just like the rest of us (Note: I instinctively resist and resent using the phrase "the poor" to categorize human beings--people aren't poor, they have the circumstances of poverty thrust upon them, often through no fault of their own, as we are learning in this present economy. . .).

Of course, the burdens of poverty dump unusual difficulty on those who must endure that broad, often comprehensive burden. Surely, it hurts to be homeless in ways that I will not understand until I enter that state of being. It hurts to be ill without ready recourse to treatment, care and medication. It hurts to be unable to get places. It hurts to be broke. It hurts to be hungry.

But these are not the pains I have in mind today.

No, I'm thinking of the pains of the heart.

Being hungry hurts. What's worse and deeper and extremely painful to the heart is to see your child hungry and you having no way to relieve that pain.

Going further, those of us who try "to help" people who live in poverty seldom think in terms of the heart, the emotional life of people who face severe, often intractable economic and social problems.

Joe is a friend. He lost a 7-year-old child in a car crash. Joe knows poverty. Joe's heart was broken when his little girl died. Joe will be shaped by this one loss for the rest of his life, just as I would be should something like that happen to me. Will anyone see that, take the time to know that reality, to really know Joe?

People who face poverty also see marriages end, experience the apparent death of key relationships, have hearts broken wide open by betrayal and loss, watch children suffer and fail, stand and look down the road as a friend walks away. They know what it feels like to be ignored, passed over, and shoved to the back of most lines. They feel a deep agony as their children are sent away to prison.

Several years ago, not long after I came to Central Dallas Ministries, I met a very interesting couple. The man was several years younger than the woman. Whether they were married or not, I don't know. They certainly could have been, and they definitely were a couple. Both had experienced severe poverty and homelessness, thanks in large part to substance abuse, terrible childhoods and a basic lack of skills. She lived her life in a wheelchair. He attended to her with a tenderness that at times was palpable. At other times they fought like cats and dogs! They struggled with life, they struggled hard. We tried to intervene, to help, to make a difference. I don't judge that we were very helpful, not really.

A few years ago the woman died.

I encountered the man on the street just a few weeks after her death. He greeted me with his bear hug "hello" and promptly broke down into tears of grief as he explained his loss. He hurt so deeply for her.

You name the human situation of loss or despair and, guess what? Our neighbors who possess nothing also know, possibly as if magnified by their circumstance, the pains of life, loss and love.

We would do well to remember the power of human emotions. We must not forget the universal pain of being human.

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Irony, instructive irony. . .

Here's the latest on the Plaza Inn located at 1011 S. Akard, just across I-30 from Downtown.

You may remember that this is the property we placed under contract with plans to redevelop following a mixed-income, mixed-use plan. About 50 units of the almost 300 in our plan were to be reserved for homeless persons.

Frankly, the original plan was tremendous!

The preliminary score on our Low-Income Housing Tax Credit (LIHTC)application to the Department of Housing and Community Affairs was among the highest in the entire state.

As we talked to the community, we worked hard to adapt our original plans to accommodate concerns of the Cedars Neighborhood Association.

But, in the end, the neighbors voted us down.

We then backed away and worked hard with the building owners to engage them in a manner that would allow them to join in the LITHC process to re-do the property and produce much-needed affordable housing, but with no provision for permanent supportive housing for the formerly homeless.

Clearly, our plans to provide housing for homeless persons proved to be the "deal killer" with the neighborhood group. Even though they talked about unit sizes and mix, about our inexperience as developers (never mind that the CityWalk @ Akard project was about the most complex, difficult deal in Dallas history!), about lots of things, but the underlying fear was clearly the provision in our project for the homeless. "Too many SRO units!" is what we heard quietly, behind the scenes, especially after our public meetings were done.

Okay, so forgive me providing all that background.

Fast forward to last Saturday night at the Plaza Inn.

Two recent parolees from the Texas Department of Corrections break in to the Plaza Inn building. The vandals likely were looking to carry out whatever they could lay their hands on to sell.

Outside the building, on the street were three homeless neighbors trying to simply keep warm.

They witnessed the thieves enter the building.

What did these "homeless people" do?

They did exactly what I would have done. They called the police and reported the break-in.

The police arrived, arrested the criminals and protected the property.

I learned of this development from the property owner on Monday.

Ironic, huh?

The very people so many of us fear turn out to be good neighbors with the same concerns and basic values as most of us share.

Lots to learn here. Lots to give us pause.

