Setting Prisoners Free

Visibly Invisible OR Invisibly Visible: A Homeless Predicament.

2012-02-13T18:59:00.000-06:00

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

2012-02-08T18:58:00.000-06:00

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

2012-01-12T04:06:00.000-06:00

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 inand out of the freshly blossoming Pohutakawa tree that hangs over the incomingtide and all the colours that surround us sings of life. Cyrus and Muriwai constantlyand 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 jaggedpoints, discovering a whole new world of life; under rocks, in pools of waterand in every crack and cranny. We marvel at all the crabs, oyster catchers,mussels, herons, pukeko, starfish and jellyfish. Its beauty is virtuallyimpossible to describe. Life, an abundance of life, is happening in Huia! This trip, our Creator evenblessed us with finding a living octopus resting in one of the rock pools; asight 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 ofthings in our 4 weeks over here in Aotearoa*. We have experienced the raw andsplendid beauty of Mangawhai Heads, WaitakereRanges 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 loveit. 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’sa 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 afew. Admittedly, my heart is attracted to the laid-back, healthier and peaceful lifestyleseen and experienced in this small pacific island, where all my loving extendedfamily lives; this country that is still keeping itself “somewhat” free from the all-embracingpower of corporations, trigger happy politicians and money hungry lobbyists. Thiscountry 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 doeshave many issues of its own. To name a few; it has relatively high rates ofcrime and violence, chronic alcoholism and drug abuse, poverty does exist,there are huge disparities between our wealthy and poor citizens and also between ourrich 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 thevictim 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 ofyoung gang-bangers for a few coins and they left me with stitches in my chin.

Despite these couple of incidents, Aotearoa would naturally be “mycountry of choice” to raise our family and grow old in. Beth wouldwholeheartedly 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 beflying back over to our home in Uptown, where it’ll be gray, dark and freezingcold. We’ll be heading back to a neighborhood that is presently experiencinghostile 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 notliving in Chicago’sGold-Coast, but living in an intentional Christian community (JPUSA) andworking with and amongst homeless people at Cornerstone Community Outreach.

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

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

In stating all this, I need to clarify some more points; despitehaving to constantly wrestle with the ugliness of American, Chicago and Uptownpolitics, which loves to exploit the weak; despite seeing the horrible realityof mass incarceration and the “war on drugs”; despite the constant sweat ofsummer and the frigid cold of winter; despite lacking one’s conveniences or luxuries whenliving in an intentional community; despite the lack of fresh air and despitenot being able to choose my own food, car or laundry times; despite the ringingof gun shots echoing throughout the evening and so many more "despites" that penetrateour 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 placeswhere it shouldn’t. That is the power of the gospel. People, technology and systems try to kill hope, but itstill 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 approachthem and we see all the snails, chitons, mussels and oysters clinging ontothem. We push that rock over, only to discover more life; hundreds of crabsscurrying about, in amongst the dozens of other life forms. What seemed utterlylifeless; actually radiates with life! What seems utterly hopeless; actuallyradiates 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 lifefilled with beauty, hope, mystery, challenge and love. I am honored to live inand be part of JPUSA and Uptown’s homeless community. I love where I live. Ilove where I work. I love who I live with. I love who I work with. I love thehomeless community I am now part of. I love all the people I get to share mylife with, as they share theirs with me. I love how my family has been acceptedin their family, and they are accepted into mine. I love how they show me whatfaith, love and hope really is.

Reality continues and truth hurts, because I will always miss andlove my friends and whanau in the land so elegantly called Aotearoa. Yet, mypeople make an impossible situation possible, so we can travel “down-under” everyfew 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. Mypeople 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 homelandand 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!

2011-11-17T21:56:00.000-06:00

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!

2011-11-17T07:24:00.001-06:00

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

2011-11-15T22:11:00.000-06:00

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

2011-11-09T23:03:00.000-06:00

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.....

"I Was Petrified"

2011-10-27T08:50:00.000-05:00

"When I first came here I was petrified. Worried. Scared. I didn't know what to expect. I was rushed into a sea of people. I'd never been homeless before."

"I didn't like it; lines, no privacy, constantly waiting. I had to go with the flow. I had never experienced anything like this before. I was scared. I didn't know all these people around me."

"Then I decided to embrace it; not give in. I started living, relaxing, making friends, putting in applications. It started happening. It wasn't that scary. I joined the community. They cared, they accepted me."

"I started enjoying myself and the people who surrounded me."

"Now look at me! Close to moving. That initial fear of many people, is now a fear of being alone in my own crib. I fear a loss of fellowship, community and friendship. I need others, but I need my own place too."

"It's time. I'm ready. But what can I do?"

.........................

"that fear and worry is real. It'll take time. Again! In fact, it may take a little longer, because here, in the shelter, you are constantly surrounded by caring compassionate folk. In your own crib, doors and walls separate, but it'll happen. It will."

"trust me. It'll happen, that all important family, community and fellowship. Come back, eat meals, chill, play dominoes, don't be a stranger as you transition. You'll be alright Rick, you're still in the neighborhood, you'll be just a couple block away and we're still here for you! Do not be a stranger. Come visit!"

"that petrified beginning, ultimately turned into a mysterious blessing. It became something you would have never guessed."

"Move in peace my brother."

Chief Survivor

2011-10-23T14:54:00.000-05:00

Bumped into "Chief" the other day. This Native American man has been homeless in Uptown for 37 years! Yes, 37 years! That's since he was just a mere 13 year old boy; it all began just after his mother died and he had no place to go, except to the rugged streets of Uptown.

One of my earliest memories of Chief happened about 12 years ago, he came into our facility to eat a hot meal at our "dinner guest" program. It was deathly cold and he was wearing a relatively new overly-sized green trench-coat, so he begged me for something that fitted him; I found him a very nice brand new "Blackhawks" jacket. He was elated. Even though I repeatedly declined, Chief adamantly insisted I keep this trench-coat for myself, it was far too big and long for him. He won the argument and I still wear it every winter; it's my one of clothing many people frequently covet it. If he had worn it, that coat would now be in absolute tatters from the bottom dragging in our city's slushy snow. He still owns that Blackhawks jacket. It sits in storage at his sister's, waiting for the cold weather to surface again.

This particular day, Chief was just sitting in an alley. I hadn't seen him for quite a while, he's someone who doesn't live in shelters or even come around seeking services. He's a loner. He doesn't want to bother others. He just likes to plod along doing his "thing" and hang with a couple of his buddies. After 37 years, he's become a man who has lost hope in the system, and cannot imagine any possibility of housing. All this makes him a very difficult guy to find. We see each other across Arygle Street, so I start wandering toward him and he yells out the nickname he gave me many years ago: "Custer Jr!" I yell out my response: "Chief", followed by a man-hug.

In this brief encounter, I remembered that Chief's real name was on a list of people who are chronically homeless. Outreach workers had been trying to find him, but their efforts proved fruitless. Suddenly, I had him there. What an opportunity! I whip out my cell-phone and call up Brian, one of the local outreach workers, and we set up an appointment.

Later that day, the three of us meet in a local diner and discuss his life. That's where I discover the length of his homeless stint. I knew he didn't use drugs, but struggled with alcohol. I knew there had been times when I'd seen him with bandages wrapped around his head, had broken bones and other bumps and bruises, but I didn't know about *all* the brutality he'd suffered from his fellow human beings. He shares and shows his body full of scars; bullet holes, a caved in portion on the side of his head and knife wounds everywhere. He tells of fights, police abuse and power-tripping prison guards. He tells of drunken foolishness, where he wound up with, yet another, scar. He tells of many of the inhabitable spots he's laid his weary head at night, in both extreme cold and heat. Together, we all reflect on so many of his homeless buddies who we know and love. Too many of them prematurely passed away because of Chicago horrid winters and humid summers, diseases and the murderous actions of our fellow human beings.

All these stories qualify Chief for this particular housing program, but all of a sudden, he tells us a story that rocks our world: He was sleeping alone in an alley, just off Leland and west of Broadway, and some unknown guy just walks up to him with a massive curved knife and digs this weapon deeply into his lower stomach and slices Chief all the way up into the middle of his chest. Blood everywhere. He was a victim of a brutal hate crime. He screams out, but no-one comes to help. An ambulance never came. Somehow, and in someway, he rises to his feet and starts stumbling down Leland toward the Weiss Hospital Emergency Room (1/2 mile), holding in and trying to prevent his internal organs from spilling out. Sadly, depressingly and callously, he passed quite a few people and no one (yes; absolutely no-one) stopped to help this poor dying man. Somehow, and in someway, Chief miraculously made it to that ER, where his stomach was stitched, stapled and woven back together. He survived. Somehow!?

Man; what a survivor! I sit there dumbfounded. Brian also has a shocked look on his face. The story reeks of human ugliness and a morbid lack of compassion from so many sides. His attacker was never located, let alone properly investigated. As I have often pointed out so many times; homeless people are far more likely to be the victims of violence, than the offenders, and Chief has had a hefty portion of pointless brutality aimed in his direction.

Yes! Chief is a survivor and he'll sporadically keep wandering over to Cornerstone and Jesus People seeking the occasional plate of food and a prayer. Chief is a survivor who knows how keep on surviving, even when so many forces rally against this man. Chief is a survivor who'll keep on loving and supporting his homeless comrades, despite all the hate and rage aimed at him. Chief is a survivor who is amazingly still full of love. Chief is a survivor who now has a flicker that is growing into a flame, producing renewed hope that one day, very soon, he'll have his own place, his own bathroom, his own stove and his own closet to hang his Blackhawks jacket. Chief is a survivor who has survived 37 long years of cold hard concrete, closed doors and lost opportunities, yet he now has a door creeping open, creating new opportunities and some warm soft carpet. Chief is a survivor who now has hope in his continued survival.

Pray, my people, pray, that this dream will soon become his reality, and he'll not spend "year 38" barely surviving under Uptown's hazy stars, but he'll spend "year one" surviving in his own crib, choosing to shower when he wants to shower.

Chief; I love you my brother, keep fighting, keep loving and keep the faith.

Defying The Odds: some outstanding accomplishments!

2011-10-12T22:01:00.000-05:00

Over the years, we have been privileged to witness many wonderful people defy the odds. They came to Cornerstone, once living on the street and without an income. These people are, deemed by many, as hopeless or "without hope", yet they defied the odds and accomplished the unthinkable; they managed to overcome adversity, get an income and are now living in an apartment.

This may be not seem like an outstanding accomplishment, because housing should be every human's basic right. But to some, simply moving from chronic homelessness to housed is an amazingly difficult struggle. They need to be honored for all their effort and dedication, yet it also takes a combination of numerous factors, agencies and people, networking together for the same person. We, at Cornerstone, have been privileged to play a role in helping them accomplish their goals.

Here are a few photos of some of these wonderful people who have defied the odds:

He Isn't Ready Yet.

2011-10-09T23:17:00.000-05:00

He struts up to me....

