Frost Bitten, Very Shy!

In late November 2007, I wander to the Currency Exchange to take care of some business. As I stand on the corner, people flood up to me mourning over their woes; lack of a home, the coldness of Chicago and the deepening depression of fragile lives, tormented by waves of addiction and homeless reality.

Old man Henry grieves over and seeks advice about a friend's homeless state, commenting over his own need to stay off the North Side due to elder abuse. As I listen, Donald stumbles into my path trying to start a conversation with me, telling Henry his time was up! I continued to give Henry my ears! Anxiously agitated, Donald huffs and fumes over not gaining my attention yet. Donald can barely stand and stoops hovering with his drunken cracked out stare. The sight of him is an addictive nightmare, my heart sinks and I mourn this sorry depressive sight.

People, who I have known for years, frequently interrupt my discussion with Donald. This obviously frustrates him immensely. He weeps over his homeless state and tries to formulate sentences. James (Don's closest ally) has spotted us from across the street, so he stumbles through traffic to enter our conversation. Slightly intoxicated, James informs me of Don's miserable existence, that I am a nice guy and I can't let him take advantage of me. He tells me how he needs to get into a strict treatment program - now! I agree with his rationale! James tells me stories of despair and I encourage him to use his SSI payout wisely. Don is unwilling to go to a detox at that particular moment (and I don't have the power to force anyone), so I tell him to "meet me tomorrow in a sober state". Donald slowly stumbles and wanders through the parking lot. I pray that he'll survive the night.

My encounter with Donald left me mourning the power of addiction and my inability to change him. As with anybody, it can only be Jesus! This random encounter weighs heavy on my mind!

A couple of hours pass and Aaron comes to visit. Through CDHS, we had met twice before! We sit in my office, and he tells me stories of woe and his need for shelter. Aaron has lost six toes due to frost bite and is only 41, yet in reality, he looks over 60. He tells me of his sleepless nights freezing on a local loading dock, how he has no money, except cans for recycling and how he continually prays for survival. Mental illness probably accounts for his severe lack of motivation, yet I am proud of his effort to come and see me. Through a mumbling dialogue and increased devastation, we set a few goals in an effort to escape this life of bondage. He is desperate!

Haunted by these encounters, I walk home. I'm praying!

Aaron needs help. He needs it now! He needs caring people around him and a warm bed. The Lord laid this burden on me. I venture out (with Darrell) to seek and find him at the locking dock or wherever our feet may lead. Beth was home, offering up all important prayers. We expected this mission to take hours, yet two minutes later, we find him only one block away. We walk him to the shelter and give him a bed and a plan to better his circumstances.

Fellow homeless shelter residents greet Aaron with open arms.
They are thanking God (and me) for bringing in Aaron. I get hugged repeatedly.
There is joy in the fact a bed-less brother now has a bed.
A helpless brother now has help.
A cold and weary brother now has warmth and rest.
A lonely brother now has a bunch of guys giving him the beautiful reality of community.

I leave the shelter with peace. As I walk past Aaron smoking his cigarette, fellow-shipping, he thanks me and praises the Lord for His Almighty Goodness and Love!

....that was originally written in late 2007.

It is now 2012 and I still frequently encounter Donald and Aaron as they venture in and around Uptown, and the update is encouraging. The update is miraculous. This update gives us hope....

Donald is housed and is doing well. Through networking with other agencies, we managed to get him into his own apartment, where he has been living for over 2 years. He has been responsibly paying his rent monthly. Through working on his addictions, we have reduced the serious harm that was being done to his life. He comes to see us occasionally to get some food and we encourage him to keep up the good work.

Today, I love seeing Aaron wandering around Uptown with his walking stick. When I see him, I see a miracle! I see a man who no longer looks 20 years older than what he is. Without our intervention, there is a strong possibility Aaron would now be dead, or had at least suffered more frostbite and other preventable illnesses. When he came to CCO, he had nothing except a backpack and a shopping cart full of cans, now he has a disability income and a place to call his own. When he entered our doors, we networked with other agencies, and together we helped him conquer his goals. He has been successfully housed since 2008, and he lives right across the street from me. Aaron faithfully pays his rent and it's always a pleasure to see him, give him a hug and continually support him in his quest to stay off the streets that captured six of his toes.

The Mind is a Fragile Thing!

Imagine waking up one morning in the homeless shelter you've staying at for a few months. Imagine wandering across the street, like you usually do, to eat your breakfast and chat to all your friends you've made there. Everything's normal this morning, you're eating your grits, sipping your coffee and enjoying the company that surrounds you. You're ready for a new day of seeking employment and making appointments.

Imagine this particular morning, you've been chatting to the shelter's security guard, who's a relatively close friend. You express to him how frustrating it's been trying to get a security position yourself. You have a PERC card (document needed to be a licensed security guard), but you just can't get that job. You chat, vent and joke around with him before enjoying your morning meal.

Imagine finishing breakfast and it's time to leave the cafeteria. That same security guard approaches you and starts chatting to you again, but you don't know who he is. In frustration, you say "who are you?", he naturally thinks you're joking, so he responds "who are you, bro?" You go back and forth with this man, and he's starting to freak you out because this man's in uniform and you're wondering why he's questioning you. He says your name and you ask why he called you that. You don't know where you are, who are you and why this security guard has gently put his hand on your shoulder and is trying to direct you somewhere. You push him hard. You loudly tell him to leave you alone and get his hand off you.

Imagine an ambulance coming. More people in uniform come asking you questions, but you don't know who you are. You're frustrated. You're angry. You don't want to go in the back of this van occupied by lights and sirens. You think you're alright, so you protest. They're asking many questions to other people about you, and you don't like that! They find some of the answers they're looking for, and off you go in the back of this ambulance.

Imagine laying in a local hospital bed. They have to strap you in, because you want to get up and go. They push you around to draw blood, do tests, question you and wheel you back to your room. Upon arriving, you see someone waiting there, that someone is me! But again, you don't recognize who I am. I say "hi", but with a look of fear, despair, anger and frustration in your eyes, you say "who the hell are you?". I respond, "I'm Jeremy, I'm you're case-worker, I've known you for a long time." You want to make sure I'm not another security person making decisions for you. You tell me how you want to leave, want to sue the hospital and they can't be doing all this, but they've strapped you down and you show me the hep-lock in your left arm. You're mad, but you can't do anything. I keep saying your name and with fear and frustration in your eyes, you bark, "why do you keep calling me that?" I say, "coz that's your name". I could see that my mere presence and words were gravely annoying you and causing anger to quickly rise.

Imagine I leave your room and go to talk with the head physician. I explain to him that you are a very kind man, who I've never ever had any issues with. I explain to him that I've never seen you aggressive. I explain to him that you are not a man who struggles with drug or alcohol. I explain to him that you just got your PERC card and how you'd been actively looking for employment. I explain to him how this is something has never happened before and how it's very worrisome to me. I explain to him that you are normally a very logical and caring person. I left the hospital, leaving you in hands of the professionals, wondering whether your mind would ever return.

I left praying. That's all I could do!