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The stock boy and the checkout girl. . .

[I've read earlier versions of this story a few years ago, and you may have seen it already. But, I just had to share it here. Every now and then you just need a good story to lift your heart!]

In a supermarket, Kurtis the stock boy was busily working when a new voice came over the loud speaker asking for a carry-out at register 4. Kurtis was almost finished and wanted to get some fresh air, so he decided to answer the call. As he approached the checkout stand, a distant smile caught his eye ~ the checkout girl was beautiful. She was an older woman (maybe 26, and he was only 22) and he fell in love.

Later that day, after his shift was over, he waited by the punch clock to find out her name. She came into the break room, smiled softly at him, took her card, punched out, and then left. He looked at her card, BRENDA. He walked out only to see her start walking up the road. Next day, he waited outside as she left the supermarket, and offered her a ride home. He looked harmless enough, and she accepted. When he dropped her off, he asked if maybe he could see her again, outside of work. She simply said it wasn't possible.

He pressed and she explained she had two children and she couldn't afford a babysitter, so he offered to pay for the babysitter. Reluctantly she accepted his offer for a date for the following Saturday.

That Saturday night, he arrived at her door only to have her tell him that she was unable to go with him. The babysitter had called and canceled. To which Kurtis simply said, "Well, let's take the kids with us."

She tried to explain that taking the children was not an option, but again not taking no for an answer, he pressed. Finally Brenda brought him inside to meet her children. She had an older daughter who was just as cute as a bug, Kurtis thought, and then Brenda brought out her son, in a wheelchair. He was born a paraplegic with Downs Syndrome.

Kurtis told Brenda, "I still don't understand why the kids can't come with us." Brenda was amazed. Most men would run away from a woman with two kids, especially if one had disabilities ~ just like her first husband and father of her children had done. But Kurtis was not ordinary ~ he had a different mindset.

That evening Kurtis and Brenda loaded up the kids and went to dinner and the movies. When her son needed anything, Kurtis would take care of him. When he needed to use the restroom, he picked him up out of his wheelchair, took him, and brought him back. The kids loved Kurtis. At the end of the evening, Brenda knew this was the man she was going to marry and spend the rest of her life with.

A year later, they were married and Kurtis adopted both of her children. Since then they have added five more kids.

So what happened to Kurtis the stock boy at a grocery store in Cedar Falls, Iowa and Brenda the checkout girl?

Well, Mr. & Mrs. Kurt Warner now live in Arizona where he is currently employed as the quarterback of the National Football League Arizona Cardinals. Warner and his Cardinals will play in the Super Bowl tomorrow evening.

Is this a surprise ending or could you have guessed that he was not an ordinary person.

It should be noted that he also quarterbacked the St. Louis Rams in Super Bowl XXXVI...and he has also been the NFL's Most Valuable Player twice and the Super Bowl's Most Valuable Player.

The Warners established the First Things First Foundation in the spring of 2001 to bless the lives of those less fortunate with projects such as trips to Disney World for ill children, building recreation centers in children's hospitals, helping single moms achieve the dream of homeownership, and teaching Special Olympians the football basics. All projects are centered on Kurt and Brenda's life theme: faith and family come first. The official website is: http://www.kurtwarner.org/.

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Regular people

It's a mistake lots of "service providers" continue to make.

Treating people like clients just about always leads to ineffective outcomes. Just here I am driving almost all of my professional social work friends over the edge! I know, I know. Boundaries are important, or so I'm told--grist for a future blog!

But, back to my point.

People who are hungry, "poor," homeless, ill, abandoned, strangers--the list goes on and on as we think about the possibilities attached to being human--don't need professionalism or "service" or case management as much as they need to be treated like "regular people."

Story from my world

One of our bright interns related to me her experience of sitting through the entire process a couple went through to get into one of our apartments. There was a case management component of the transaction to insure that they qualified for the funding.

But, it was the leasing experience that really encouraged me. The man and the woman were introduced to the property management staff and taken through the same process as anyone else who came in to lease a place. That included the offer of water, cold drinks and cookies which the pertinent information was being collected.

Understandably, both of these individuals were a bit tense and nervous, not really knowing where the process was going or what it involved.

The fact is, they were treated just like "regular" people.

When they got to their new apartments, they were beside themselves with joy, relief and a sense that things were about to really get "regular" at last.

I love this stuff.

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Trout and Better Living. . .