"Jeremy, I need a bus pass, Sandy told me to get one from you!" (she didn't say that)

"sorry, we haven't got any right now!"

Now I've known this 24 year old for about 12 years. I've seen him grow up, he's been in the Joint a couple times and now he's on parole.

After going back and forth whether anyone has cards, I change the subject...

"you better slow down!"

"what ya mean?!"

"you better slow down with what you're doing out there on Wilson!"

"I ain't doing nothing out there!"

"oh yes you are!"

"what am I doing?"

"you want me to tell you in front of this group of people? The guys that surrounded us were some my homeless clients; they didn't know this young man and were all drug-free!

"yeah! Go ahead, I ain't doing nothing, go ahead, tell me what I'm doing out there"

"ok; you asked me too, I know you're selling marijuana to the Truman students. And you know if I know, the police also know. Coz they're constantly watching that whole block."

"how'd ya know?" a guilty big smile had developed on his face

"coz you're real obvious and ya need to stop before you end up being sent straight back down State. Let's talk about other options. Let's get outta this vicious cycle you're in. All you're doing is taking the fast track back to the Joint and none of us want that."

"yeah you right. We'll talk! But not right now."

"I'm here, come see me when ya need to"

"hey man, ya gotta bus card, I need one bro, Sandy told me to get one from ya"

"you know I don't, go home and get outta this area, before you get in trouble"

I sigh, as he struts back toward Wilson. He's got his own choices to make, there's nothing I can do, he's a free man living his life. He stayed on the block, doing his thing. He's caught up in the revolving door system of selling drugs, representing his gang, trying to make a buck or two and rotating in and out of institutions. There isn't too many options for this young fella, unfortunately he sees this as his *only* option!

Today, this young Puerto Rican man sits downstate, in some small rural town in Western Illinois, locked up in his cage, waiting for March to finally arrive. He didn't listen. Money had to be made. Obligations had to be met. Loyalty is his necessity.

My words were but fleeting sounds in the endless hustle and bustle of Uptown. He isn't ready. Yet!

Well, maybe one day he will be....

All I can do is pray!

A Look into Social Anxiety Disorder.

2011-09-29T12:17:00.000-05:00

Here are 3 posts focusing on and looking at Social Anxiety Disorder:
The first 2 links focus on how certain homeless people struggle with social anxiety, while the final link focuses on my own personal struggle with it.

Frost Bitten, Social Anxiety and a Kingdom That Loves

Social Phobia Anxiety Disorder and Homelessness

Self Diagnosis: Social Phobia Anxiety Disorder

A Kingdom that Loves: Persevering in the Stench of Death

2011-09-27T13:00:00.000-05:00

In my final writing on kingdom Love, I want to encourage us to embrace a forgiving grace and persevering hope. Kingdom Love can never be just a temporary reality; such a thought slanders the meaning and power of love! We must ride the waves with determination and prayer. It can and will continue to be extremely difficult to serve and befriend these homeless and precariously housed women and men I encounter daily. Frustration penetrates the ego. I have failed to love them all as I should, but Jesus has managed to use me and living this life has brought me so much joy. Yet, the nature of Christ-like love screams that it cannot just stop, Love must forgive and it must persevere!

John (pictured) died, in the rain, on a loading dock surrounded by his homeless buddies. His earthly suffering had ended; in and out of prisons, alcohol and a severe mental illness plagued this man known on the streets as “Johnny Stone" and "John the Baptist”. John caused trouble through his erratic preaching and prophetic phrases like “there’s thieves in the temple!” He would stumble into our cafeteria and loved to point out the false prophets! We were in constant battle with his "demons", and they were, at times, ugly and violent! But John, like a little child, would weep! Tears would stream down his cheeks as he reflected on his life. He would cry and scream out to the Lord for mercy! “Have mercy on me, a sinner!” The letters he wrote to me while behind bars were full of faith, hope and love. When incarcerated, and even though he was living in shackles, John was free! When John was granted physical freedom: alienation, addiction and oppression shackled him. Love, on our part, has called us to forgive, show grace and persevere!

When John suddenly died, it only seemed right to hold a memorial service for him – and that’s what we did! On that secluded loading dock, less than 10 of us remembered John with candles, flowers and food. We were right next to a crowd of Hispanic concert goers, standing in a very long line waiting to get into the Aragon Ballroom! We prayed. We held hands. We remembered and celebrated the life of Uptown’s one and only “John the Baptist!” We did not focus on the wrongs he had done. We celebrated the simple and beautiful faith that poured forth from this man! This man beloved of God!

Andre and Sheila attended his memorial service that night and they wept bitterly at the loss of their friend. They slept on that loading dock with a small group of men and women. Every night they battled the elements of rain, wind, snow and blistering humidity. Fights, drunkenness and drug abuse would often rear their ugly heads, along with some random harassment from gangs, police, party goers and yuppies. Their nights were occupied by the unknown and uneasy. Yet this tight little community of rejects was bonded by an unshakable love, forgiveness and protection of one another. John’s death shook their “unstable stability.” Andre and Sheila are both chronically homeless, have ailing health and are addicted to alcohol. The streets are what they know. They know death, it has surrounded them for years; friends, family, purpose, opportunities, housing and society have all abandoned them and died before their blurry eyes.

This fragile couple, along with John and the locking dock crew, question all our assumptions on how to love. There is no earthly reward for loving them. Andre and Sheila are pictures of utter despair; they harmlessly wander the streets of Uptown, they stand around and continually sip their beers and retire to sleep in different outdoor locations when the sun goes down. They are so mellow they tend to blend into the concrete jungle as if invisible ghosts. Physically, they struggle with congestive heart failure and seizures, and therefore, emergency runs to the hospital are frequent. Andre and Sheila silently scream out a sad slogan: No money, no hope and no purpose!

In my hospital visits, I have seen that Andre loves Jesus and he possesses, like John, a beautiful child-like faith that shames my own. Whether on the streets, in a shelter or lying in a hospital, he loves his bible and clings to it every night. He sees hope and love in his Savior, and like so many of our homeless brothers and sisters, he struggles to forgive himself, while cancelling any possibility of love or hope!

As an outreach worker, I have tried to get along side this couple and change the negative slogan into a positive one; consisting of money, hope and purpose. In winter’s bitter cold, we have housed them in the shelter and set very low-demand goals. Working primarily with Andre, we utilized our resources and tried to set up appointments with doctors, housing specialists and social security. Andre has routinely failed to keep them all.

The doctors have given him multiple blunt warnings; “no alcohol, no smoking or you will die”, yet his despairing routine continues. I believe he has social anxiety and fears the bureaucratic system and crowds. We set up “seek and find” missions by going to him and have gradually opened some doors of opportunity. We drove him down to meet the social security doctors, sat in the office with him and now he receives a government disability benefit. He’s on some housing lists, yet if no one holds his hands, he fails to follow through with all his responsibilities.

Andre’s progress is riding on a very slow train, but we must remember, the train is moving.
*(see below for an update on this couple)

Kingdom love calls us to persevere. Even though Andre and Sheila seem to have given up all hope, it is our responsibility to continue to offer rays of hope. Kingdom love calls us to forgive, as they struggle to forgive themselves, we must forgive their laziness, drunkenness and complacency, while demonstrating the beauty of God’s grace. Kingdom Love may desire they be housed, safe and healthy more than this poor fragile homeless couple does. Kingdom love simply offers hope when none is seen.

In my five writings on Kingdom Love, I have shared about ten homeless individuals. I could tell hundreds more about my struggle to love my neighbors as myself and the blessings I have felt when Jesus has shone through me. I could also tell many stories of love and faith among the homeless. I could also share amazing stories of how the homeless community has consistently shamed my efforts to love and how they have truly loved one another and me!

There is a reason I have often failed to love with a kingdom love:
Fear and anxiety!
I fear the consequences!
I fear embarrassment, rejection and humiliation.
I fear being punched in the nose!
I fear losing comfort, security and power!
I fear wasting time, losing money and my dignity!
I fear myself!

Yet, fear and anxiety are conquered by what? LOVE
“There is no fear in love, and perfect love casts out fear!” 1 John 4:18
The logic is simple: love takes courage.
In overcoming or conquering fear or anxiety, we discover what courage is.
I want to encourage us all to be courageous.
Courageous enough to truly love:
I need to strain, pray and pursue this life of love!
How about you?

I need to forgive their aggression
I need to forgive their abuse
I need to forgive their laziness
I need to forgive their excuses and their setbacks
They may not forgive themselves, but I must!
I must forgive them 70 times 7!
I must offer hope in the darkness!
Why?
It’s simple;
Jesus does that for me!
People may say homeless people don’t deserve it;
Well - neither do I!

Questions flood my mind as I wonder how I (and we) can truly be vessels of kingdom love in this depressing, distressing and distraught world:
Who is willing to forgive the woman who won’t forgive herself?
Who is willing to offer hope to the chronic alcoholic who struggles to overcome his addiction and is constantly reminded of his fate?
Who is willing to step into the schizophrenic world of a young paranoid woman and say I accept you and I love you?
Who is willing to forgive the prisoner when society won’t give him a 2nd chance?
Who is willing to offer hope to the homeless veteran who sees no light the end of the tunnel and suffers with crippling post traumatic stress disorder?
Who is willing to walk next to the crack head who wants to overcome, but that lighter continues to flicker?
Who is willing to truly love, without sexual intercourse, that heroin addict who sells her (or his) body at every opportunity, because the needle helps her escape the reality of her nightmare past of rape and molestation?
Who is willing to listen to the stories and buy the groceries of the lonely old grumpy man who has lost everything and everyone and death knocks at his door?
Who is willing to struggle through the ups and downs of vicious bi-polar episodes and continue to hold that hand that has burnt a thousand bridges?
Who is willing to step into this violent world of gangbangers and thugs that loves revenge, say “I forgive you, you are a person of potential and I love you?”
Who can offer hope?
Who is daring enough to risk failure, by being willing to love?

Kingdom love simply cries with the prophet Isaiah:
“A bruised reed he will not break
A dimly burning wick he will not extinguish!”

* This was originally written in early 2010. Andre and Sheila eventually got housed, though their health is weak, it has improved since having a consistent place to lay their heads. It was truly a miracle, and it took a while. Here's a LINK to their story.

A Kingdom that Loves comes face to face with Hostility

2011-09-25T13:38:00.000-05:00

I have been studying the concept of kingdom love; kingdom love is neighborly love which Jesus introduced into first century Palestine by word and deed. Kingdom love is a love that will respond to the person that stands before or beside us. Kingdom love will recognize a neighbor as individually unique and it will take him or her out of the masses. It will deny all stereotypes. As citizens of the Kingdom of God, we are simply commanded to love each and every person we have human contact with “as ourselves”. Enemies, social rejects and those annoying personalities that endlessly grate us are our neighbors, and we must simply love them “as ourselves”. Everybody and anybody should become the fortunate victim of our kingdom love.