Imagine having great knowledge of yourself, then within seconds, you barely know anything. Imagine being a sensible and responsible 50 year old man, and having workers at the hospital call someone else (me), because you've become incapable of answering simple questions. I know you fairly well. They asked me to come over and were trying to work out why this happened. They were trying to work out how they could help. The mind is a fragile thing! It's mysterious. Your moment of fragility helps us realize how weak and powerless we all are! In only a matter seconds, you completely lost all knowledge of who you are, where you are and who all the people are who care for you are. This morning's episode was a very sobering moment for me and all the one's who know you. It caused us all to look to the One who created our minds and realize we are all in His hands.

Please join me in praying for my friend as he tries to discover who he is and who we are again.....

UPDATE: I thank God and I'm pleased to announce that the gentleman I wrote about has now fully recovered. The hospital released him while he was still partly confused, but was beginning to resister who certain individuals were.  The doctors conclusion was that he accidentally took his prescribed medication twice; something we could all do, but it's even more likely when you're homeless, simply because of the hustle and bustle and instability of your life. This particular man has never been known to abuse illegal or legal drugs, or even alcohol. Obviously, the whole event terrified him, and he is talking with his doctors, so this sort of thing will never happen to him again.

*Just one more thing to clarify: his prescribed medications were not overtly heavy drugs; but regular ones people take for heart, blood thinners and depression.

Mysteriously Dead OR Mysteriously Alive?

There's a mystery in homelessness I hate!
Sadly it happens too often!
People disappear and we don't know whether they're dead or alive!

I'm living that reality right now; there are three homeless friends who have mysteriously vanished, leaving us bewildered and unsure of how to find them. We are searching! We check the local hospitals, nursing homes, Cook County Jail and the IDOC website, but there is no answer. We ask, we question and explore, but still there is no answer. People ask me, but in a massive city, with multiple hospitals, the task is time consuming and very difficult. We just need to wait, patiently, for clues and answers. All we can do is pray!

Throughout my years of working with men and women who are homeless, convincing rumors have splattered the Uptown pavement. I've heard tragic tales of death and murder, only to see that individual, days, weeks, months or even years later, and we celebrate their "resurrection". When I left to New Zealand last November, I'd heard how "they'd" shot and killed William on the Southside, yet I attended another person's memorial service with him today. "Archie's dead, Archie's dead!" his friends yelled up and down Wilson Ave. "The ambulance came, took him to Weiss and he died there!" Tears flowed down his girlfriend's cheeks. Scott and I rushed down the three blocks, as about 15 people told us the same believable story. As we arrive in the ER, Archie's sitting in his hospital bed grinning from ear to ear. We celebrated his life!

Fred's story is even more remarkable. He'd been beat severely, and had gone to the hospital with a horrible brain injury. This time, there was no immediate way to check out the rumor. He wasn't in the local hospital, he had died, his bleeding brain had taken his life. All his friends and relatives mourned his premature death. He was only 40. I even grieved over his death in a piece I wrote in this blog: deATh's door A couple months later, Fred was discovered to be still alive. Only just! The doctors and nurses had used modern technology to keep this "dead man" alive. Miraculously, Fred had to learn to talk, walk and think again. Sandy and I visited him regularly as he rehabbed, and I can testify that Fred's life today is a wonderful miracle. He walks, he talks and he's able to think. Earlier this month, we celebrated this "resurrection", as Fred signed a lease, got a key and moved out of homelessness and transitioned into his own apartment.

Cyrus standing with Leroy after last year's historic blizzard.

Yet sadly, as we celebrate the three lives of William, Archie and Fred, we live in utter confusion about three other friends; Leroy, Dave and Don! We don't know whether to mourn or live in hope. I was driving today and stopped to chat to Leroy's girlfriend who hasn't seen him for a couple months. He occupied a corner in Uptown everyday, and blessed the busy crowds that hurried to the train or school. One day in December that occupation stopped, he simply disappeared and was no more. "Where can he be?" his girlfriend wonders, not wanting to expect the worst. His health had been rapidly deteriorating, his very muscular body we'd all known, had turned to skin and bones. We grieve over his mysterious disappearance and had explored many different avenues, but there is still no answer. All we can do is wait. Leroy's girlfriend and I finish our conversation with the words "all we can do is pray", and that reality is very true and profound!

Dave is a homeless veteran who lived outside, down by the lake. This 50 year old man would never stop wandering around Uptown with his shaved head, displaying the scars of many battles, both here and abroad. Dave tirelessly trekked about with an overly stuffed backpack and military garb. He used to frequent CCO for meals and an occasional bed. We'd been helping him get housing and an income and that reality was almost true. Progress was happening. The wars he'd fought in had left him scarred in many ways. He suffered chronically debilitating seizures and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, so the doctors put him on a very high dosage of medication, which made him drowsy. Unfortunately, this drowsiness and "zombie-like" wandering had caused him to step into traffic and fall into Lake Michigan on several occasions. He'd also been victim to a hate crime, where some young thugs decided to pick on a homeless individual and they threw him into the lake. As we ask of Dave's whereabouts, all the rumors suggest is walked too close to the lake in December, fell in and drowned. But all honesty, we don't know and we miss our harmless wandering friend. He has no family to question. Maybe he's in a hospital or a mental institution or camped in another part of Chicago, we just don't know. All we can do is wait and pray.

We'd helped Don through his recovery from cancer. He'd gone to a Nursing Home, where we would visit him, but he's no longer there. Someone else has his phone, and she doesn't have a clue who the former owner is. Rumor tells us he also died, but there's no one to ask. All we can do is wait and pray.

We don't know what's happened to these three guys. They could be dead, but they could also be alive. I worry for them, asking myself many questions, wondering if they're suffering and struggling alone in an unknown location. All we know is the mystery; mysteries that needs closure for their many friends and relatives who are left pondering their mere existence.
I worry that these 3 men may be "invisibly" dead, after living a life that was unnoticed by the masses that occupied Chicago.
I worry because these 3 wonderful human beings deserve a proper burial, a stone honoring the names their mothers gave them and a service remembering who they were.
I worry because these 3 fellas will probably not get all this, because they may be mysteriously dead already, and in that I mourn, wait and pray.

But ironically I find an unusual hope!

Though humanity may have rejected and forgotten this street corner dweller, this homeless veteran and this cancer survivor, God holds them tenderly in His loving arms. Leroy loves the Lord, and would proclaim the name of Jesus everyday. Dave carried around a Bible in his backpack and would cry out to God for mercy. Don never shied away from prayer and would covet our prayers as visited in the hospital and Nursing Home. All 3 of these men loved the One who boldly proclaimed "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven."

Though I hate the mysterious feeling of "not knowing" whether they are alive or dead, hope rises from the ashes, proclaiming that they will eternally rest in the loving arms of the One who "sets the prisoners free."

Visibly Invisible OR Invisibly Visible: A Homeless Predicament.

Brian and I were meeting and discussing a few homeless people we work with. Our focus turned to a couple of fellas who had recently been incarcerated, in particular, a 50 year old veteran friend who we had just assisted to get housed. We grieved over his plight, questioning how veterans can faithfully serve this country, only to end up homeless, incarcerated, ignored, dejected and struggling with too many vices, just mirrored by our buddy Dre. His plight didn't just cause us to grieve, but also sent a rumbling of anger through both of us and a shiver of hopelessness in the system that seems too big and powerful to care or even dent. Another sad reality is, Dre's story is not unique, but a story that is all too regular amongst the homeless population. As we sat there, we could both recall the desperation, the tears, the struggle and the endurance of this man. Dre had fought a battle, he had won, he had got a place to call his own, only to lose it a couple months later.