Trout fishing--well, simply put, there is nothing quite like it.

Since my college days in in the Ozarks, when I scheduled classes to allow for plenty of "stream time," I've been hooked on the sport.

I prefer fly fishing, but I've caught more than my share using spinning gear, not to mention country boy garlic cheese set ups! the soybean farmers taught me a lot about landing Rainbows!

Watching a Brown run at a dry fly, breaking the water as it scoops up what appears to be a tasty morsel--hard to beat in my book.

Rainbows, Brookies, Cutthroats, Goldens, Browns. . .each is so unique and truly beautiful.

Catch.

Observe and appreciate.

Release, unless it is lunch time.

Just being out in the woods, wading a stream, camping on a river bank--it all adds up to renewal and regeneration.

I'm a card carrying member of Trout Unlimited (http://www.tu.org/).

Trout magazine comes with membership. In the latest issue (Winter 2008), I learned that what's good for trout turns out to be good for people.

The editors of the magazine published their legislative agenda in this issue. I was amazed at how each point, if enacted by the Congress, would make life better for both fish and humans.

Here's a sampling for your consideration:

In the current Farm Bill (the same one that funds the Food Stamp program for low-income families, as well as the free and reduced lunch programs for our children), TU is lobbying for $6 billion in funding for conservation and water improvement projects to protect the habitat we humans share and enjoy with the fish of the land!

Hardrock Mining Law reform provides for action to improve 40% of Western headwater streams that have been degraded by pollution from abandoned gold and silver mines. The recommended bill would clean up old mines that compromise the health of fish and folks.

Clean Water Restoration Act (H. R. 2421 and S. 1870) would allow for the ongoing regulation of streams and wetlands development--again, provisions that benefit trout and the rest of us.

The Energy Bill needs strengthening so that regulatory protection does not allow oil and gas exploration on public lands without the application of Clean Water Act regulations.

Fish-friendly agency budgets that fully fund conservation programs, including fisheries and a number of conservation projects, are also targeted for support in the next authorization legislation.

Trout lists several other legislative issues, but you get the picture.

Take care of the trout and we'll be insuring higher quality of life for ourselves!

Got a pole? Or, maybe a canoe?


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Radio Nowhere

Bruce Springsteen sings life.

Much of his music asks important and difficult questions. "Radio Nowhere" exemplifies Springsteen's longing for community, as well as his grief over its disappearance. Media creates artificial connections, making continuous noise without purpose or significant content in a way that begs the questions he poses in his latest album, "Radio Nowhere."

People need each other.

We need to connect.

We need to gather.

We need to know that the rhythm of life is still moving us along in a good direction.

In this song Springsteen wonders about our viability as a human community.

Important questions here.

I was tryin' to find my way home
But all I heard was a drone
Bouncing off a satellite
Crushin' the last lone American night
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?

I was spinnin' 'round a dead dial
Just another lost number in a file
Dancin' down a dark hole
Just searchin' for a world with some soul
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?

I just want to hear some rhythm
I just want to hear some rhythm
I just want to hear some rhythm
I just want to hear some rhythm

I want a thousand guitars
I want pounding drums
I want a million different voices speaking in tongues
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?

I was driving through the misty rain
Searchin' for a mystery train
Boppin' through the wild blue
Tryin' to make a connection to you

This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?

I just want to feel some rhythm
I just want to feel some rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm

[Copyright © 2007 Bruce Springsteen (ASCAP)]

"Right Here" for you

As I mentioned a few days ago, the Stefano Elliott Band has a new CD on the market. The title track, "Right Here," describes the life of a homeless person.

I'm grateful to Mikey Cunningham for writing the song.

I'm grateful to Nino and the band for deciding to donate a portion of the sales on this collection to Central Dallas Ministries.

Thanks to the band, I have in my possession several copies of the new CD. I'd be happy to send you one, if you get word to me before they are all gone!

To request a copy email me at: ljames@CentralDallasMinistries.org.

To hear the music online, visit: http://www.myspace.com/stefanoelliottband.

Thanks again, guys. You are the greatest!

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A story from Rick Reilly

Rick Reilly is leaving Sports Illustrated and moving over to ESPN. I'll miss his backpage essay each week in SI.

Here's a true story Reilly spun on back on May 7, 2007. It will encourage you. The story reveals the power of human connection, one of the essential building blocks of healthy community.

_____________________________

Coaching the Grief-stricken

Maybe you could use a happy story after what happened at Virginia Tech, and maybe I've got one.