Then I explored a couple of ways of embracing some of society’s rejected and dejected souls with kingdom love: How do I love someone with a tainted reputation who could easily taint mine? A Gangster, A Tainted Reputation and A Kingdom That Loves!
And how do I demonstrate love to those that blend into this chaotic world seemingly wanting to wander as invisible ghosts? Frost Bitten, Social Anxiety and A Kingdom That Loves!

This brings me to a third exploration; I think Kingdom love calls us to embrace weakness, it calls us to denunciate power, and it calls us to actively pursue peace combined with creative non-retaliation. Jesus embraced this. Jesus lived this way. This is a message that the world does not want to hear! The kingdom of this world calls for power, revenge, one’s rights, the need to justify a wrong and the importance of becoming strong by dominating or exploiting the fragile, weak and insecure. Jesus chose to become weak through the incarnation, he chose to reject the power available to him and, in his poverty, he boldly proclaimed subversive phrases like “Blessed are the poor in spirit; for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven” and “blessed are the peacemakers; for they shall be called children of God.” We embrace this, by embracing weakness. We embrace this by embracing love!

In the desert, Jesus was shown all the kingdoms of this world by the devil, but Jesus made it extremely clear that the pursuit of power, domination and violence is not the path he would follow. Instead he chose to follow the narrow path. A path, which allowed no amount of apathy, took him to become a victim of capital murder on an inhumane cross! This narrow path meant Jesus would follow the way of love, obedience, weakness, non-violence and suffering.

Peter innocently and righteously suggested to him that the way of the cross was foolishness, false and sought God to forbid it, yet Jesus rebuked Peter with some of the harshest words spoken to his disciples; Matthew 16:23, “get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are not setting your mind on God’s interests, but peoples.” He also rebuked the sons of Zebedee when they, and their mother, sought prominent seats in his kingdom. This inner circle of disciples failed to comprehend their master’s kingdom by simply pursuing worldly kingdoms of power and prestige.

When Jesus went to the garden of Gethsemane, he sweated drops of blood and prayed “Not my will, but yours be done!” Moments later they captured Jesus; he healed his oppressor’s severed ear, boldly proclaimed that those “who live by the sword will die by the sword” and, once again, had to rebuke Peter’s efforts to rely on a human revolution based on strength and power. When the authorities accused Jesus, he stood silently and did not enter into an endless display of argumentative yelling. He chose not to verbally justify and defend himself to his oppressors or call down from heaven twelve legions of angels to rescue him. Then they brutally crucified Jesus in a most inhumane way!

The gospels clearly picture Jesus decisively choosing the path of weakness, humility and non-retaliation. He resisted all temptation to pursue power, prestige and violence, even though the devil, the religious and political rulers and even his disciples tried in vain to convince him otherwise! Never did Jesus choose to reach out and grasp the immense power available to him by violently overturning his oppressors, silencing his critics and starting a hostile revolution. The masses expected Jesus to overthrow Rome through creating a violent spark, yet he started a radically different revolution through uplifting, healing and loving the poor, weak, maimed and sick. He chose to suffer a violent death while proclaiming radically subversive comments like “the first shall be last, and the last, first!” and “blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth!”

How does all this translate into my calling; living at JPUSA and working with the homeless at Cornerstone Community Outreach? I will not deny; this is a hard road to travel and Jesus is not easy to imitate, especially in this area. I am constantly tempted to pursue power. I am constantly tempted to justify, argue and fight back.

I have only been physically assaulted once at Cornerstone. Clark was pushing in front of a weaker person in our soup kitchen line. I confronted him, told him he couldn’t do that and needed to go to the back. This particular day, Clark had drunk too much and was also high on crack, so he started to argue and threaten me; he charged at me and ended up hitting me twice in my eye as I was calling 911. Clark ran out the door. This incident happened in front of about 250 hungry people. The food was flowing and the people continued to receive their meals. I had become known in the neighborhood, and a few locals with gang affiliations, offered to retaliate on my behalf. I declined. This happened ten years ago, and at this point, Clark was just another face in a sea of thick coats, duffel bags and skull caps. Even though he assaulted me, I had the power through subtle and passive-aggressive ways of revenge to make his homeless life more torturous than it already was. Looking back, I was relatively new to the position and I could have addressed his wrong doing in a less confrontational way. That day, I made a decision not to pursue revenge (via police, gangs, neighborhood thugs or my own ways), and to this day, many homeless recall that Saturday afternoon and speak of it as a witness of Christ to them!

Clark ended up living on the south side with his mother. He would often float into Uptown to hang with his little community of homeless and precariously housed buddies. Our opening encounter was obviously violently unpleasant and the following months resulted in a time of awkwardness. Time passed, forgiveness happened and we formed a bond. Clark would often stop me on the street to seek my help and advice. His mother was very old and I started to assist him to find his own subsidized place. His health was quickly deteriorating and sadly he could hardly breathe as we spoke. Clark passed away late 2009. Darrell and I went to his funeral and we had the honor to meet his mother and family; as we gave our condolences, they thanked us (CCO) for the support and love we’d given their brother and son. Clark had been touched by us and had raved to his family about our love.

Over the years, many people have tried to assassinate my character. I have also been the recipient of frequent angry verbal threats or assaults, guilt trips, manipulation and prolonged glares. Dan (who I wrote about in part 1) has taken me to the limit too often to remember; he has routinely managed to abuse me in all the above ways. It is tempting and easy to seek revenge by assassinating his character; I can do it by gossiping about him, laughing at his messed up existence, being passive aggressive or by favoring a more “favorable” client. Admittedly, I have fallen into these acts of revenge from time to time. Yet, I have tried to live out my calling as a member of God’s kingdom by actively pursuing peace, straining to live humbly by choosing weakness instead of domination (or power) and recognizing Dan as a beloved child of God struggling to contain his addictive personality. As a result, I start living out the love of non retaliation. If I couple this with actively praying for Dan, I have found this speaks of love more powerfully than words! In my often failed efforts, Dan and I have formed an awkward, but close, relationship; he trusts me, he respects me and he comes seeking my help in times of crisis. It is not easy and sometimes I want to hide from (or dodge) Dan, but it is a necessary and vital relationship based on kingdom love.

Rod is a loud aggressive man. He is in his late fifties and is known on the streets simply as Baldhead! He is a product of institutions. Rod served about 20 years in penitentiaries. Excessive time behind bars often results in making an individual have OCD qualities. Rod is a passionate “neat freak”. Rod swept, mopped, ironed and made sure he (with his perfectly shaved head) and his surroundings were spotless.

About 7 years ago, Rod came in for a night’s sleep in our overnight shelter where around 100 men slept next to each other on our thin blue mats. Slightly inebriated, he started cleaning and getting aggravated at those he considered unhygienic or lazy. He started yelling, accusing and threatening his fellow residents with a vulgar display of power. Trying and needing to protect the weak, I approached him and his aggression transferred to me. He was posing a challenge! Rod did not like white men, and especially ones with authority like the police, prison guards and at that moment; me! He considered us the oppressors. I found myself receiving a verbal assassination in front of 100 men; he egged me on and wanted to instigate a fight. My faith, my pride and my love was being put to the test! I had to act in a Christ like manner, I tried to remain confidently calm and thankfully he left without blows being thrown! The threats and insults had left me somewhat intimidated and thinking about how I had to wander cautiously in my own neighborhood.

That night, in the silence of my bed, as I cried to the Lord and the Holy Spirit clearly said to me “pray for your enemies. Rod is your enemy. Beat him with My love. Love him! Love him! Love him!” Because of the events of that night I had to restrict Rod from the shelter for a while and simply, pray.

It is hard to explain the passionate hate Rod had for white men. He is a man oppressed and his goal is to retaliate and tell you what’s on his mind. Time passed, he was frequently living rent-free in my head, and even though there was temptation to hate, I prayed for reconciliation and peace. I can be stubborn and I was extremely determined to overcome his hatred with love. Because of the severity of Rod’s challenge, I made it my mission to choose weakness and humility rather than power and revenge. He returned to the shelter and I had made an active decision not to retaliate. An awkward relationship began to form through gestures like a smile, a handshake and simply saying “hi”.

One day Rod beckons me over to him and whispers in my ear. He wants to talk and pray with me. His pride prevented him from doing it immediately, because he was in the midst of a crowd, but it did happen. I was stunned!

To this day, Rod and I have a very strong bond. We talk. We pray. We have mutual respect for each other. We have a relationship based on a love that decided not to retaliate but to pray for him! Jesus did the rest and the result was a miracle that I could hardly believe!

I have now worked with Chicago’s homeless for about 13 years and can testify of love’s beautiful reality. Time and time again, non violent and non retaliatory love has ended in powerful displays of reconciliation and kingdom love. Many men and women have displayed some very hostile and ugly moments. Exacting force or domination, coupled with yelling and threats, upon the struggling individual only humiliates and makes the person become even more hostile. Lowering our volume and tone can do so much to calm down a tense situation or future catastrophe. Jesus showed his love by not getting into an argument with his accusers and oppressors, rather they marveled at his silence. Being a peacemaker is not a wimpy response, but one that takes courage, wisdom, patience and love. Kingdom love has the humility and courage to say “God, you are in control, your will be done!”

I could name a host of men and women who have been very aggressive with us at CCO. Threatened and cussed at, we have tried to react with Christ like love. We haven’t always responded appropriately in the emotion of the moment, but we have apologized and forgiveness and reconciliation happens. Deep relationships have developed with those the world would have us toss into the trash pile or jail. Because of a willingness to give people multifold chances, kingdom love has produced and will continue to produce fruit. Physically, the sick are getting medical care they desperately need. Mentally ill folk are seeking appropriate help. Drug and alcohol abusers come seeking treatment. Many have found and are finding housing and jobs through different collaborations and, spiritually, men and women taste the love and compassion of Christ.

These men are just a few of the many examples of hostility and anger that continually rises every year. Being homeless makes a person anxious and angry; at themselves, society, their families, friends and God. It is not a person’s desire to erupt in rage upon the staff or other clients; they are simply trying to survive. They often repent and seek to continue wandering down their difficult path. Many of our homeless population are examples of beautiful Christ-like love, peacemaking, forgiveness and non retaliation. They have put me to shame, as I have often seen clients having a very hostile exchange (physically and verbally) because of things like adultery, robbery and cheating. To my surprise, they somehow cast away the anger, forgive the deeds and become friends. We can learn so much from observing homeless communities!

Here's a Link to an amazing story of forgiveness: Freed From Animosity.

Think of the people in your life! Who is responsible? Who is called to love them? Not the government, that’s for sure! I live in the richest country in the world, yet our shelter houses hundreds of homeless people! The government and bureaucracy love and worship the kingdoms of mammon, violence and power! We negate those empires by not giving them any allegiance and refusing to bow down before them. Instead, we are called to bow before Jesus, we do this by simply loving our neighbor (the person beside, before or behind us), loving our enemies, loving those who insult us and loving the “least of these!” The Kingdom of God is a kingdom of love! It’s our duty and the choice we must make! To love!