As Brian was chatting away, he called Dre and all the others mentioned in our discussion; "visible". His choice of words took me by surprise, as I would normally consider our homeless friends "invisible". The concept fascinated us, because even though our thoughts on homelessness, incarceration and racial discrimination are almost identical, we used opposite words to describe Dre's dilemma. It got us thinking that maybe, just maybe, the majority of homeless folk are both visible and invisible!

Dre's story is the reality of many homeless people. They may be not be a veteran, or around 50, or black, or an alcoholic or suffer PTSD and other related mental illnesses like Dre, but each and every person has their own personality and complicated story to tell, and they all, by virtue of their homeless plight, sadly become "visibly invisible" or "invisibly visible". It is a cross they must bear, daily!

Now, to make myself clear, Dre's life hasn't been a picture of rainbows, flowers and peaceful tranquility who was wrongly and unjustly attained. I would consider him a wonderfully caring man, who has his struggles heightened by a debilitating mental illness that was triggered by a war, and his woes only increase after he has slurped back a few "cold ones". It was at a point of drunken stupidity, Dre ended up being cuffed by the CPD and locked up in a horrible little cell. In all honesty, Dre committed a crime that many people do, but most of them never see the back of a squad car, let alone suffer the fate of being incarcerated in a penitentiary, located hundreds of miles away in downstate Illinois. Now unfortunately, we're unable to see our friend until the end of this year, and he'll be on parole and homeless again!

"Dre; SO invisible, yet SO visible. Dre; what did you do to deserve such a fate?"

The reality is, most people who read my blog experience a very different fate. Most people's visibility is positive, compared to the negative visibility homeless people normally face. When the police walk the beat or cruise on by in their SUVs, we want to be ignored and invisible to them, we don't want to be frisked and searched for no apparent reason. We don't want to be talked about negatively at meetings by a bunch of unknown rich folk who think they hold our destiny in their hands. We don't want our names scattered all over the internet by neighbors who consider us scum and refuse to shake our hands or even smile in our direction. We don't want to be living "rent-free" in a bunch of people's heads, as they analyze and scrutinize our every move in public. We don't want people constantly pointing their fingers at us, calling the police as we stand on the corner and determining what's best for us, by people who can't even glance in our direction, or acknowledge our existence. We don't want others constantly mocking us, looking down at us and judging us. We don't want all that, but many people in this neighborhood suffer this reality. What we do want is people to know our names and see us for who we are.

Yet, as homeless people suffer the dire consequences of this negative visibility, they are also doomed with crippling invisibility. Everywhere they go, they feel ignored and forgotten. Just wander the streets with me for an hour and you'll see the pain and devastation on the faces experiencing invisibility; they are simply people trying to get the things they need, but everywhere they go, it's as if they are non-existent. Some apply for hundreds of jobs, but they never hear back from one. Some tirelessly search for housing, but doors never seem to open. Some seek eligible benefits, but the procedure seems to take an eternity, with multiple rejections. I could easily go on about how hard it is for them to get medicine, doctors appointments or see a psychiatrist. It is just as difficult to get appropriate substance abuse treatment, get on SSI, apply for Veterans benefits or enroll in appropriate programs. These men and women face the daily reality of being invisible; they unfortunately are left to wander the streets, as if ghosts, surrounded in a city occupied by millions.

In all this, I have failed to mention another horrifying reality of invisibility; without getting into all the reasons, far too many of these men and women have been totally rejected by their families. All safety nets have disappeared in their lives, they have been left completely and utterly alone. 

George is invisible by the fact he sleeps outside and has been unable to get employment for years. He's attempted many avenues, but he feels no-one ever sees him, so he never gets that chance. Unable to earn a dollar, he resorts to his own means by selling cigarettes on the corner of Wilson and Broadway. All day, every day, George loiters in his usual spot selling "squares" to the public, Truman College students and the frequent cars that stop to get their nicotine fix. George is invisibly visible, as he is seen as a scourge in the Uptown neighborhood. His mere presence disgusts groups of people, who take pleasure in calling 911. George continues to hang in this prime "square selling location", but he frequently rotates in and out of Cook County Jail when the police decide to pick him up for this misdemeanor.

Eric is also jobless, so he panhandles on a busy intersection trying to make a buck. Bernard is schizophrenic and suffers debilitating seizures which make him unable to work, yet after many years of failed attempts and no income, he is still waiting to get a disability check. Jose goes to many job interviews every month, but he won't write Cornerstone's address or phone number on the application forms due to the stereotypes of hiring a homeless person. Jaime's life rotates between delivering flyers, libraries, the CCO cafeteria and Epworth shelter where he sleeps every night. These five men are all very different, yet they've all been frisked by the police, verbally abused for simply standing on the sidewalk by some intolerant public and snarled at by the same people for simply entering our facility. Their only crime is that they are all homeless and are invisibly visible!

As I ponder what these men go through, it makes me weep. The only difference between the homeless and housed, is the fact they don't have money or their own home, so their lives are visible to all, yet ignored and forgotten by most.

All this makes me think of how Jesus brought a new Kingdom to earth, which elevated the invisible and made them visible. He gave the invisible men and women of his day a positive visibility, even when the arrogant elitist religious leaders scorned the "invisible" with a negative visibility. The woman who'd been bleeding for twelve years, the man born blind, the adulterous woman at the well and the poor widow who put a mere mite into the money box are just 4 of the many times Jesus chose not to ignore the invisible person needing to be loved. Jesus responded to the woman who touched his garment and expected to fade away, by asking who touched him and she experienced more than just physical healing that day. Jesus responded to the hollering blind man who sat at the side of the road, by healing this aggravating beggar who the masses had decided to wander past and ignore. This act of love caused a major controversy. The woman at the well was just expecting to get herself some water, she went at a time of the day when no-one would notice or care, but Jesus was there and they had a long discussion, which was revolutionary act in those days. She found someone who cared, she also found freedom, love and faith that day when the rest of her township preferred that she'd fade to black. Jesus pointed toward and observed the humble widow who placed a lousy pittance in the moneybox. He told the crowd that surrounded him that she is someone who we should aspire to copy, because she gave what she had. Jesus' parables sung a similar tune, he elevated and made visible those who are invisible by giving them seats in His Kingdom, special places at the banquet and he sent his servants into the highways and by-ways to find those who'd been left out and rejected. Jesus never ever forgot the invisible people and neither should we.

Four men carried a paralyzed man on a stretcher, lifted him up onto a roof, dug through it and then lowered him down to Jesus in a very crowded room. The man's sins were forgiven, his body was healed and he jumped up in glee with his mat, to the pleasure of most onlookers. The religious elite were disgusted by the whole ordeal. These four men help us understand who we need to be. Even though the biblical account doesn't tell us how they all met or why they decided to do this good deed, but somehow they noticed an invisible man and made every effort to ensure he got to see the One he needed to see; the One who made this man whole.