I have this friend, an Iowa truck driver named Mark Lemke. Last July he wrote to SI, nominating his 19-year-old son, Cory, for FACES IN THE CROWD. Said the kid set all kinds of golf records and he'd been meaning to write for a long time. Said he was finally doing it now because Cory had just died in a motorcycle wreck.

Well, I wrote a column (Aug. 21, 2006) about how I got Mark on his cellphone as he was driving his tractor trailer on an Ohio highway and how he wept while talking about losing his best pal. And I don't know if it was from thinking of my own 19-year-old son or what, but it's the only time I ever cried while I wrote.

And then we made up a FACES IN THE CROWD box for Cory and stuck it at the bottom of the column.

Anyway, a couple of months go by, and then Mark gets this call: "Mr. Lemke?" the voice says. "It's Tony Dungy."

Now, Lemke, 51, is just an ex-jock with a simple life that a motorcycle drove a hole through. The most he hopes for when he gets off the road is his wife Maud's sloppy joes and his favorite couch and maybe a frosty root beer and a Vikings game to take his mind off Cory for a few hours. So, naturally, he figures the call is a joke.

"No, it is Tony Dungy," the voice says. "I'm just calling to offer my condolences to you and see if there's anything I can do to help you."

Now, you've got to understand, this was in October. The Colts were into the teeth of their schedule, the most critical season in Dungy's life, not to mention Peyton Manning's, not to mention the millions of Colts fans'. They figure if their team doesn't win it all this year, the genie goes back in the bottle.

But Dungy has his own sorrow to swallow. His 18-year-old son, James, hanged himself three days before Christmas in 2005. And Lemke knows this. So maybe Dungy, who's the same age as Lemke, is a guy who can relate. So they talk, and the coach tells Lemke to keep in touch.

"The hardest thing for me is, I sit in that truck all day, and all I do is think about him," Lemke tells him one day. "You're lucky. You've got so many people around you to get you through the days."

"Yeah," Dungy says, "but it doesn't get you through the nights."

And pretty soon they've got this bond going. Dungy has a wife, five kids, the monster job, numerous charities he works with and a thousand things to do, yet he takes the time to answer every Lemke e-mail, gives him his cell number and returns every call. They go deep sometimes. Lemke gets hot at God for taking Cory. Dungy tells him that's normal, but he adds that if they keep their faith, "we'll see them again."

Then it's the playoffs, and Dungy is apologizing for not replying to Lemke right away. Sorry about not getting back to you, he e-mails Lemke one day. Sometimes I can go a few days without getting on my computer, especially if our defense is not playing well.

I ask you, who is that nice?

Next thing you know, the Colts are in the Super Bowl and Dungy is inviting a man he's never met, a Vikings fan, no less, to be his guest there. So Lemke finds a load that needs hauling to Florida and a load that has to come back, and he drives his 18-wheel rig to Miami. The day before the game he meets Dungy in person at the team hotel. They hug. They visit. They pray. The next day Lemke takes his seat in Dolphin Stadium and watches his new buddy win it all.

And this is only one stranger whom Tony Dungy has befriended. There's the former high school coach in Wisconsin whose son committed suicide. There's the young kid in Indianapolis who lost his mother and brother in a car wreck. Heartbroken people all over are suddenly getting a hand up from a man who himself should be a puddle but is instead a river of strength.

Yet Dungy refuses to talk to the media about these good deeds, which only makes them better.

"I'm awfully grateful to him," Lemke says. "He helped me keep my faith. He taught me that he and I, we're not alone."

After two weeks of hearing about how low man can sink, isn't it nice to know how high he can rise?

Tony Dungy stands as a reminder to every parent who's grieving right now that there is a way through the pain. And that way is through each other.

Poverty and self-awareness

John Greenan, one of my partners here at CDM, sent me a link to Chris Kelly's creative essay that appeared last Sunday (August 19) on The Huffington Post (Learning to Loathe Yourself: Peggy Noonan and How To Be a Conservative Pundit).

What impressed me about his post was not the embedded political debate, but his commitment to understand the reality facing people who live in poverty.

At the end of his lengthy comments, Kelly quotes George Orwell from The Road to Wigan Pier:

At the back of one of the houses a young woman was kneeling on the stones, poking a stick up the leaden waste-pipe which ran from the sink inside and which I suppose was blocked. I had time to see everything about her--her sacking apron, 
her clumsy clogs, her arms reddened by the cold.... She had a round pale face, the usual exhausted face of the slum girl who is twenty-five and 
looks forty, thanks to miscarriages and drudgery; and it wore, for the second in which I saw it, the most desolate, hopeless expression I have
ever seen.