Frost Bitten, Social Anxiety and a Kingdom That Loves

2011-09-24T13:30:00.000-05:00

*this is part 3 in a series looking into the Kingdom of Revolutionary Love!
Part 1: A Charging Rhinoceros, Natural Ice and A Kingdom That Loves!
Part 2: A Gangster, A Tainted Reputation and A Kingdom That Loves!

Millions of ghosts wander helplessly throughout our mega cities, remaining invisible and ignored. People are lonely. People are lost. People are forgotten. People are alienated. The Kingdom of God calls us to open our eyes and love these distressed individuals that live among the masses. Opening our eyes requires us to use our spiritual imaginations to address the different needs we see and the different personalities we encounter. There is a wonderful array of talents that have been drastically forgotten. There are addictions and struggles which torture and hold in bondage countless souls.

The ongoing question that lingers in my mind is: How do I use my spiritual imagination to embrace and love (that being the love shown in God’s Kingdom) these roaming ghosts?

The gospels show Jesus taking time to embrace the forgotten. He would not let the bleeding woman go unnoticed. In a step of undeniable faith, she touched the hem of his garment and was instantly healed. She was judged and deemed unclean by society. She was therefore considered a social reject. With a love that was so compassionate, Jesus called this woman to himself, addressing her 12 years of devastating alienation and assured the masses that she was now clean. Jesus continually stopped his busy schedule to focus and love the disenfranchised. Amongst the bustling crowds he found an individual and healed him or her completely and holistically! Jesus accepted the Samaritan woman at the well, when she was planning and expecting to be ignored. Kingdom love squashed that assumption. Jesus loved and showed compassion to Legion, Bartimaeus and many other people who suffered isolating infirmities. This love is kingdom love, agape love; a love which reaches beyond our social circles and steps into the shaky and risky ground of lepers and tax collectors.

We need to keep our eyes open. We need to see the destitution that lies stagnant around us. A neighbor may hardly get out of bed because he suffers from depression. A classmate may be ostracized because she is haunted with delusions or schizophrenia. A person at work may silently be a helpless victim of an abuser. A reclusive lady riddled with paranoia may be living in abandoned buildings. Every night, a teenager at church may be trying to escape his suicidal tendencies, by drowning his sorrows with a bottle of vodka. The scenarios are plentiful. In my life, the Ahmed’s and Dan’s (who I’ve previously written about) continually knock at my door, but there are many restless quiet souls wanting relief, yet they are unwilling, ashamed and far too frightened to knock. That is where we need to be! Reaching out, and with creative instinct, compassionately love them with a love flowing forth from God’s kingdom!

Daily, I would walk past this 66 year old man named Fred! He would be slouched on the corner smoking cigarettes, playing lottery cards and quietly greeting the crowds that wander by. Freddie, a very gentle caring man, has an unappealing look: he has one eye, rarely changes his stained clothes, never showers, fingers are colored yellow by his endless smoking and he is an incredibly skinny and small man. Freddie also refuses to ask for help and does not want to be a burden. As a result of being an invisible person, his appearance was rapidly deteriorating.

It was late 2007, the weather was starting to freeze and Freddie’s coloring looked awful, he was thinner than usual and seemed very sick. Beth, a few JPUSA’s and I had all noticed his rapid decline. People would come to me and express a lot of concern about his well being and his apparent homelessness. I had known him for years and he had always told me he stayed at friend’s house and that I needn’t worry about him. One November morning, as I walked to work, I couched beside Freddie and asked him about his housing situation. Surprisingly, Freddie admitted he was sleeping behind a local dollar-store; he was concerned the approaching winter and feared being a victim of pointless violence.

Freddie accepted my offer and I took him to a warm and sheltered bed. Many at Cornerstone knew him and accepted him with open arms into our little homeless community. Ahmed was so elated that he actually gave him a bunch of new clothes!

Thankfully, Freddie did not freeze to death that winter, which could have been the case. Through active pursuit, much talking and case management we discovered that he was entitled to a pension. This was money that he could have received when he turned 65! Today, Freddie lives in his own apartment in JPUSA’s senior program. He pays rent and is getting three meals a day. Though he still doesn’t like to shower or change his clothes, he look’s a lot healthier and is experiencing the radical affects of kingdom love.

Some of my homeless friends, along with Bernice from a local agency, kept telling me about this quiet guy called Aaron. They feared his well being and kept telling him to come see me. He had been homeless for over 15 years and had lost 6 toes due to frostbite. He slept on a local loading dock and tried to make a few dollars hobbling around the neighborhood collecting cans in a broken down rusty shopping cart.

One autumn day, Aaron nervously came up to see me in my office. He was only 41 years old, but I would have guessed he was about 65. He used a walking stick, had on multiple layers of clothes and desperately needed a shower. Unfortunately, I was unable to house him that day, so I encouraged him to meet with me on a monthly basis. We met a couple of times and we exchanged a disjointed and mumbling dialogue about his sleepless nights. He spoke how he would continually pray he wouldn’t freeze to death. Mental illness probably accounts for his severe lack of motivation, yet I was proud of his effort to come and see me. We set a few goals in an effort to escape this life of bondage. He was desperate!

These encounters haunted me. I was praying! Beth was praying! But the simple prayers a few of us were praying, needed legs. Aaron needed caring people around him, case-management and a warm bed. The Lord laid this burden on me. As Beth stayed at home praying, Darrell and I ventured out into the cold night to seek and find him. We had numerous hot spots to hit, starting with the local loading dock where numerous homeless people sleep nightly. We expected to be gone for hours. Yet it only took two brief minutes. We found him a single block away, pushing his cart. We walk him to the shelter and give him a bed. We speak of plans to better his circumstances.

Fellow homeless shelter residents greet Aaron with open arms. They are thanking God (and us) for bringing in Aaron.
I get hugged repeatedly for finding, bringing in and assisting this lost, struggling brother.
There is a joy in seeing a bed-less brother now having a bed.
A helpless brother now has help.
A hopeless brother now has hope.
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.

That night, I left the shelter with remarkable peace. God had allowed me to be part of his miracle. I walk past Aaron smoking his cigarette, fellowshipping. He humbly thanks me and praises the Lord for His Almighty Goodness and Love!

But, it's important to know, Aaron’s story did not stop there.....

Through patient persistence, we pursued SSI with him. He managed to meet with doctors, outreach personal and mental health workers. He has a tendency to procrastinate, forget and ignore, so we continually nagged him, reminded him and drove him to his appointments. Over a year passed and he eventually starting receiving his benefits. In a surprising flurry, Aaron immediately moved into his own apartment and started paying rent. He remains there till this day, looking healthier and closer to his actual age.

I believe, the stable housing situations of Freddie and Aaron are modern day miracles. I also believe it was a miracle just to get them into our shelter. But we need to look and observe, we can’t let the Freddie’s slip through the cracks. Think of your Freddie! Think of your Aaron! These 2 are just 2 of the millions ignored and forgotten, who wander this world, as if born as ghosts.

Beth was sitting at church, when Antonio wandered in and sat next to her. It had been raining throughout the night and Beth noticed his musty smell and damp clothes. Living as a 60 year old ghost and battling Chicago’s outside elements for well over 10 years, Antonio did not want to burden a soul. We approached him, spoke and tackled some of his fears. Shelters terrified him. He took a very courageous step by receiving a warm sheltered bed that night and he experienced the reality of kingdom love. This was a simple miracle that came through the observant loving eyes (and smell) of Beth. He remains part of our CCO community to this day, as we work together, making efforts at moving him from homelessness to housed.

This cannot just be just a function of various individuals seeking and finding deserted loners. Kingdom love needs to stem from community. We need to use our eyes, ears and noses to recognize the need that flows ruggedly through the harsh terrain. Together, using our God given gifts, we can lift our sisters and brothers from the gutters. When people see and experience this sort of love and unity, we will be seen and known as the salt and light Jesus spoke about.

The silence of the Ghosts, who simply exist in the crowds, will never stop crying out. Despite the stories of Freddie, Aaron and Antonio, I live with the realization that I have bypassed too many ghosts. I repent at not heeding the Spirit’s cry to embrace and love a brother or sister in suffering turmoil. When I walk in my neighborhood, I am always flooded by the endless needs of extroverted personalities. It has become my challenge to look and see those silently screaming individuals waiting to be embraced with a word, a hug or a simple smile. As Christians, it is our calling to walk amongst the masses, find that invisible man or woman, and show them the love that can only come from the Kingdom of God.

How many people are longing to be noticed?
How many people are longing for love?
How many people are longing for another person to see their inner tears that are being wept?
The loneliest people are the ignored folk living in midst of the crowds. As Kingdom dwellers we need to pray for open eyes and an imagination to provide the help needed. We need to reach out, as there are many lost and lonely souls waiting for us to notice them and gaze into their vacant eyes, recognizing them as a person and truly love them; as someone beloved of God!

*originally written in late 2009

A Gangster, A Tainted Reputation and A Kingdom that Loves!

2011-09-23T08:30:00.000-05:00

For part 1: please read: A Charging Rhinoceros, Natural Ice and A Kingdom that Loves!

I stood on the blighted corner of Broadway and Wilson chatting with Ahmed. This particular day, I could feel the judgment coming down from certain factions of society. Stares were aimed in our direction and it wasn’t just the rich and affluent young urbanites, judgment also came from the men and women who shared shelter beds, soup kitchen lines and the sidewalks with him. It was a strange, but not unusual feeling, yet I knew that love was calling me to give Ahmed my full attention.

Jesus speaks passionately about this: when he lived and spoke of the Kingdom of Heaven, Jesus displayed how irrational kingdom relationships will and need to be. It means inviting poverty stricken folk into our homes for a meal, fellowshipping with people of disrepute, canceling debt and giving beyond all rationality! Jesus wants members of His Kingdom to befriend undesirable people and tainted folks by inviting them to banquets and feasts. Such fellowship will result in risking our reputations, being ripped off and losing more money than we may have.

When Jesus called Zacchaeus down from the tree, he demonstrated a form of subversive living. This simple action made an enormously radical statement by proclaiming Zacchaeus as someone who was considered vitally important within the Kingdom of God. Yet ironically, Jesus did not stop there, he went to his home and supped with him! Zacchaeus had a reputation; he was a tax collector, and was therefore known as a con artist, embezzler, bully and a thief; he was someone that all society (rich and poor, Jew and Gentile) deemed worthy of contempt, alienation and rejection. Through this act of kingdom love, Jesus also suffered consequences and was despised for it, yet Zacchaeus became a new man. What he told Jesus he would give back to the people he had robbed and the amount he was going to give to the poor does not make logical sense! Mathematically, it does not add up! The response of Zacchaeus was an irrational act of non conformity, and he began, that day, living out the agape love and generosity of the Kingdom, just as Jesus had done for him.