Within our communities, we need to notice our invisible people and slather them with as much positive visibility as we can. We do this with compassionate love, heaps of perseverance and a lot of courage; that is the only way the paralyzed man's 4 helpers managed to get him in to see Jesus. We need to imitate these 4 fellas, because they can be our examples of how we need to be there for all the invisible folk that surround us, like Dre, George and the other people I mentioned above. Our journey with Dre was a long complicated one; a journey where we tried to give him a positive visibility; we assisted him with getting his apartment, a refrigerator, bus cards, frequent reminders, shoulders to cry on and someone to pray with. We did what we could do, but unfortunately, we're unable to change the system and free him from society's negative visibility, a society that has thrown him in the slammer! But we will continue to do what we can. We will continue to be his friend. We will continue to be salt and light. We will continue to make every effort to bring God's Kingdom to Uptown. We will continue to creatively make him visible. We will continue to uplift our invisible friends in prayer.

And when Dre is released on parole later this year, we'll continually try to "set this prisoner free".

Two Homes, One Journey

It's become our routine. All be it, an expensive routine! Every 3 years we have the privilege of traveling "down under" to Aotearoa. There is no way we can afford to do this, simply because Beth and I have made decisions to live in an intentional community and work amongst the homeless in Uptown. Years ago, we both decided to try and live out the Kingdom of God; by following the revolutionary footsteps of Jesus, embracing a simple lifestyle and being a voice for the voiceless. By doing this; such travel, by our own means, quickly becomes impossible! Yet, our family is happy to proclaim; the impossible becomes possible mainly through the amazing generosity of our NZ church family. We are grateful. We are blessed. We were given the opportunity to return home!

As our lives skip back and forth through the affluence of southern hemisphere summers to the poverty of the northern winters, my life of two lives consumes me. This rotation isn't ever easy. The transition clicks quickly and painlessly, yet the anticipation digs and twists in me like a slow turning dagger. I look, trying to be brave, trying to be "a man", but tears want to flood out of my eyes as I see my mother with red eyes, tears running down my sister's cheeks, all the cuzzies happily enjoying each others' company, the Matamata Nicholls trucking themselves up to see us off, Beth hugging everyone and that horrible departure door looming before us. It feels like a nightmare. It is a nightmare!

"What am I doing?" I somberly question myself, as my beautiful whanau stands waving. "Look at all this misery I'm putting us all through." I can't believe the power I'm possessing in this moment. I can't believe the love that's flowing. I don't want to stand there, I want to run and hide; at that point, I want to ignore our calling and restore sanity by giving them all a big hug and proclaim "we're here and we're not going to leave!" But we didn't do that and we're not going to do that. I wish I could do the impossible and magically live in two places at once, but that's not the way God made us; the reality is, time continues to move and we are "flesh and blood", so with heavy heart, we're flying to Chicago...

Even though tears didn't flow like they have in years past, this period of departure was easily my hardest yet. Is it because all the cousins are getting older and get on so well and I wish they could chill out together all the time? I wonder, is it because I love seeing the growth in Jamie and Jenny, they are getting older, we enjoy being together and I'm missing special magical moments with them? Is it because mum and dad are experiencing more serious health concerns and are quickly approaching their seventies? Is it because I may not see certain people again in 3 years? These are just some of the many questions that rack my brain as we fly across the Pacific Ocean.

To be honest: I don't know what the answers are! I live in a dilemma. I live a life riddled by perpetual guilt. Yet, at the very same time, I live in peace, with joy and an unusual hope. Love surrounds me, and despite the pain, I feel happy and content that I'm doing what I'm meant to be doing, when I'm meant to be doing it and how I'm meant to be doing it!

It had been a wonderful journey, two months of chilling and relaxation with friends and family, but in a few hours we'd step off our plane and be immediately consumed by the eclectic energy of Uptown. Chaos and mayhem would descend upon us and there would be no gradual easing into the next phase of our life. People in New Zealand would often ask about our return and encourage us to gently shift back into it, but we knew that could never be a reality; we are too absorbed and passionate about our mission in this neighborhood for a gradual assimilation to actually occur. In Uptown, it is all or it is nothing.

So what happened? I have now been back in Chicago for just over a week. I miss my NZ family and friends, desperately, but it seems like a month (or even longer) since that emotionally charged departure lounge in Auckland. Why? Because of the way we have been consumed by all the eclectic mayhem that surrounds us.

We returned on Friday evening, the kids returned to school on Monday morning and Beth and I wandered back to Cornerstone. We were embraced by the masses; given hugs, handshakes and the gentle compassionate exchange of fist-to-fist. These many greetings I experienced made me feel wanted and appreciated, while also being absorbed by all Clifton's intensity, negativity, celebration, anger, joy, love, forgiveness and hope; it was immediate and powerful. I was thrown in the deep end. I knew I was home! I was with family!

Monday started with a celebration. I was in the office and Tyrone came in all hyped up, ready to move. I've known this 40 year old man for about 10 years as he's drifted in and out my life. I love Ty, but he is someone who has constantly put us on an emotional roller-coaster, seeking housing, treatment, conflict resolution and many other needs. There was no van, so we loaded up the flatbed with all his belongings loaded in 6 overly stuffed bags and transported them around the corner to his new apartment. In the hype of all his excitement he dived on the cart with a massive toothless grin. Clarence assisted us and Tyrone got his keys, he signed the lease and we rejoiced together after experiencing a couple decades of homelessness. CC is another miracle, he moved a couple days later. He'd been presumed dead just over a year ago with a horrific head injury, had made a remarkable recovery and now he's grinning ear to ear with a key, a lease and a warm bed to lay his head at night.

It was a somewhat eclectically charged week. As we celebrated the successful movement of Tyrone and CC, I was being splattered with complaints, meetings and questions. I had to break up a couple of conflicts and bring peace to some very tense situations. I mourned the unfair incarceration of someone I'd been working with, so I lodged photos of me and my family with a few encouraging words to him in his girlfriend's card. We posted that, while I was able to embrace a few guys who had just "come home". I helped a couple of people struggling with alcoholism and drug addiction, trying to get them closer to their own story of recovery. I mourned the premature death of an elderly gentleman I'd helped get housed, a man whose undiagnosed diabetes had been swallowed up and ignored in his extreme schizophrenia. I heard about Leroy and Dave who have been missing for a couple months, and now I need to find them; whether they are dead or alive. Leroy's girlfriend calls me seeking my help, but I don't know where to start. All we can do is pray. I drive a couple of the men around, helping them get what they need. I take care of several needs, give out laundry cards, transit passes and fellowship with many of the guys who occupy our street. I even take time to sit upstairs and play a game of dominoes with 85 year old Humberto, who had shuffled downstairs to greet me in his native tongue and challenge me to a game. He won.


That is but a little glimpse to a few of the events that occupied my time last week. There is so much energy and love in all the chaos. It is a life I love living. Jesus is ever present in street I now refer to as Hope Alley.