It struck me then that we are mistaken when we say that "It isn't the same for them as it would be for us," and that people bred in the 
slums can imagine nothing but the slums.

For what I saw in her face was not the ignorant suffering of an animal. She knew well enough what was happening to her--understood as well as I did how dreadful a destiny it was to be kneeling there in the bitter cold, on the slimy stones of a slum backyard, poking a stick up a foul drain-pipe."

______________________

The assumptions we make about others can be powerfully positive or downright crushing. It is essential that we come to grips with and take seriously the self-understanding of others.

Orwell's insights are brilliant. They afford the subject of his analysis the respect she had earned by living in her very concrete, extremely harsh and well-understood reality.

Frankly, many of us middleclass types just don't get it.



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Torn between the law and low prices

Does anyone think much about the plight, the personal plight of the undocumented workers among us today?

The debate rages between two waring parties.

On one side there are those who insist on immigrants from south of our border obeying our current, very inadequate legal provisions for allowing eager immigrants to secure legal work.

On the other side are employers--large and small--who argue that we face a growing labor shortage in the U. S. that only these workers will and can fill. We all benefit from this labor supply because it keeps costs down for a growing number of consumer goods and services.

Caught in the middle are real men, women and children. All have names. All have dreams, aspirations and hopes. Each one has an unique story worth hearing.

But, we seldom hear these stories. As a consequence, we seldom pause to understand the human dimensions behind the current debate. We choose to focus on law or labor instead of the people caught in the middle.

The solution will be found when we turn our eyes toward the people. It is usually that way in life. And, in this case, there is something to be gained and won for everyone.

Take the "law and order" folks. Monica and her family need to be provided a pathway to legal residency and, if they desire it, a process that ends in citizenship. It need not be careless or swift. It should require work, sacrifice and diligence--she and her loved ones would want it no other way. But, we need to find a way to allow the law to embrace them fully, as they step up to the process.

Or, consider those who need unskilled laborers. Any reform should make it clear to employers that unfair wages--those below minimum--will not be tolerated. There is a cost of doing business and a price for the goods and services that we all use and consume. Flushing the underground labor market out into the light of day will serve everyone better. Employers or employees that don't abide by the new process should be punished, but the major responsibility should be on business, not labor.

Good people like Monica and her family should not have to live in fear. Their ambitions and hard work should be rewarded. They should abide by the system and the process that is put in place. But, they shouldn't carry the entire burden of blame for our current situation, a situation we've all helped create.

Border security should be addressed in a comprehensive fashion. That's a separate issue that must be faced and its challenges solved.

But, Monica and her family are people, people caught in between. We need to start paying more attention to her, her family and to the millions of others who have served so many of us so well for so long.

It's always about people and all people matter.

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Homeless

A few days ago I received an email from Karen Shafer, a woman who lives in suburban Dallas.

Over the past many months Ms. Shafer has developed a keen interest in the homeless population of Dallas. Beyond simple interest, she has made friends among the men, women and families who live on the streets of our city, making regular trips into their world.

Most recently, she has been instrumental in arranging for mayoral and city council candidates to join her on "night tours" of our streets to meet and to hear from this special part of our community.

But, back to her email message. She was forwarding to me an email she had received from a homeless woman, Tami. I thought it worth publishing. While my posting is not intended as an endorsement of all that she says, it is an honest effort to allow her to be heard, as she requests.

Here's what Tami said in response (slightly edited) to Ms. Shafer's question, "What do you need?"

Dear Ms. Shafer,

hi, it's me, Tami. we talked this past weekend about what the homeless
need/want. well here's what i would like to see happen for the homeless.

first, what we talked about, the city has five million dollars for the
homeless, and they are wasting it. they need to take that money, buy
up a lot of these empty houses and give them to the homeless.

Secondly, all these people that have all the power, the mayor, the
security guards, . . . need to stop treating us like trash. all we are to them is a reason to get up in the morning and get paid.