Jesus was rebuked, despised and scoffed at for associating with the tax collectors, prostitutes, sinners, lepers, beggars and demon possessed. Jesus sacrificed reputation and time by stopping to talk to the Samaritan woman at the well and another woman who had a bleeding disorder and he disgracefully allowed children to come to him. Jesus made it clear that his Kingdom is for people that society has rejected and abandoned.

Working at Cornerstone presents me with my own dilemmas. There are so many people with different personalities, affiliations, struggles and addictions that I find myself having to battle my pride continually. The daily question is; do I save face by ignoring or do I humble myself and fellowship with the alienated?

Shannon is physically obtrusive, he pulls my beard, cannot control his vulgar tongue and laughs insanely, while cracking jokes and singing Barry White songs in my ear. People cringe at his overbearing personality and stare, but he needs kingdom love. Lil’ Freddie sits hunched on a street corner with his dirty pants, snotty nose, unkempt hair and smoke stained fingers. He scratches his lottery tickets and tosses them in the breeze. When people actually notice this invisible man, they view him as unsightly and disgusting, they snarl when I crouch to talk to him, yet he needs Kingdom love. Daily, I walk the short block from Clifton to Broadway. I hug, shake hands, exchange friendly fists and stop to chat to people often labeled as prostitutes, crack heads, junkies, winos, gang bangers, loiterers and crazy homeless bums. Every time I fellowship with this rejected community, I risk being labeled and dubbed a detriment of society. Ironically, many wearing the rejection label also feel justified in questioning why I would consider stopping to speak to “that type of person”. Yet, all these “labeled” men, women and children desperately need the love that spills forth from the Kingdom of God.

If we live Kingdom ethics, the same questions the Pharisees asked of Jesus when he went to Zacchaeus house should be asked of us: Why are you eating with that thieving tax collector, that thug or that gang banger? Why? Because the box we put people in, a box which is built upon our judging of others, will rip open when we develop risky relationships with the love of God’s Kingdom; we will start to see their heart, their pain, their needs, their love and their amazing gifts!

Ahmed has a tainted reputation! He is known by police, the homeless community, condo dwellers, social workers and his fellow gang members as a ‘straight up thug!’ In his 42 years, Ahmed’s life has consisted of being chronically homeless, bouncing in and out of prison, struggling to conquer different addictions, violence, times of slinging drugs and earning a highly regarded position of General in one of Chicago’s biggest gangs. Exacting revenge and punishment is the known life and reputation of Ahmed! He was the one who punched Dan in the mouth! As a nephew of a powerful imprisoned gang leader, living the thug life seemed to be his destiny and it is virtually impossible for him to escape. When we walk and talk, people often approach wanting and needing his various services, whether it is cigarettes, revenge, advice, drugs or clothing. When the masses see us walking, what do they think? What do they think when they see me standing on a street corner with Ahmed as he is stopped by a group of local young gang bangers? Who do I become to them?

Ahmed lives with the brutal scars of gang and prison life. His body displays almost fatal knife wounds, because he fended for his life in some Illinois prison gang riot. Yet, his heart displays the almost fatal wounds of alienation, captivity, slavery and retaliation. Ahmed is in bondage and he continues his wrestling match to lift these devastating chains of despair.

Through this risky relationship I quickly discovered Ahmed’s real name is Leonard. Ahmed is his gang name and it is tattooed on his body. His many acquaintances only know him as Ahmed, yet I desire is to call him Leonard. He has a wonderful and beautiful side. It may take a coffee or some rib tips, but through simple communication and some genuine interest the thug is transformed into a loving caring child of God.

Due to Leonard’s criminal history, an alcoholic girlfriend with homeless children who struggle with similar issues and the ongoing pressures of his past gang life, finding a permanent job has proved fatalistic. He is a picture of perseverance, yet because he is man of commitment and passion, the above obstacles continually push him back. Part time positions and trainings have come and gone, yet he continues to fight. He wants, dreams, prays (yes, really prays) and hopes that someday, somehow, he can live a “normal life” with his own place, while supporting a loving doting wife and working a “straight up job”.

Leonard uses his leadership qualities, poetic gift of the gab, extreme courage and love to rescue fellow strugglers from their plight. We have spent hours trying to redirect his aggressive demeanor into a positive disposition, by using slogans like “promote the peace.” Through his compassion, energy and concern, he has often pleaded with me for assistance, so we can help and protect the “brother or sister” in need. We tracked down Tyrese on an insane crack binge and succeeded in detoxifying him. He brought me Cathie, who was about to be evicted with her sickly uncle and 2 children. He has advocated for dozens of men and women who were sleeping on the brutally cold hard Chicago streets and I was able to help a lot of them reside inside our (or another) shelter. We spoke of the passive Antonio, who had already lost 6 toes due to frost bite and we were able to give him a warm bed. When I brought him in, Leonard hugged him, shed tears of joy, cooked him a small meal, gave him a warm coat and set up his bed. He is a man who loves and cares passionately for Uptown’s voiceless and unlovable masses, yet he battles the cycle he finds himself in and is constantly looking to escape his present bondage.

Through developing a risky relationship with a thug named Ahmed, I found myself putting my reputation and fear on hold, so I can help him in his wrestling match to escape and be rescued from the addictive life of thuggery. I know love is a choice; a choice to fight his internal battle with him, somehow displaying the love of Jesus which breaks the chains of bondage! Kingdom love simply shows Ahmed, that he is God’s “fearfully and wonderfully made” Leonard` to me!

*This was originally written in November 2009

A Charging Rhinoceros, Natural Ice and a Kingdom that Loves!

2011-09-21T12:08:00.000-05:00

Dan was sitting on the alleyway stoop and was obviously inebriated. He was staring in my direction. He had that determined psychotic glare, where he rarely blinked; I’d seen this look many times before and it simply told me, “monster” Dan was present! He is diagnosed with schizo-affective disorder, and therefore, takes a host of medications. These legal drugs do not mix well with the alcohol he daily drinks or the crack cocaine he occasionally smokes; this combination makes Dan become like a possessed beast! I have known him a few years and have hardly ever seen him sober. I often visited him in treatment facilities and have sadly observed the pattern of seeing him fall and fall and fall again. I have frequently picked Dan up, for him to only display outbursts of anger, manipulation and failure. The cans of beer and bottles of gin have gripped him tightly and he cannot seem to escape.

This particular Friday, Dan sees me and charges toward me like an irate rhinoceros, demanding services and warning me that I “better treat him right”. I respond sternly, “Dan, you need to wait! We’ll talk when the time is right. I have other people waiting”. Benny, who I was walking with and assisting, smiles and laughs at “crazy Dan”. We head indoors. The tension mounts quickly as Dan started aggravating Benny with sublime threats and comments. They have known each other for years and are somewhat hostile toward each other, so inwardly, I’m begging God for mercy and strength. Benny has medical conditions that cause him to walk with an extremely solid carved walking stick. Benny yells at Dan to back off and asks me to intervene before he uses his beastly stick on Dan’s skull. I jump in the middle, quickly dissolve the problem and escort Dan out the door. He stumbles down the street with his threatening demeanor, mumbling another vulgar display of words. In that short time on one city block, he had insulted, threatened and angered five individuals. Knowing his mood and seeing his blink-less stare, I knew his weekend fate would result in him being hurt or hurting someone, or spending a night in jail. The scars on Dan’s rugged face reveal an extremely tragic and bitter life!

This hour of tension had left me utterly exhausted. Often the mere sight of Dan makes me cringe and I have tried to perfect the art of dodging him. I constantly find myself battling the desire to discredit his name through laughter, gossip and back-stabbing. A small ugly voice within me, frequently tells me to forget Dan and to label him as a worthless and pathetic alcoholic. I know I need to repeatedly battle these ungodly thoughts, and instead, be renewed in my mind. As I walk home, I lift up Dan in prayer.

Dan was arrested and slept overnight in a jail cell. That Friday night, he also messed with the wrong person at the wrong time, and as a result, a clique of older ex-gang members decided he needed to be punished. He hid out downtown for a week and then returned to Uptown. Ahmed executed the discipline by jumping on him and hitting him in the mouth; giving him a fat bloody lip.

It was Friday evening. It was time to wander home. Monster Dan, with his charging rhino demeanor, stormed up on me suddenly and was right in my face. Full of aggressive anger and foolish drunken logic, he blames me for his fat lip, bloody shirt and denying him food from the cafeteria. I hadn’t seen him in a week, but no logic could slow down his illogical incoherence. I was carefully watching his eyes and hands, yet inwardly, I was praying for wisdom, strength and mercy!

Staff and clients see Dan’s aggression and come over to offer assistance. Once again I find myself having to be a peacemaker, as a couple of the guys wanting to be my protector, would jump at the opportunity to swing at this man. One of his buddies, Charlie, compassionately brings him a plate of food; Dan punches it out of his hands and swears at him. Charlie smirks, mutters something about “you’re on your own” and wanders off; people continue to approach us and he bombards them with another display of verbal diarrhea. With a little coaxing and perseverance, I put my hand on Dan’s shoulder and escort him down the street. I feared for his safety. We were heading in the same direction, so we walked home together and I listened to his angry relentless rant about his woes of homelessness, why I can’t house him, feed him and save him from being punched in the mouth.

My dealings with Dan had left me exhausted and emotionally drained; I was and continue to be flooded with an avalanche of questions as to what is my purpose in this man’s life. As I battle my urge to forget and ignore Dan, I find myself engaged in a one way relationship; I give and he takes! He causes chaos and I clean up the mess! He threatens and I become a peacemaker! We sit in my office and pray, establish goals and plan to conquer his addictions, but as soon as he’s out on the street, he cracks open another can of beer and smokes the pipe! He apologizes and I forgive!

Dan has alienated himself. Dan is a hurting, suffering and addicted lost sheep, struggling without a Shepherd. Even his best friends steer clear of him on his rough days. He has no direction and life offers no meaning. The pain of this poor man is incredible. Deep down, he does not want to cause others to suffer. He is fighting his own demons and is just trying to survive. Without hope, little money, fleeting friends and a myriad of enemies, he begs for God’s mercy and deliverance. He is the one that always reminds me to pray for him and me for a word from scripture, because "Jesus is the only answer". This is the fragile and bitter life of Dan.

The question I must frequently ask myself is how I can embrace God’s vision of Kingdom Love! Jesus lived, spoke and embraced the Kingdom of God. Through his actions, parables and miracles, Jesus displayed the power and beauty of God’s kingdom love – the love which took him to the cross; the love which offers salvation to all; the love which endures and suffers! The love which touched a leprous man, which spoke to the Samaritan woman at the well and didn’t ignore the demon possessed. This is the kind of love which says: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who are downtrodden, to proclaim the favorable year of the Lord.” I know I need to embrace and live this kingdom love in today’s society, so that I can display the kingdom of God to the people who enter my world!

As members of God’s Kingdom, we frequently need to ask ourselves intense questions: How does society perceive a man like Dan?