In New Zealand, we are blessed to be able to stay in a little town called Huia. The house we stay in is just seconds from water. It is a beautiful place, the beach backs into the Manukau Harbor, which is minutes from the raging, pounding, Pacific Ocean. This gorgeous place serves as an illustration of the double life I am blessed to live. There are two options at Huia; swimming, kayaking and playing in the peaceful calm water that approaches our back yard, and secondly, venturing out and exploring around the rocks, where crabs, starfish and untold other lifeforms would surround us. The beach is very safe, with minor risks like stepping on a sharp oyster shell, but when we go around the corner the risks increase, we have to watch the tide, not get too close to the edge where the water gets very deep and dangerous and where a large array of fish, octopus and other sea creatures live. It is amazing.

The reality is we love both sides of Huia; the peaceful tranquil side, where we soak in the sun, swim and relax, while also loving the energetic, rocky terrain that is full of surprises, bizarre discoveries and unusual hope.

I am glad to say; God has blessed us with a life that is able to rotate between two vastly different realities,
and thankfully.....

we love them both
feel loved in both
and feel at home in both!

Possessing Unusual Hope

As I sit here typing this, I am overlooking Huia and the Manukau Harbour, I am gazing out toward Whatipu and the great powerful Pacific Ocean. Bees are buzzing about, a variety of birds are swooping in and out of the freshly blossoming Pohutakawa tree that hangs over the incoming tide and all the colours that surround us sings of life. Cyrus and Muriwai constantly and gleefully play in the water, sand and grass, soaking in that abundance of life. When the tide retreats, our little whanau* wanders around this beach’s many jagged points, discovering a whole new world of life; under rocks, in pools of water and in every crack and cranny. We marvel at all the crabs, oyster catchers, mussels, herons, pukeko, starfish and jellyfish. Its beauty is virtually impossible to describe. Life, an abundance of life, is happening in Huia! This trip, our Creator even blessed us with finding a living octopus resting in one of the rock pools; a sight many of the longtime Huia locals have never been privileged of witnessing.

As I write this, the Nicholls whanau has managed to do a lot of things in our 4 weeks over here in Aotearoa*. We have experienced the raw and splendid beauty of Mangawhai Heads, Waitakere Ranges and climbed to the top of Auckland’s own volcanic Rangitoto Island. Cyrus and Muriwai daily soak it all in; each and every experience. They love it. Beth and I love it.

Yet! Yes, there’s a yet! A big fat Yet! We do not live here; we live in Chicago. A city that is flat, grey, overcrowded, and reeks of violence and smog. Chicago’s a city that easily outnumbers the whole population of New Zealand, has death-producing freezes in winter and stifling heat waves in the summer.

There are many more differences I could elaborate on; freedom, politics, guns, healthcare, the social welfare system and fresh food are just a few. Admittedly, my heart is attracted to the laid-back, healthier and peaceful lifestyle seen and experienced in this small pacific island, where all my loving extended family lives; this country that is still keeping itself “somewhat” free from the all-embracing power of corporations, trigger happy politicians and money hungry lobbyists. This country that remains “somewhat” void of the international chaos.

Before I go on, I should and need to clarify a few things; New Zealand isn’t utopia! It does have many issues of its own. To name a few; it has relatively high rates of crime and violence, chronic alcoholism and drug abuse, poverty does exist, there are huge disparities between our wealthy and poor citizens and also between our rich variety of ethnic groups and the cost of living is very high. A few years ago, I myself, personally experienced a negative side of New Zealand culture by being the victim of two violent robberies; firstly, I had two men place a knife to my throat, only to shove me in the trunk (boot) of my car, leaving me in the darkness for a couple hundred dollars. Just over a year after that robbery, I was beaten up by a group of young gang-bangers for a few coins and they left me with stitches in my chin.

Despite these couple of incidents, Aotearoa would naturally be “my country of choice” to raise our family and grow old in. Beth would wholeheartedly agree, and she was born in Illinois! Yet, we don’t live in the serene, peaceful little beach-town community called Huia, and in a month we’ll be flying back over to our home in Uptown, where it’ll be gray, dark and freezing cold. We’ll be heading back to a neighborhood that is presently experiencing hostile gang warfare. We’ll be leaving summer and clinging onto winter!

WHY? WHY? WHY? Is the question I am repeatedly asked. Whether in Chicago or West Auckland, people are intrigued. That intrigue only increases when they realize I’m not living in Chicago’s Gold-Coast, but living in an intentional Christian community (JPUSA) and working with and amongst homeless people at Cornerstone Community Outreach.

“Why would you leave the idealized land of hobbits to join a community that embraces those who are rejected, dejected, despised, criminalized and homeless in a part of town where a vocal group are constantly attempting to shove ‘the least of these’ further into their shallow graves?”

The answer to all the “whys” is actually very simple. The answer is easy for some to understand, yet incomprehensible to others. The undeniable answer is; Beth and I know God has called us to work with, live amongst and compassionately love Uptown’s rejected, dejected, despised, criminalized and homeless group of men, women and children. This answer is a powerful reality to us, causing people to either blankly stare at us in confusion or wholeheartedly agree.

 

In stating all this, I need to clarify some more points; despite having to constantly wrestle with the ugliness of American, Chicago and Uptown politics, which loves to exploit the weak; despite seeing the horrible reality of mass incarceration and the “war on drugs”; despite the constant sweat of summer and the frigid cold of winter; despite lacking one’s conveniences or luxuries when living in an intentional community; despite the lack of fresh air and despite not being able to choose my own food, car or laundry times; despite the ringing of gun shots echoing throughout the evening and so many more "despites" that penetrate our lives daily….

Hope, yes hope, shouts loudly and clearly into our lives!

Hope, yes hope, causes us to live and fight for a new day!

Hope, yes hope, is constantly rising from the stench of death!

Hope, yes hope, that unusual four letter word, sings in places where it shouldn’t. That is the power of the gospel. People, technology and systems try to kill hope, but it still lives and is growing stronger. Hope sings to me under certain rocks at Huia, at first they just look like lifeless rocks baking in the sun until we approach them and we see all the snails, chitons, mussels and oysters clinging onto them. We push that rock over, only to discover more life; hundreds of crabs scurrying about, in amongst the dozens of other life forms. What seemed utterly lifeless; actually radiates with life! What seems utterly hopeless; actually radiates with an abundance of hope!

Why do I live in Chicago? Why not in Auckland? God’s calling and His Kingdom is not a torturous enterprise. I am living a life filled with beauty, hope, mystery, challenge and love. I am honored to live in and be part of JPUSA and Uptown’s homeless community. I love where I live. I love where I work. I love who I live with. I love who I work with. I love the homeless community I am now part of. I love all the people I get to share my life with, as they share theirs with me. I love how my family has been accepted in their family, and they are accepted into mine. I love how they show me what faith, love and hope really is.

Reality continues and truth hurts, because I will always miss and love my friends and whanau in the land so elegantly called Aotearoa. Yet, my people make an impossible situation possible, so we can travel “down-under” every few years to rest and experience the beauty, rawness and life of New Zealand. My people make it possible to live and enjoy two vastly different worlds. My people make it possible to fill that empty spot. Thank you, mum and dad, Titirangi Baptist Church, friends and relatives who joined together, allowing us to frequent my homeland and enjoy what I once took for granted. Thank you again. 