Thirdly, the rule of two sessions a day on the computers at the library should be changed. the homeless don't have anywhere to go all day (the ones that don't work) and if we aren't hurting anything by using the computers then we should get as many sessions as we want. Lets face it, the homeless make up the business at the library. The rich people don't hardly need to come to the library because they have personal computers at their homes.

back to the second item, we want to be heard, we all have voices and needs and no one is asking us what those needs are. i know that most of the homeless have given up, they go to work and then they smoke and or drink up their paychecks, but the rest of us just want to be heard, we want to belong.

the only reason i'm homeless is because i was a victim of the government. i was on hud in abilene, i had an apartment for almost a year. HUD send the landlords/owners of those apartments a small list of things that needed to be fixed, but the landlords/owners refused to fix what HUD told them to so they kicked me out of the apartment. i was going to move back to Plan, (where i grew up), but my husband and i ran out of money and we got stuck here.

I have never been treated so badly in my whole life as the way i've been treated here. anyway, that's what's going on on the streets. the homeless are being treated very, very badly and the points i outlined above need to addressed.

thank you for letting me tell you what's been going on. and i hope you can help. we are people, not animals, and not trash.

Thank you,
Tami

You may not agree completely with Tami's assessment of things on the streets of Dallas, but her opinion, based on her daily experience, should not be dismissed lightly.

Listening to one another is the first step to solving our problems. Dallas is a city accustomed to seeking out and paying attention to "expert opinion." Given that cherished community value, being willing and even eager to hear the homeless talk about homelessness seems like a no-brainer to me.

Community development 101: to solve a vexing community problem, consult the people who know most about the problem.

Compassion, Connection, Community

I spotted him Sunday on my way home.

He hobbled up Haskell Avenue late in the afternoon. I've got to say I've never seen anyone walk like him. More accurately, I've never seen anyone in his condition walk at all.

He used two wooden crutches.

His right leg dangled from his torso in a rather unruly fashion. It twisted around in front of him as he "walked" along. Yet, somehow with each step he managed to "catch" the free hanging limb with his left leg as he propelled himself forward using the crutches.

He struggled up the street, but with a "stride" that told me he was very accustomed to his condition.

I couldn't help myself. I couldn't turn away from him.

As I drew closer, I noticed that he had made a slight turn toward a vacant building along the street. He moved with determination to the wall of the structure closest to him that ran perpendicular to the street.

When he made it to the wall just off the thoroughfare, he stopped and relieved himself.

Homeless.

No restroom facility open to this citizen of Dallas, at least none that he could find.

Crippled.

Alone, so far as I could tell.

No companion to steady his travel.

Just one man, throwing his leg, or what was left of his leg, forward as he walked into the rest of his life.

As I drove past him, my mind raced in several directions at once. The questions flew through my head in rapid fire.

How did he get here?

What happened to his leg?

How long had it endured in this condition?

Why was he homeless?

Where was his family?

Did he have anyone who cared about him or for him here in Dallas?

Why no wheelchair?

Where would the spend the night?

What could I do?

I know there is a reason why he is in the condition he's in. He may have made some really bad choices.

Or, maybe not.

He may be an alcoholic or a drug addict.

Or, maybe not.

As my mind and heart joined in their speculation, it hit me that none of that mattered at all. Not one bit.

Here was a man, a fellow human being, my brother who needed a home, a place to stay and some new friends.

He likely needs a lot more, as well.

But the scope of his need and the reasons back of them don't matter at all.

All that matters is compassion--the kind of compassion that allows people to connect without the crippling conditions of judgment or "evaluation." The sort of compassion that joins people in such a marvelous renewing way that leads to flourishing community among the poor, the wounded, the crippled, the struggling, the insecure and the frightened--categories with doors wide enough to invite and allow us all in as guests and, ultimately, members.

I'll see the man with the dangling leg again, I know I will.

As a result, things will change for him and, just as important, for me as well.

I'm looking forward to meeting him. I know he will have much to offer the rest of us.

new eyes. . .

The more I read after Shane Claiborne, the more he inspires, troubles, challenges and motivates me to rethink just about everything!

Here are quotes from chapter 9 ("Jesus is for losers") of his remarkable The Irresistible Revolution: living as an ordinary radical (pages 264-266, 2006) that speak to the importance of how we "see" other people.

Really important stuff, especially in the city.
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When we look through the eyes of Jesus, we see new things in people. In the murderers, we see our own hatred. In the addicts, we see our own addictions. In the saints, we catch glimpses of our own holiness. We can see our own brokenness, our own violence, our own ability to destroy, and we can see our own sacredness, our own capacity to love and forgive. When we realize that we are both wretched and beautiful, we are freed up to see others the same way. . . .