A failure! A determent to society! How about a welfare leach or a benefit junkie? Someone to be feared! Maybe we should lock him up and throw away the key! A drunken fool! A crack-head! A psychopath!

Looking at Jesus, we see that Kingdom love completely turns all our perspectives and judgments upside down. We see a theology of weakness, submission and love. We see a man who is fearfully and wonderfully created in the image of God and someone who is deeply loved by God. It’s a Kingdom which tells us that the "first will be last, and the last, first!" Dan is someone Jesus shed His blood for!

Dan’s challenge to me is to think of how I perceive the many “Dan’s” that invade my peaceful existence. Do I run and hide or do I embrace? Do I embrace them with the kingdom love Jesus spoke of? Kingdom Love is simply; “a love of neighbor, as myself” and, biblically, my neighbor is the person I may encounter, bump into or come in contact with. The person that enters my space could be ethnically or religiously different; they could be addicted to drugs or alcohol; they could be struggling with mental illness or a physical difference; or they could have an annoying personality or be my worst enemy; Jesus tells us that within the Kingdom of God, all these individuals are my neighbor, and he simply commands us to love each and every one uniquely!

A Jewish man was traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. Thugs attacked him and left him for dead. People similar to him, decided to ignore him, and sadly left him bleeding on the side of the road. Then Jesus introduces a Samaritan man, who to Jews would be considered an ancient Dan or unclean person. This enemy strolls down this lonely road and sacrifices time, money and reputation to rescue this man! Samaritans were nothing to the Jews; they were people to despise, oppress and reject. It is the Palestine Israel battle which lingers to this day; one race rendered superior and another inferior, and the sight of the other causes a bitter and sometimes fatal hatred.

The Samaritan enters into this world of hatred and showed the Jewish man forgiving love; the love he demonstrated went beyond all logic and meaning, his love denied any bondage to time and money. He went beyond any limits and did not know whether he would receive anything in return. The Samaritan’s free agape, Christ like love, tells us, “you may continue to hate me and you may not recover from the severe beating, but I will persevere and love will take me beyond all sensibility to make vital sacrifices to care for this sick wounded individual.”

Kingdom love is a love that offers no choice, but to embrace Dan. We may not have any answers and Dan may continue to wallow in his grief and suffering. His quality of life may not improve or he may not overcome his addictions, but it our responsibility to simply love him as our neighbor. Kingdom love is creative. Kingdom love will jump over all boundaries. Kingdom love is the only true love that will embrace the poor, the hated and the rejected. Kingdom love will not be hindered by politics, the kingdom of this world and fear. Kingdom love is powerful. Kingdom love is persevering. Kingdom love exercises true freedom and kingdom love took Jesus to the cross out of his love for people like Dan.

*This was originally written in November 2009

Disillusioned Dreams and $100 Petty Cash!

2011-09-17T14:55:00.000-05:00

The big G robbed the poor again. The State took from the ones who have next to nothing. Again! 100 lousy dollars! Yep; that's all I'm griping about; $100.00.

There's many questions rattling inside my head, and I think they need to be asked; Why take from the poor? How about taking a portion from the politicians working in Springfield and Chicago? How about the State paid prison guards and the Illinois State Police? How about the wealthy suits making a nice profit off Illinois? Why take from the weakest of the weak, the poorest of the poor and the most fragile of fragile? The people we're talking about are men and women who are older, or folk who have a physical or mental disability that makes them unable to work. Why take from them to dig yourself out of the financial hole you dug? These are the perpetual questions lingering, lingering, lingering in my confused mind.

Most people are probably unaware of what happened on July 1st, 2011. A small section of the population received $100 a month from our great State, and on that date, that small insignificant amount of income was callously taken away. Eligible people are those who are penniless 55+ year olds (General Assistance) and folk waiting their "disability benefits" determination (P3).

Now, I am very aware that some may read this and think; "hey man, that's my tax dollars! I'm paying for them, and a lot of these fellas spend my hard earned cash on stuff I disagree with, like crack, alcohol, lottery tickets, cigarettes, prostitutes and so forth! If they do that, they shouldn't get one measly penny".

I am not naive, I realize the legitimacy of those thoughts; that piddly $100 has been spent very unwisely, unethically and illegally by a few of it's recipients. But, I find it imperative to make these points; when we pay our taxes, our hard earned money goes into many things we are going to disagree with; it may be the wars, armament, certain beautification and tourist projects, the criminal justice system, public servants, government officials salaries and so forth. It could be so many things. Whether we politically lean to the right or left, we are all going to wish that our elected officials spent our tax dollars in different, and more appropriate, ways. It is also vitally important to remember; many plutocrats, oligarchs, state paid employees and Social Security (pension) beneficiaries grossly misuse their State paid paychecks also, spending their abundance of wealth on the very things we condemn the poor and homeless for doing; drugs, prostitutes, alcohol, gambling and so forth. In reality, $100 is a mere pittance compared to the thousands or millions that flow monthly through the pockets of this State's and country's elite!

My concern isn't if Governor Quinn unwisely, unethically or illegally spends his fortune, or if some unknown state trooper gambles every cent of her check away or if an elected official spends more money on drugs in one night, than all the residents of CCO combined. These aren't my concerns; they're going to do what they're going to do! My concern and question is plain and simple; why must we take from these poverty stricken, weak, fragile, sick individuals, and leave them with absolutely nothing, except for that lone Link Card?

$100! Some may think: "It's not much, so who cares. A person can't get housed on that, pay their bills or get their medications. A hundred dollars a month is just worthless pocket change with no purpose. It will not help someone survive."

Well, I disagree, $100 is an essential lump of cash to a homeless person. It is a means for a little bit of independence. I'm now going to introduce us to two homeless people who would also wholeheartedly disagree...

It was June. Carl and Dan were thick in the process of getting housed. They were tirelessly going to their appointments and meeting all their requirements. They had both qualified for subsidized housing, and at this time, they were just waiting to sign their leases, get their keys and complete a few insignificant details. They both received $100 from the government and knew they had just enough to afford their place. It was good and they were excited. The first week of July was going to be their time of moving out of homelessness! Hope was in the air.

Then a letter from IDHS came in the mail on June 28th. Yes, June 28th. It basically told them: due to the State's financial crisis, starting July 1st,they would no longer receive their small benefit. Carl and Dan know each other, but travel in different circles and have almost opposing personalities. This particular day, their similarity was that their hope rapidly transferred into new-found despair. As they individually came into my office with their government letters, tears welled up at the prospect of continued homelessness threatening their existence. I promised to do what I could do, to make their dreams a reality.

Like I mentioned, Carl and Dan have very different personalities, experiences and situations. Yet, their new dilemma was remarkably similar....

Dan was receiving GA, he is a man who struggles with no addictions, physical ailments or mental illness. He is a quiet guy who keeps to himself. Dan worked very hard all his life, until he lost his job in his late 50s. He actively looked for employment, but now his age has deemed him virtually unemployable. He is 61 and in the process of waiting until he is 62, when he can finally receive his Social Security pension. Meanwhile, Carl received P3. He also had a long history of working, but his stay at CCO was a roller-coaster of controversy, drama and emotion. He battles and is plagued daily with an alcohol addiction, physical limitations and a heavy mental illness. During his last few years, Carl has experienced a hip replacement, a couple heart attacks, extended stints in both a mental hospital for suicidal tendencies and an alcohol treatment center. He is ten years younger than Dan and is in the process of getting SSDI, which he easily qualifies for.

Dan and Carl received their housing through different methods and agencies. Dan awoke really early one morning (just after midnight) and lined up in the freezing cold. Hours later he filled out the application and in just over a year, his number finally came up. Carl met with a host of different case-managers, outreach workers, lawyers, mental health specialists and housing locators, yet it still took a couple years of appointments and a ton of effort for a door to finally open.

But after all that, would these housing opportunities remain available, despite losing their precious hundred bucks?

The answer is thankfully yes! But it does put these 2 men in a compromising position. Their rent is remarkably cheap, but it's something they can't afford. They're honest citizens, but ethical questions linger in their minds, like "shall I cash in my food-stamps to pay my rent?" They obviously don't want to be evicted just months after finally reaching their goals. We paid Dan's security deposit and first month's rent. The agency that helped Carl, financed him to move into his apartment. But every month, they have to find their little something out of nothing.

Carl and Dan are still housed without any major concerns. They get continued support from us and a few other agencies. They are both doing well and they don't have to cash in their food-stamps; they can buy their own food. People are rising up everywhere, from churches, agencies and other homeless folk, making their difficult lives just a little easier. Dan is still actively seeking employment and using as many of Uptown's resources as possible. Carl is still waiting for his SSDI, in fact they just denied him this past week because of a paperwork technicality. But that's another story and gripe for another time!

This State's callous maneuver has created within me even more disillusionment about the government, and how the "least of these" are trampled into the dirt by their big boots and excess money flow. That is nothing unusual; the Springfield and Washington governmental Gangsters are going to do whatever they please to satisfy their desires and their bank accounts. I can't change their decisions, they are too powerful and I am too weak. Yet, all those disillusioned dreams turn in hopeful aspirations when we look at Carl and Dan. We see the goodness of people helping, loving and supporting their fellow brothers and sisters. We see people resisting the harshness of governmental brutality and policy, by cloaking themselves with revolutionary love for their neighbor. We see people pressing on, creating something out of nothing. We see people representing God's Kingdom, right here on earth, bringing love, compassion and mercy into this unforgiving callous world.

When we live out the loving ethics of Jesus and His kingdom, we can echo the words of Isaiah: "For a child will be born to us, a son will be given to us; And the government will rest on His shoulders; And His name will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace." (Isaiah 9:6 NASB)

Some Things Aren't Easy to Understand!

2011-09-08T00:42:00.000-05:00

I'm troubled! Some things aren't easy to understand....

This is a little rant, because I just ...
... don't get it!

Working with the homeless, it is inevitable that I'll see many highs and lows. In the last couple of weeks, I have witnessed plenty of both: The positives being all the wonderful movement that's been happening recently (Exodus) and one extremely negative incident was the tragic murder of one of our homeless men recently.

What is troubling me today is what happened to Devonte*. As I have written many times before, homeless men are much more likely to be the victim of a violent crime, than the offender. A couple night's ago, Devonte became another victim!

Devonte sleeps outside where a fairly large number of homeless men and women lay their weary bones. This is a place where they all know each other. It's a place where they hope and pray they won't become a victim to some random cowardly thugs who want to bully some homeless dudes. It's a place where a little homeless community exists at night, and they watch "each others back".

These men and women were settling down in their own little squashed areas, surrounded by all their worldly belongings tucked into secure spots. A youngish skinny Asian man (Phuong*) has resided there for a couple years. Various people have come and gone, but Phuong has been a solid fixture at this location. He was there in July's extreme heat and January's record breaking blizzard. Phuong is quiet, peaceful and keeps to himself.