*whanau is the Maori name for family. 
*Aotearoa is the Maori name for New Zealand; meaning the Land of the Long White Cloud.

Honouring Homeless Veterans!

Due to family obligations, Cyrus and I wandered in late.

There was controlled chaos everywhere.

Community everywhere.

People everywhere. 

The cafeteria was buzzing. It was packed. It was decorated. It was over-whelming. It was cold outside, but steaming inside.There must have been over 400 people crammed in, lined up and eager to get a plate of delicious food. There were boy scouts happily serving the dinner guests plates of chicken, ribs, potato salad, greens, buns and, quite frankly, the best bread pudding I'd ever tasted. Two bands provided some great live music and a couple of cute little sisters were given the microphone to proudly sing their ABCs. 

What made this night extra special was the attendance of two of the Tuskegee Airmen. These very respected African American heroes weathered cold temperatures to share a meal with hundreds of homeless people. They are both over 90 and told stories of their amazing flights. Even though they both had rank, an indisputable record and are modern day heroes, their stories were tainted by the reality of segregation and discrimination. During their Tour of Duty, the color of their skin deemed them ineligible to do many things that the lesser ranked white troops were able to do. They returned home to Chicago, not as heroes, but to live once again under that familiar yolk of Jim Crow and racism. It wasn't until many years later that they received the recognition they deserved.

Yet, despite all that, Welton Taylor and Julius Jackson do not live in bitterness. They were given a table of honour, yet they wandered around the cafeteria freely sharing both stories and warmth. They seemed to touch every life they bumped into. Col. Lt. Julius Jackson spoke to my 8 year old son Cyrus for a few minutes and offered him some wisdom. This 92 year old man's kind compassionate spirit shone through, as he shuffled around the room and through the masses meeting many of the residents, kids and boy scouts.

I came into the crowded cafeteria late and was asked to point out our homeless vets who had not yet been served. We honoured them by letting them know they didn't have to stand in the extremely long line, instead they were offered a seat at the table with the Tuskegee Airmen. Actually, most of them preferred not to be seated in the limelight and wanted to sit with everyone else, but were all thankful to dodge the line and be brought their special plates of food by the boy scouts. The vets loved it, our homeless population loved it and everyone who stepped into our humble cafeteria loved it. How do I know that? Because I've never had so many people personally thank me for putting on this great event. I felt a little guilty because I was getting the majority of the credit for something Karen, Sandy and others had tirelessly organized.

As I walked home from CCO, one part of me smiled and another part grieved. I could proudly proclaim the success of an event for people who deserved it, yet I was simultaneously saddened by the sickening reality that this country has so many and too many veterans that are homeless. Despite what we believe about the present wars in the Middle East or our philosophies on the rights and wrongs of war, weapons and military spending, every one of us should believe that homeless veterans deserve better. They served their country, they risked their lives and sometimes went on multiple tours, only to return home and try to cope with the feelings of rejection and alienation.

Let's face some facts; studies reveal some utterly horrendous statistics, where veterans lead the way in homelessness and suicides. This shouldn't be the case! I know too many without income, without support, without medical coverage and without a home. This needs to change! We can't drive around with "support our troops" bumper stickers, while despising the panhandling vet on the corner, yet that happens every day. We can't sing the praises of our active troops, while constantly ignoring the vet sleeping in the alley behind our homes, yet that happens every day. We can't justify billions of dollars launched into warfare and armament, while such a small percentage goes toward those returning home with life-changing physical, mental and emotional scars. We can't ignore and forget these men and women living under viaducts, in shelters and riding trains every night, they need to be remembered, respected and honoured. They need love!

My personal wish is that the Veteran's Administration got more money to use for housing, benefits, treatment and so forth. My experience with dealing with the VA thinks that they are overwhelmed by bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo and the shear mass of vets begging, pleading and crying for assistance. We cannot just leave it to them, we also need to accept responsibility and lift up, help out and embrace these men and women. We cannot just expect others to do it, we must reach into ourselves, cry out to the Lord and provide our brothers and sisters with what they're desperately seeking and needing!

There's a simple reason we decided to start this annual tradition; Jesus said, "as you have done it unto the least of these, you have done it unto Me!" Homeless veterans have sadly become this country's "least of these", and this is one of the ways we have decided to give them a little honour, respect and Jesus!

One Veteran's Day dinner, located in a humble little homeless shelter, on a cold November night, may seem like a small insignificant thing. It certainly does not solve the abundance of issues veterans face daily, but this celebration provided these "rejected" men and women with hope, compassion and love! And I gotta say, they all did have a wonderfully good time!

• Here's a link to the CCO facebook page containing more photos of our 2011 Veterans Day celebration
• Here's a link to many statistics regarding homeless veterans from the National Coalition for Homeless Veterans website.
• Here's a link to a story I wrote regarding some veterans who have stayed or are staying at CCO: Seven Weary Veterans!
  

Bootstraps!

The main problem with telling homeless people "all you need to do is pull yourselves up by your bootstraps" is a lot of these men and women's bootstraps are missing, frayed or broken. Let's face reality; a lot of people don't even have boots! And that's where we need to be....

A Holistic Approach

We're unique. Well, at least for Chicago, that is! Cornerstone Community Outreach does something most homeless shelters in Chicago do not do! We help our residents and many of the local homeless population get their birth certificates and State IDs. Many may not see this as a big deal, but for someone struggling with homelessness, this simple cheap task is enormous and essential.

This piece isn't to bash other agencies. I'm pretty sure some of the smaller shelters, with deeper pockets, have the ability to assist their people in this task. The massive size of our place and our willingness to accept nearly everyone, makes this accomplishment very unique.

Why do I emphasize this? Throughout recent years, certain people have wrongly accused us of just "warehousing" people. I personally feel that accusation is undignified, untrue, full of malicious gossip and stinks of propaganda. I feel we have a holistic approach. I believe we do what we do very well! My goal in this little piece is to demonstrate to our doubters that we do more than just give our clients "three hots and a cot". We try to look at our clients individually and meet their unique needs. Not what they "want", but what they "need". Those needs change drastically from person to person. 

We may receive three referrals in one day, who come from entirely different situations. Let's take look them..

• The first guy comes in. He's absolutely petrified, he's never been homeless before. He had been working, but the bottom fell out of his business, leaving him unemployed and unable to pay his rent. He hung onto his place until the inevitable day came when he was booted out of his apartment. End result; homelessness. With his remaining savings, he managed to put everything into storage, except for one backpack full of essential belongings. In one of his pockets, he kept his ID, birth certificate and Social Security Card in an overly stuffed wallet. Having never been homeless before, he didn't have a clue of what to do, so he rode on the L-train all night. He hardly slept, but when he finally dozed off, he woke up on Howard Street to find the bottom of his pocket sliced and that precious wallet gone.

• A second man comes in, he's vastly different from the first guy. He's been homeless for years and is deemed as a "chronically homeless" individual. He suffers from a debilitating mental illness, drinks alcohol every day and usually sleeps in secret locations outside. When the weather gets horrible, he rotates in and out of different shelters. Unfortunately, nobody has ever engaged this man, so he wanders year after year, not medicated and alone. He's "tired of being tired" and wants to be lifted from his grief, so this time, he decides to give CCO a chance. He can't remember the last time he had his ID or birth certificate or even how they came up missing. When asked, he wonders; "Was it the police one of the times I was arrested?" "Was it when my bag was stolen?" "Was it the time all my belongings got soaked in that horrendous downpour?" It's all a mystery to him, but he knows he needs them.