I have on old hippie friend who loves Jesus and smokes a lot of weed, and he's always trying to get under my skin and stir up a debate, especially when I have innocent young Christians visiting with me. (The problem is that he knows the Bible better than most of them do.) One day, he said to me, "Jesus never talked to a prostitute.” I immediately went on the offensive: "Oh, sure he did," and whipped out my sword of the Spirit [Bible] and got ready to spar. Then he just calmly looked me in the eye and said, "Listen, Jesus never talked to a prostitute because he didn't see a prostitute. He just saw a child of God he was madly in love with." I lost the debate that night.

When we have new eyes, we can look into the eyes of those we don't even like and see the One we love. We can see God's image in everyone we encounter. As Henri Nouwen puts it, "In the face of the oppressed I recognize my own face, and in the hands of the oppressor I recognize my own hands. Their flesh is my flesh, their blood is my blood, their pain is my pain, their smile is my smile" (With Open Hands, 1987, page 46). We are made of the same dust. We cry the same tears. No one is beyond redemption. And we are free to imagine a revolution that sets both the oppressed and the oppressors free.

Kurt Vonnegut's last book

Kurt Vonnegut died recently.

Author of 25 books, at least by my count, including Slaughterhouse-Five, Jailbird and God Bless you, Dr. Kevorkian, Vonnegut's last book, A Man Without a Country, turned out to be thoroughly autobiographical. I read it while on a plane a couple of weeks ago.

Typically, it tends toward the profane at points. If you can live with that, it is worth reading, even if you don't agree with him and I expect some readers here will find much with which to differ! But, that's okay, isn't it? Only reading what confirms my bias is not healthy.

I found it hilarious at points (what does that say about me???). And, I agreed with his consistent emphasis on kindness and the "Golden Rule."

Here's just a snippet to give you a feel for his direction.

Enjoy!?
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Quoting Eugene V. Debs as he begins. . .

"'As long as there is a lower class, I am in it. As long as there is a criminal element, I'm of it. As long as there is a soul in prison, I am not free.' . . .

"How about Jesus' Sermon on the Mount, the Beatitudes?. . .

"For some reason, the most vocal Christians among us never mention the Beatitudes. But, often with tears in their eyes, they demand that the Ten Commandments be posted in public buildings. And of course that's Moses, not Jesus. I haven't heard one of them demand that the Sermon on the Mount, the Beatitudes, be posted anywhere.

"'Blessed are the merciful,' in a courtroom? 'Blessed are the peacemakers in the Pentagon? Give me a break!" (pages 96-98).

"But if Christ hadn't delivered the Sermon on the Mount, with its language of mercy and pity, I wouldn't want to be a human being.

"I'd just as soon be a rattlesnake." (page 81)

A cup of coffee. . .

She was standing, better, lingering in a focused hover over the coffee bar in the hotel where I spent two nights in Seattle recently.

It took me a moment before I realized that she was homeless.

The grime of the street worked out of her pores.

I noted abrasions on her hands.

Fatigue lined her face.

Her bright red lipstick dominated her face, outlining her easy, but tired smile.

She maintained a dignified, but rumpled look.

She was extremely deliberate in preparing her morning drink. She took her time, preparing the coffee in the positive environment where she obviously felt comfortable and welcome.

“Why is it that the older you get the faster time seems to fly by?” she asked no one in particular.

I answered, “I don’t know, but it is true. Maybe we just become more aware with age!”

“Weird, huh?” she concluded.

She finished her fixing her coffee, as I began to prepare mine.

She picked up her bag, waved to all present in the lobby and said, “I hope you all have a grand day!” And she was gone into her day.

The hotel staff at the registration desk seemed neither to notice nor to mind that she had invaded the hotel’s private and commercial space to pick up a cup of coffee.

For some reason I can’t get this experience out of my mind.

I realize it is just one incident. It is anecdotal from start to finish, no serious or exhaustive research here.

But, I will always believe that what I observed in that hotel lobby provides commentary on the “soul” of the city we refer to as Seattle.

I can’t help but wonder what this woman’s experience would be in a downtown hotel here in Dallas.

I’m sorry to say, I don’t think she would fare as well in our proud city of big churches, faithful people and dynamic businesses.

As big as we are here, at times I get the feeling we just don't have enough space for this sort of ordinary kindness and mutual respect.