This particular night, Phuong was already sleeping when this bigger guy (Henry*) comes along and wakes him up because he wants to use his lighter. He doesn't know where it is and tells him he can't be bothered looking, so he shuts his eyes and falls back to sleep. Henry is infuriated at this seemingly harmless action, so he throws a cup of water on the sleeping Phuong and tries to instigate a fight, getting more and more intense. The surrounding group start getting worried, because they know Phuong doesn't have the strength to defend himself against Henry the "fighter", who is a lot bigger and stronger.

In the tension and craziness of this moment, that shouldn't have escalated this far, Henry reveals a "box-cutter" he has in his pocket.

That's when Devonte steps up to protect his buddy, and pushes Henry away. Within a few short minutes, that box-cutter had done some serious damage. One slice to his forearm, another into his chest, two facial lacerations which went around his cheeks down to his upper lip and a four inch slash across his throat. The police and ambulance come and take away the offender and the victim to their new destinations. This group of homeless men and women are surrounded by smatterings of blood. Once again, they try to fall asleep in the unrest of all this drama.

This is what is difficult to understand; Henry got out of jail before Devonte was released from the ICU. Henry was charged with a simple battery and given an I-bond. For some reason, he was free to go, he was free to roam wherever he wanted. Devonte called me on Monday from the hospital, and it becomes obvious that I need to get him into Cornerstone; a location that is both safe and hygienic, so his wounds can heal. When I see him, I can't believe how stitched up and scarred this poor man is!

Sadly, the drama doesn't end there; last night (Tuesday), around 3am, Henry returns to their sleeping location yielding a baseball bat. It was reported that earlier in the day, Henry was chilling around Wrigley Field and told another homeless man that he was going to go back and "bust some heads". This guy did his best to "promote the peace", but Henry was determined to continue his reign of violent anger. Thankfully, no one was hurt last night and the police took a cuffed Henry away in their squad car
..... again.

This is my dilemma, or more importantly, the dilemma of the sleeping homeless community who witnessed and heard about this violent act of brutality. The questions are racking up! Why was this man only charged with just a "simple battery", and not "aggravated battery" or "attempted murder"? Simple battery is a charge that occurs if someone pushes, punches or slaps another person, not slices up another man's face! One is a misdemeanor and the other two are felonies. Even though there were a bunch of witnesses, why were none of them questioned? Believe me; they wanted to be. Are homeless people not seen as reliable witnesses? Is a cut up homeless man not worthy enough to justify a thorough investigation? Why was he released, still full of violent rage, given the opportunity to return to finish what he had started? What did they charge him when they arrested him this second time?

These questions lead to a host of other questions; homeless people rotate in and out of jails and prisons at a rapid pace, but it is rarely for an act of violence. It is usually for non-violent misdemeanors like "drinking alcohol on a public way", "public urination" and "selling cigarettes", or felonies like "possession of a controlled substance", "theft" and a variety of other non-violent offenses. Getting caught doing these things can result in spending a few hours in jail or multiple years incarcerated in a prison. Let's be real: their rap sheets end up looking atrocious, because some of the homeless are doing these illegal things publicly on the street, yet people with homes continually do the same offenses inside; outta sight and outta mind!

In trying to sum up the confusion that sits in my mind, I know I have no power to change the law; I am but a simple fool, trying to make sense out of all this nonsense. It is extremely hard to comprehend why one man, with murderous intentions, is allowed to freely hit the streets after spending a night in jail, while other men I know are spending months, and sometimes years, incarcerated for simply possessing an illegal mind-altering substance. Devonte, himself, recently spent about a month in jail because he had marijuana in his pocket. Domestic violence, child abuse and aggravated battery; I've seen it all. I've been horrified by it. The offender is normally released within 21 days and maybe given probation, while a non-violent drug offender often gets sent downstate to the penitentiary and then has to spend at least a year on parole; now does that make sense at all? It doesn't to me.

It drives me crazy, knowing I can't change the system. It drives me crazy, when other westernized countries hold the US prison system in high esteem, because they're "tough on crime". It drives me crazy, because I see the people I know and love rotating in and out of cages. It drives me crazy, because the system works against the poor and minorities. It just drives me crazy and that is why I'm writing this rant!

I admit, I don't have the answers. We're working against and living in a system that is too big, too powerful and too money orientated to truly care about justice, the poor and the homeless. Yet, I believe in a God who is bigger, more powerful and richer than the US prison industry. He is God, the One who deeply cares about justice, the poor and the homeless. I believe in Jesus, who freely sacrificed all his power and became weak, will eventually put all wrongs to right and proclaimed that his kingdom is for the poor and those who mourn (Matthew 5). I believe, despite all the powers working against the Kingdom of God, we need to love, have mercy and forgive the way Jesus demonstrated.

When I see Phuong; I need to love him by still trying to help him get housed. When I see Devonte; I need to love him by giving him a safe place to recover. When or If I see Henry; I need to love him also, by forgiving him and trying to help him live a peaceful life. I need to love them all by trying to make sure that violence does not beget violence, and letting forgiveness, love and mercy reign. That is the power of the Cross and something I've witnessed and learned frequently from homeless folk; that despite all the horrible atrocities they've received, there is remarkable power in love, mercy and forgiveness.

* not their real names

Exodus: Movement of Our People!

2011-09-04T15:18:00.000-05:00

Time for a little change in direction. Three of my latest posts have focused on the victimization of the homeless. The brutal murder of one of our men (Murdered While Homeless), the unfair and discriminatory ratio that lingers in Chicago regarding marijuana arrests (The Exception to The Rule!) and how Obama's birthday party affected many of our residents (Disillusioned Dreams and the President's Party)!

This story's focus is completely and utterly different. I get tired of a few of my neighbors love affair with calling our little stretch of pavement "blood alley", because if people actually stopped, observed and stood still for a moment, they'd see a very different reality; HOPE! As a reaction to this ongoing label, I've already written a wee piece on that called: Hope Alley: The Redemption of "blood" alley.

This story is also about that 4 letter word HOPE. Hope is something that never ceases to spring up in Clifton Avenue! Sometimes, it simply surrounds us causing incurable smiles to splatter the pavement of Hope Alley. This past week has been one of those blessed times...

Movement happened and movement is good!

Despite the assumptions that our homeless men live in a stagnant quagmire, our men's programs always have steady movement. We average anywhere from 6 to 12 successful transitions from homelessness to permanent housing per month. These numbers are excellent, especially while living in this modern economic disaster, where unemployment rates in Chicago are steadily increasing, especially amongst the poor and minorities!

In this past week, there was an exodus; we witnessed 12 successful movements of our people. There may have been more, some I personally didn't know about, but I DO know of 12. Such a number causes a smile to creep over my face. Such a number is contagious, as it motivates others. Such a number provides HOPE!

Now it's time to put on my mathematical brain and work on some numbers...

Of these 12 people, 6 are men and 6 are women. 2 moved to Wisconsin, 4 are now living on the Southside and the remaining 6 will be here on the Northside, in or around Uptown. They went to a variety of different accommodations; some are paying market rent, others got a subsidy and a couple received a great deal, by getting full-time employment and their own apartment at the same time.

This group is represented by a few different races, cultures and ages. Some were homeless for only a month, while others have struggled with it for years. 6 came to CCO without work, and were able to leave employed earning an income. The remaining 6 have various disabilities and receive SSI. 3 of these clients started receiving their benefits while staying with us. Though we may see all these differences and timeframes, this group has one remarkable similarity, I can vouch that every one of these men and women worked extremely hard to get where they are today. It is always a tough road to climb and overcome the many obstacles of moving from homelessness to the self-sufficiency of their own places. That is why I am writing this, because I want to acknowledge and congratulate this wonderful group of 12 human beings.

I am not going to get into the details of all their stories, that would take too long, but I want to leave us with these attached photos; they are simply and proudly holding their keys and leases, providing us with stories of remarkable hope and inspiration!

The story of Hope upon the street full of homeless men, women and families does not end there. It continues! As the end of the week approached, one of the mother's from our family program told me, she will be moving this coming week. She is legally blind and all of her 5 children have a lot of special needs; both physical and psychological. She and her family are very excited and anxiously awaiting their move. That same day, I heard from another family, they have a new-born baby and 2 older children; they will also be moving this coming week.

I am going to finish with a story of a chronically homeless individual. "Chief' is Native American and has been homeless for 37 years. He is only 50. His homeless journey started when his mom died, I knew Chief's real name was on the 100K list; (a national program that helps chronically homeless individuals get quickly into housing). But Chief is extremely hard to find, as he doesn't stay at CCO or visit shelters, he sleeps outside. He doesn't like to bother people. This week, I just happened bump into him as he sat in an alley, so I make a phone call to one the 100K outreach workers and set up an all-important meeting.

On Tuesday afternoon, the outreach worker and I sat in a little Uptown diner chatting with Chief. He told us stories, showed us his many horrific scars from knives, bullets and blunt objects, we lamented over lost homeless friends and his need to get off these bloody streets. It's only by God's grace, this man is still alive and we could sit and talk to this street survivor. Despite all his tales of woe and repeatedly being a victim of senseless violence, this man is incredibly grateful for each day God gives him. His positive outlook challenged any negative disposition I was feeling that day. A vital connection was made, movement started, hope has risen again, and one day, Chief will also have a safe place to call his own.

Murdered While Homeless!

2011-08-28T13:49:00.004-05:00

This morning I was saddened by the news of another, yes another, tragic homeless death! Another pointless murder, suffered at the hand of a blunt instrument. I'm guessing this cold case will remain unsolved, unexplained and unnoticed. This African American male, in his thirties, was discovered face down in the grass, just a few blocks from my home in a local park.

The local blog (Uptown Update) and our alderman (James Cappleman) revealed the tragedy on their websites, noting that the victim's identity is unknown!

For whatever reason, they only know so much, but the detectives know more. They know the victim's name, they know that he was homeless and he stayed with us at Cornerstone. All this to say; we know him too, because they came around seeking information. I will not reveal his name, because for whatever reason, his name hasn't been made public.Maybe, they're trying to find or contact a relative first.

There's a perception that homeless men are dangerous thugs, but the reality is; they are more likely to be the fatal victims of violence, than murderous offenders! During my 14 years in Uptown, there have been a number of murders in 60640; gang-bangers shooting at rival gangs, oftentimes hitting the intended person, but also striking innocent bystanders. There have also been fatal domestic altercations, murderous bad business deals and friendships that have gone astray. Since the jealous, revengeful, spiteful Cain plotted and murdered his "favored" brother Abel, sadly the world has experienced passionate violence at the brutal hand of another. This fact is sad, but very true!