• A third man comes in, but he's not alone! He's with his family; his wife and their six children. They were victims of a devastating fire. Thankfully no-one was injured. Everything they owned was burnt up in a single night. Both parents are unemployed. They had to pay their rent with their disabled daughter's monthly check of only $674.00. All their food was purchased with their Link Card. Life had been a continuous struggle since they lost their jobs a few years ago. They somehow, and in some mysterious way, managed to survive and stay housed month after month! But now, because of faulty electrical wiring, a slumlord and no smoke detectors, everything's gone and they need to start their journey again. They all stood outside, with tears running down their faces, wrapped in thick woolen blankets, helplessly watching all eight birth certificates, their IDs and too many sentimental family photos being consumed by this mid-winter fire.

All three of these referred people have lived through extremely different realities, yet before they do anything, the first 3 things they all desperately need to put their energy into, is getting their birth certificates, social security cards and State IDs. Why are these documents so essential? The first guy needs them to get employment, enroll in any training and eventually get his own place. The second guy needs them to apply for SSI, see doctors, get into a program to deal with his mental health and substance abuse issues and eventually get his own apartment. The family needs them to apply for any eligible benefits, get their children into new schools, find employment and eventually get themselves a new place to live in. Though their goals may take them down very different roads, they all need the same things to kick-start their "new beginnings".

To illustrate the point even further; when someone has nothing and cannot prove their identity through documentation, the journey to getting these three documents becomes almost impossible. This is the reason why so many chronically homeless individuals live without an ID for years. The formula may seem simple, but it's downright difficult: "you need a State ID to get your birth certificate and you need your birth certificate to get your State ID", or "you need an ID to get your Social Security Card and your Social Security Card to get your ID"; I could repeatedly rearrange the words and the formulas, but you get the gist! You need to have something to establish your identity!

When a nameless, document-less, homeless guy wanders into my office seeking his name, documents and a home, we have to use creativity, knowledge of the system, perseverance and a little portion of effort. I won't go through a step-by-step process because it's different for every person, but it could involve getting one's medical, school and/or prison records. All these documents serve as preliminary purposes to achieving their goals. Depending on where they were born, went to school, hospitalized and incarcerated, determines how quickly a document-less homeless person can establish their identity. I've seen it take someone from Chicago just a few short hours, but I've also seen it take a man born at home in rural Mississippi or a woman born in Puerto Rico several frustrating months. But, eventually, it does happen!

There is also an ever-present fear of being thrown in the "Clinker" for simply being an undocumented person. If someone does not have an ID, the police can put them in jail until their identity is established. Homeless people are continually stopped and frisked because of their time spent "loitering on the street", so they repeatedly rotate in and out of holding cells. This is another example of the criminalization of the homeless. This extends or establishes a "rap sheet", making it harder to get out of their homeless reality. This is a real and genuine fear!

I am going to finish this piece with an actual example. Johnny was homeless, penniless and his ID expired on his birthday in March 2007. Without an income, he was unable to renew it. Over the next couple of years, he rotated in and out of 4 different shelters until he finally came to Cornerstone in January 2009. He was robbed at one of the shelters and was then left without a birth certificate and social security card. He spent all this time without these vital documents.

Johnny tells me how he pleaded for assistance, but was unable to get any. Two shelters told him he didn't have a case manager, one told him his priority should be on getting mental health treatment and not identification and the final shelter attempted to help him, but didn't know how to do it. Two times the police stopped him as he simply walked down Sheridan Rd and asked for his ID; luckily he had his expired one and doesn't have a record, so he didn't have to experience being "locked up". Johnny is a college graduate, with an extensive work history, and he told me how he missed out on many jobs opportunities because of all this.

It wasn't until April 2009 that Johnny finally got that elusive State ID. 25 months later, he had his birth certificate from Kansas, his social security card, and finally, his Illinois State ID. All it took was a few dollars, a postage stamp, a CTA card and people who knew what to do. He felt he was someone again, he had his name, he had an identity and he could move on and up!

Ironically, that year, we hired Johnny as a case manager of the single men, and one of the first things he does is help all homeless, nameless and undocumented men get their State ID. He quickly helps these guys feel they are part of our society. He helps them know they are important. He helps these men know they have a name. He helps these men move up and beyond! He helps give these men hope in a new tomorrow!


* We, at CCO, help about 20 to 30 homeless people get their birth certificates every month and about 15 to 20 people get their State IDs every month.
** The Emergency Fund helps finance the birth certificates. They also used to help fund State IDs, but earlier this year the State declared homeless persons could get their State IDs for free with the correct documents.

The Police, Prison and My Lil' Cy

I was telling Beth about our friend Shawn. For a couple days, I had been trying to find out where he had been hospitalized and I had just discovered where he was; I tell her how bad Shawn's condition is; he needed a blood transfusion; he's floating in and out of consciousness and is currently hooked up to machines in the ICU. I tell her of my plans to visit him "tomorrow", and how, in visiting, we'll probably have to wear special protective garments and masks.

After grieving about how rapid his decline has been, Beth asks, "is someone going with you?"

"Abdul says he really wants to come, I'll take him along"

"I thought you said he was in jail?"

"yeah I did, but they released him after just a couple hours, the police picked him up for selling cigarettes. That's the risk he takes!"

A little inquisitive mind had listened to our conversation. Cyrus, with his 8 year old ideology, looks up from his educational computer game and simply asks, "who's in jail?"

We look at Cy. He had that look. The look that says, "oh no! What's my ol' man doing? Why's he hanging out with a guy who's just been locked up? Jail is for bad people, evil people, mean people and people who hurt others. I don't want my daddy-o hanging with some dangerous psychopath like that". It's a black and white world to my lil' Cyrus; police are good, prisoners are bad! The world is divided between the two and there is no in-between. As he sits there trying to calculate his numbers, he's become very worried about his daddy.

Cyrus actually knows both Abdul and Shawn, even though he can't visualize them from where he sits. They give him five, pretend to punch him in the belly, yell out his name across Wilson, bring him french fries and rub the top of his head. Shawn knows Cyrus as a "crunchy cereal guy", while he likes his soggy. Abdul likes to crouch behind his girlfriend, sneak up behind Cy and embrace him with a great big bear hug. They've both known my lil' Cy-guy ever since he was a baby. They both remember the day he was born!

My children live in a mysterious world. They're caught between reality and fantasy. Caught between fact and fiction. Caught between where we live and where we work. These worlds are opposing realities and constantly clash. These worlds confuse their young innocent minds.

The stories Cyrus reads, the movies he watches and the games he plays, all promote a world painted only in black and white. For Cyrus, it's very easy to define; the good guys are heroes who always win, while the bad dudes are evil who end up in jail or are killed by the faultless heroes. It's as plain and simple as that; it's that classic world of the games I used to run around the house playing when I was only 8; "Cops and Robbers" or "Cowboys and Indians", where the robbers ended up in an imaginary jail and the native Americans were left lying on the ground, splattered with imaginary bullet holes. Their bows and arrows were always overpowered by the brutality of the imagery gun. As a youngster, my inner revolutionary spirit begged to be released, because I personally negated the status-quo and thrived to stand tall with our native brothers and sisters.

