Could hell be any hotter, good news any sweeter?

Thursday, August 29, 2013
4:09 p.m.

Just left the Corner where the temperature on my Jeep read 111.

If hell is hotter, I don't want to go!

The crowd of neighbors at the Corner was the largest to date.

Everyone was hot and thirsty.

Wendy, my friend, rushed me as I got out of my car wanting to know if I had the papers needed to get a copy of her birth certificate. We've been working on this project for a while.  If you've lost all of the documents proving you are who you say you are, how to you move forward?

Without the papers I can see how I might begin to think that in fact I'm nobody.

I worked down the list on the papers that I received from the state that instructed her as to what she would need since she had no documents proving who she was.  It is complicated.  No one could do this alone, including me.  Reality for the poorest of the poor.

Attitudes out on the Corner amaze me.

A smiling white dude in a cowboy hat walked up, shook my hand and replied to my inquiry as to how he was doing saying, "If I was any better, I couldn't stand it!"

He then begin to talk about his faith and his walk with God.

I thought of the church folk who are so quick to ask me if any "ministry" takes place in our work.

I'd say it does.

Except it's the homeless poor ministering to me, every single time.

At one point as I looked across the red hot pavement of Malcolm X Boulevard, I spotted a homeless black man assisting a blind, Latino man to the bus stop.  Community defined by compassion.

Preaching broke out when Robert, a regular at the Corner, told the story of Jesus and the woman caught in the act of adultery.

"'Who among you is without sin?' is what Jesus asked," the street preacher said.  "And everybody started mumbling and finally said, 'I'll catch y'all tomorrow.'"

"Yep," I replied, "they all started dropping rocks!"

"My favorite story, my very, most favorite!" Robert said.

Ministry, indeed.

Ice cold water,

Gatorade.

Snacks.

Someone to simply pat my back, tell me that I matter and urge me to be careful. Sincere thank yous tossed back into your heart.

Good news, in a very limited way, but good news just the same to the poverty in all of us.

Overwhelmed!

Visiting "the Corner" becomes addictive.

I've asked myself why that is the case.

Today, I believe I found my answer:  raw, human need and desperation coupled with complete honesty, appreciation and love.

The number of men and women with whom I visited today overwhelmed me.

I noticed a common theme again in their requests of me:

"Where can I find work?"  

"Where can I find a place to live?"  

"May I have a bag of chips?" 

"May I have a bottle of water?"

Two other almost universal observations:

Everyone took pride in their attire.  One man apologized incessantly about how dirty his clothes were.  And, he was careful to explain why.  I mean, on the street and concerned for one's appearance. All of us want to do the best we can, don't we?

Everyone was glad to see me.  

"Man, where you been?" was a common question, as I've been out of place the last two weeks.

"Man, the new place is lookin' good!  When will it open?" people observed the Opportunity Center across the street.

I returned to my office for a meeting and a conference call wrung out with the emotion of the people, the people who call me to cut through the stupid, ill-informed barriers to a better way of responding to such overwhelming human need.

The touch, the words, the embraces, the smiles, the fist bumps of the people set me to dreaming about our next steps.

We need a business plan to start a company that employs these friends of mine.  There is a wealth of ability, energy and resting capacity on this corner that needs to be unleashed in honest labor.

Stay tuned.

The world can change. 

Corner Journal 1/24/2013

My friend, Wendy, is a frail, almost toothless, very slight woman, likely younger than my oldest daughter. 

I’ve never seen her clean. 

She lives beneath a matted, stringy, filthy head of brown hair. 

Her clothes are tattered and ill-fitting. 

Wendy is a street beggar.

When I first met her, she responded to my presence much like a wild animal.  She circled my space, throwing me an occasional glance as she tried to figure out who I might be.  

She talked to herself.  Constantly, as if negotiating her next move in life before some listening court. 

More recently, she has warmed up to me.  I think the fact that I’ve spotted her $5 a couple of times helped with that.  And, I expect that she’s been on her meds more regularly than when we first “met.” 

Wendy is always hungry. 

Everybody knows her. 

Everybody likes her. 

We're working hard to get her into housing.  At this point she can’t imagine how that would be possible, so it’s hard to set appointments that she will keep.

 I’m driven by two facts.

First, she is a delightful soul whose life is being poured out in front of my eyes, and it could be so much better.

Second, and more immediately important, she will die on the street if we don’t get her inside.  Time is not friendly here.  

Today I was able to hook her up with a CitySquare neighbor advocate.  We started working more diligently on getting her a home.  

She is a real hoot. 

 

She deserves so much better.

Tonight, Wendy will sleep in an abandoned house on Malcolm X Boulevard. 

 I pray that she will survive. 

____________________________

I met Charlie for the first time today. 

He’s an ex-con, I bet about 50-years-old.

He is a proud man and very wise.

All he wants is a job.  If you have one to offer, I'll vouch for this dude. 

He doesn’t drink.

He believes that his time served in prison should settle his debt and not forever block his return to work. 

 Charlie told me, “It’s like if we are playing football.  If I hold a person, the team gets a 15 yard penalty.  It is assessed.  And, that is it!  No one brings it up again.  The penalty is paid.  It should be that way with prison.  Time served should square the debt!” 

 Did I say Charlie is wise? 

He rides a bike.  

He rejects charity, hates shelters, loves people and just wants a shot to get back in the game. 

He told me that he doesn’t hate anyone nor does he resent his situation. 

He is black.  He doesn’t hate white people.

He wants a job.

He is responsible.

He is a good man.  He has no home. 

“I can sense a man’s spirit.  I don’t talk to anyone who is not ‘open,’” he explained to me.

He volunteers in our Thrift Store. 

He wants a job.

He is a son of the Kingdom of God. . .whatever  exactly that means.

 

Watermelon at "the corner"

My head is still reeling with thoughts, impressions and experiences I've enjoyed the past two weeks at "the corner" of Malcolm X and Dawson Street.

Every week magic manages to break out on the porch of the abandoned house that's nestled under a big shade tree.

This afternoon I engaged in amazing conversations.  More on that in future posts.

But what made today special was the watermelon we shared.

Actually, a woman who came by carrying a big watermelon shared it with all of us.

It seemed like Jesus feeding the 5,000 with the loaves and fishes!  That watermelon went a long way.  Everyone was invited to take a piece and everyone did.

I suppose you would need to be present to fully appreciate the dynamic of what happened.

So beautiful.

So full of peace.

So about hope.

More later.

Hmmm. . . .what if homeless persons owned a can, plastic, paper recycling business?  As I say, more to come.

People are amazing.

1 Corinthians 1:26-31