That was then. Today's kids live more in the fantasy life of bionicles, Harry Potter and pokemon. But, the gist is generally the same; one side is good, and the other is wicked needing to be punished. Remarkably, in this world, the good always triumphs!

As we all know, reality screams a completely different story. I live in the mixture of two vastly different worlds; I was brought up waving to unknown officer friendly. That's also how my children, and my neighbors kids, visualize the police; as the bold courageous servers and protectors of our 'hood. Cyrus and Muriwai could never imagine corrupt cops or a crooked system. Our kids have never seen Beth or I cuffed, frisked or verbally assaulted by these uniformed men and women. They've never seen their mama or papa disappear for days, months or even years, having to visit them locked up in a cage, peering through extremely thick glass and having to shout through little holes. They've never had to watch a gun toting prison guard yell "times up" and then escort their cuffed daddy through those loud clunking doors with tears running down his cheeks. They've never seen our door busted down. They've never seen us threatened with tazers or seen a gun pointed at us. A couple of those things have actually happened to us, but thankfully Cyrus or Muriwai have never had to witness it. I hate to say it; many children regularly experience these horrible traumatic things and I work with a lot of them. These children live only minutes away, right down the street at the shelter.

These children live in and experience a completely different reality. Unknown Officer friendly's name and face has changed to Officer grumpy, Officer bully or maybe even Officer gangster. Cops are seen as gun slinging bullies who break up their families and shatter their dreams. If lost, these children would never think of running to the police to help find their missing mother. To some of these kids, the police may be downright scary or power hungry thugs. To many children and adults, the CPD is viewed as Chicago's biggest and most powerful gang. Their world does not allow them to live in the idealistic black and white world of Cyrus and his buddies. Their world is muddled by a lot of shades of gray. To these children, good and bad is not as easily defined as a well read comicbook. 

People may read this and feel my thoughts are too liberal and vastly exaggerated. People may feel I am using too many generalizations. People may think that the picture I have just painted is too black and white. I personally don't think so and here's why.....

Over the past 15 years, my reality has changed from just *seeing* cops drive by, to personally *knowing* the officers who motor around my neighborhood. We acknowledge each other with waves, nods and the occasional discussion. The unknown has become known. Throughout these years, I've seen horrible abuses of power, but I've also witnessed cops going the extra mile to truly help the downtrodden. I've seen them pull suicidal George's t-shirt over his head, pull the chair out from underneath him and drag him down 4 flights of stairs saying expletives, yet I've also seen them compassionately bring us depressed drunken Donald, seeking his recovery. I've seen the 911 respondents yell at a 12 year old boy to "walk"; this boy has sickle cell anemia and I had just carried him inside because he was physically too weak to walk on his own, yet they dragged this poor boy to the ambulance with his devastated mother hollering in the background. But a day later, I saw them compassionately bring us a cold, wet mother with her 4 children, desperately trying to help them find shelter. I've witnessed them pick up an extremely intoxicated passed out homeless man and instead of delivering him to the ER, they dropped him off by the lake in the middle of a very snowy winter night, yet I've seen countless displays of compassion for Uptown's local alcoholics by these same men and women. I could go on with stories of broken noses, sexual harassment and verbal diarrhea, mixed in with wonderful stories of rescue, compassion and redemption. 

That's the life of a cop; nothing's black and white, it's a muddled pool of gray murkiness. These men and women are not "straight-up" evil or "straight-up" good. They're emotional humans beings, making good and bad decisions, having good and bad days and dealing with some infuriating situations. Really, the truth is, it's just like me or you, trying to react and respond correctly to a world filled with pain and injustice. It's all about judgment calls. The truth is, I'm guilty too and must continually repent of many of my own reactions, because I have misused my power, over or under reacted and responded too many times out of my own anger or fear. 

Another factor to look at; the police are bound by the law they are told to uphold, even if they ethically disagree with it. They, like us, can easily become robotic slaves to their system. A mob or group of individuals is a powerful entity, it can cause or influence good people to make bad decisions and do atrocious things. What do I mean? Look at this present movement, Occupy Wall Street, do I think all the NYPD cops took pleasure in pepper spraying and arresting peaceful protesters? No, not at all. I believe many of those cops realized these protesters are actually fighting for them, but because they got caught up in the moment, by the system and by the mob, they used inexcusable brutality. I believe a few of them went to bed that night full of regrets, because they didn't listen to their consciences or convictions!

Now, after this slight diversion, it's time to get back to my boy Cyrus.....

Try explaining the grayness of this world to a boy so conditioned to the safety net of 'black and white', it's downright difficult. What we're talking about is an adult selling cigarettes to other adults, and then being scooped up the police in cuffs. Cyrus, in all his innocence, would naturally think it's because tobacco is a dangerous substance; but we all know it ain't that! It's simply because he doesn't have a vendor license. He's homeless and unable to get a job, he doesn't want to and refuses to sell drugs, so in search for the elusive dollar he sells "squares" at a busy intersection. Loose cigarettes remarkably is a thriving and competitive business. Try explaining the justice of "the system" to an eight year old! It's not easy.

I want my boy to see Abdul for who is; a compassionate caring charismatic individual, not some dangerous criminalized thug. When Cyrus and Abdul see each other on the street, all stereotypes society wants them to live by, simply vanish. They automatically become friends or pals. Cyrus doesn't know he's the one Beth and I candidly spoke about over his head. When we approach, Abdul smiles and reveals his missing tooth, yells out my son's name and holds out his fist for lil' Cy to gently nudge.

Cyrus displays the radical innocence of children. They connect, they smile, they chat and enjoy a brief moment of fellowship. Prejudice is put aside, in fact it is non-existent. We, as a family, often go for walks throughout the neighborhood. Cyrus and Muriwai instantly have celebrity status amongst the homeless population. Phrases like "Hey big guy!" and "Hey Beautiful" echo throughout their heads. But, my kids don't care that the men and women we're chatting with may be homeless, felons, mentally ill, alcoholics, drug addicts, gangsters or a host of other undesirable traits. They don't care that the people we're chatting may be black, Hispanic or Native American. They don't care about cigarette stained fingers, unkempt hair, missing teeth, scruffy spoiled clothes or the fact they're sitting on the pavement with a McDonald's cup. They don't care! They see and feel the smile, the compassion, the interest and the love these "rejected" men and women offer. They judge from what they see and experience, not from a bunch of preconceived ideas. Sadly, the reality is, society's "desirable people" have scoffed, mocked, pushed aside, snarled and looked down at my daughter's obvious difference far more than these "undesirable folk" I just mentioned. Cyrus and Muriwai notice the difference between disdain and acceptance, and they act accordingly. 


Children, so innocently, simply live out Dr. Seuss' famous phrase, "A person's a person, no matter how small." Jesus held children up to us, as prejudice adults with preconceived ideas, to teach us how to live by faith.


May we all learn from the beautiful innocence of our sweet children.....