Scattered throughout this zip code's relatively small number of fatalities, (which I'd guess averages about 2 to 4 a year), a healthy percentage of those murdered, are homeless folk. I do not have exact numbers, but I can recall too many of my homeless friends dying at the sadistic hand of another human being. A few short years ago, 4 homeless people were murdered within a couple months and a few blocks of each other. 3 were men, 1 was a lady and all were black. 2 of the men were shot as they were peacefully sleeping outside, according to a number of witnesses, the other man had another guy simply walk up to him and shoot him 6 times in his head and the lady's death was the most shocking; after reports of a foul smell, her body was found decomposing in the wardrobe of a local motel room that is now closed. To the best of my knowledge, and despite witnesses and motel records, these cold cases remain unsolved and there remains killers on the loose!

As I write this, I can recall a few other cases, and sadly, the norm is their horrifying deaths also remain a mystery! As the news and media pumps out stories of detectives, police, mass searches and lawyers spending millions to solve cases of the sad disappearances and murders of society's rich and famous, poverty stricken folk see their loved ones just become a statistic in a computer file!

All this, brings me back to the sad snippet I read on a local blog; an unidentified black man was found dead, lying in the grass of Clarendon Park a couple days ago. He was a victim of a horrific crime. We don't know the circumstances, or what led to one person smashing another person's head in with a blunt object. Was it revenge? Was it a hate crime? What was it? We don't know, only God knows! We do know that this homeless man was a helpless victim to something he didn't deserve and that he suffered something that God finds absolutely atrocious.

This man, who's name I know, but I won't reveal, was someone I knew. We had a brief encounter, he was new to CCO, newly homeless in Uptown, and I have his paperwork on my desk. We had just helped this poor fella get his State ID and pay to get his birth certificate. Ironically and sadly, we were helping him begin and find his life and identity again, when his physical life was prematurely snatched away from him!

His story is a tragedy! Plain and simple! How someone can murder another, I'll never know. How society can simply disregard him as another sorrow-filled statistic, I'll never know. How his death will quickly be ignored and forgotten, because his life was invisible, I'll never know. How people can be so callous and cold, I'll never know. This man's story, plain and simply, is a tragedy of epic proportions, because society has made a large potion of our modern world ignorable, invisible and forgotten!

Is there any hope? The only comfort I can muster also possesses epic proportions! I cannot render one's earthly physical existence as merely a worthless experience in the light of one's spiritual life. Just read my blog dedicated to trying to be a voice for the voiceless, fighting against injustices and trying to put a face on homelessness. There is comfort in knowing the love, grace and justice of God. There is irrefutable comfort in knowing that God, through Jesus, is the loving Savior who says "Vengeance is mine, I will repay", "blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted" and "blessed are the poor in Spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven". There will be a Day when all the ghastly atrocities and injustices seen in this dark world will be overturned, and a new heaven and a new earth will be experienced. Then, and only then, injustice, oppression and murder will be defeated and cast into the lake of fire!

Religious Gangsters

2011-08-26T22:44:00.000-05:00

In this piece, I am defining Religious Gangsters not as modern day gangsters who are religious (many gangsters are), but as religious folk who wander around in a mob, misusing their power, influence and status, intimidating and bullying the weak, fragile and revolutionaries. They often use physical, psychological and religious violence to make the "instigators" submit to their ways....

Religious gangsters chased down that humble carpenter

Religious gangsters used power to pervert power

Religious gangsters violently controlled their territory

Religious gangsters silenced the voice of truth

Religious gangsters shed innocent blood

He hung weakly by those bloody nasty nails

Unethically murdering the loving Instigator

Executed legally by the power hungry political machine

Religious gangsters muttered deceitful slogans

Power had triumphed over weakness

...... For only three God-forsaken days ...

Religious Gangsters change your thuggish behavior

using violence to maintain your normalcy

Committing adultery with the kingdom of mammon

Intimidating all radical change agents

You fear the daunting prospect of powerlessness

The peaceful lamb embraced non-retaliation

The humble lamb resisted power to defeat power

The compassionate lamb wandered homeless

The revolutionary lamb voiced gospel truth

The slaughtered lamb rose conquering death

Myths of peace cry in the torrential rain

Screaming propaganda to listening ears

"excessive power defeats power"

"stronger violence conquers violence"

Crowds join the race to be the biggest bully

As the most powerful dominate

Worldly power finds a strange foe

A kingdom governed by a lamb

Worldly wisdom is deemed foolish

A kingdom saturated by eternal Love

Power stands confused, defeated

by the non-violent resistance

and peaceful loving revolution

Of the murderous Cross

and the resurrected Lamb

Never-ever Ending Rhetoric

2011-08-23T18:12:00.000-05:00

All I hear are words....

words....

Peaceful words

Violent words

Discerning words

Foolish words

Loving words

Hateful words

Encouraging words

Degrading words

Truthful words

Lying words

Yet these words are deep

Drowning in an abyss

Seeking to be rescued

Continually....

Unceasingly....

This never-ever ending rhetoric

Searching for a response

Trying to survive

Seeking family

Hoping for compassion

Praying for love

.... and I must respond

Right!

Plastic Bags, Homeless Veterans and My Sweet Lil' Wonderwoman.

2011-08-20T13:05:00.002-05:00

This actually happened in spring.....

One evening, Muriwai and I went outside for a wee little wander around the neighborhood. We bumped into Dan getting his regular spot ready for the night; laying his cardboard boxes out on the hard concrete, arranging his pile of blankets strategically and pulling important nighttime items out of his overly stuffed backpack. As we are chatting, he would disappear to his secret hiding place to get some more of his belongings.

Dan is a Vietnam veteran, he's been homeless for years, stayed at CCO a few times, struggles with PTSD and is on the brink of getting housed again (with the help of VASH funds). I've known him for years and he's a compassionate loving guy who struggles because of his war-time reality decades ago. He opens the novel he's reading and sits on his crate, knowing he doesn't have long to read before the sun vanishes for the night and all he has are the dull school and street lights.

His buddy arrives with his overly stuffed backpack and places it next to Dan. He disappears to his secret hiding place and returns with couch cushions, cardboard and a crate. He fashions his area as neatly as possible, attempting to make his area as comfortable as possible.

I tell the guys about these plastic bag mats that are made by a group of elderly folk, originating from Bethesda Nursing Home called "New Life for Old Bags". Their endeavors are twofold: they help the less fortunate and protect the environment. They collect plastic bags and crochet between 500 to 700 bags into a waterproof padded sleeping mat that separates the homeless sleeper from the cold hard concrete or the damp green grass. Here's a link to the NLOB facebook group.

All this to say: Dan and his buddy each wanted these legendary mats and I told them I'd bring them each one back from work "tomorrow". Muriwai heard most of it and wanted to be involved!

"Tomorrow" came, and I forgot to bring them home, so my sweet lil' girl, dressed in her wonderwoman outfit, walked with me over to Cornerstone in the drizzling rain to get two mats. She was one hyped up, psyched out and rearing to go little girl; the rain wasn't going to stop her and she was not going to be apart from this little adventure. So off we went....

The photos below make the rest of the story fairly self explanatory. Muriwai and I got the mats, dodged the rain several times and she posed for a couple of photos. In her rigorous self-determination, she insisted on carrying both mats; she held one with her right hand and wrapped the other around the end of her "special arm" (the name she affectionately calls her limb difference).

We walked about half a mile to Dan and delivered the mats. Yesterday's buddy wasn't there, but Kenneth, another homeless friend was with him. We asked him if he wanted it, and naturally, he did. They loved having this sweet lil' 6 year old giving them these mats, so they endlessly thanked her. We took a couple photos, chatted for a few minutes and wandered home, knowing that this is what the "Kingdom of Heaven" is all about.

The Exception to The Rule!

2011-08-15T10:29:00.004-05:00

Jack came in griping about everything. By everything, I mean everything; his homelessness, his lack of work, his coma, his serious head injuries, his seizures, his bed bug bites, his having to wait on doctors and lawyers, his felony and how that makes him unemployable and unhouseable! I could write pages on all his ranting and complaining, and most of it is justified, because Jack's recent life, since being incarcerated about 12 years ago, has been a living hell. Yet, if he actually stopped and observed, he'd see that his tumultuous life is somewhat similar with many of the folks that sleep on the blue mats next to him.

Jack says with his dreary monotone, "all this; because the police busted me with a small amount of marijuana. Marijuana! My life is ruined because I got caught with weed! I never hurt anybody".

I'm looking at and listening to this 40 year old using me as his sounding board. I'm fascinated! Sitting before me was "an exception to the rule"; a plain looking white guy imprisoned for marijuana! I tell him I've met a few white guys incarcerated for crack, heroin, crystal meth and selling opiates like morphine and methadone, but never marijuana. I know that comment didn't help his negative disposition; but facts are facts, and white people in Chicago rarely get convicted for possessing "pot", smoking a "blunt" or selling "weed". Facts are facts, and studies show that white folk possess, smoke and sell reefer just as frequently as their darker brothers and sisters. Facts are facts, and the disparities between races are absolutely horrifying when we observe arrests, convictions and imprisonment. Facts are facts, and all these facts and gross disparities violate so many human rights, scream "injustice" and call for masses to raise revolutionary fists crying for equality and fairness.

Jack was living in the suburbs (another exception to the rule) and the lead singer of a fairly successful Chicagoland death metal band. They had a number of die-hard fans, who followed them and would party with them. In those days, Jack was totally entrenched in the whole metalhead lifestyle of drugs, sex and rock 'n' roll; he was living it, loving it and cruising along without a care in the world.

At some point, Jack had started making cash by selling weed in these affluent northern suburbs. Business went well; the suburbanites had the money and he had the product they wanted. Someone in his crew was a "Rat" (informant), who snuck around doing what rats do, resulting in a successful police raid and this "exception to the rule."

Jack's small possession charge was a lot bigger than I originally thought. It's all in the eye of the beholder; a little to the affluent can be more than a lot to the poverty stricken. He was charged with possessing (with intent to sell) a couple to a few pounds of marijuana, which is a lot more than what the average street corner dope dealer in Uptown possesses. Jack also had $50,000 cash on him. The police report accounted for $29,000 (all smaller bills), leaving $21,000 (all hundred dollar bills) unaccounted for. Obviously Jack never saw any of that money again, with the $29,000 legally going to the police department that arrested him and the remaining $21,000 unethically and mysteriously disappearing into their own pockets. In all his anger, frustration and embarrassment, Jack stupidly told the cops to "go f@#k themselves" and to "f@#k off", so they took him away in handcuffs. They wanted him to be a "Rat" like his acquaintance, but he refused. His fate was set.....

That was his dreaded day, where Jack became "the exception to the rule." That was his dreaded day, where Jack's life changed forever and he ended up doing three years in the now extinct and notorious Joliet Correctional Center!

Since serving his time, Jack has remained drug and alcohol free. He was involved in a serious accident that left him in a coma for several months. These incidents left him homeless, moneyless, in debt and jobless. Because of this head injury, Jack now suffers never-ending headaches, infrequent seizures and depression, causing the doctors to give him 22 pills a day. Ironically, his doctors recommend medical marijuana for these symptoms, yet because of this felony he cannot use the medication that would be the most helpful for the never-ceasing dull pain that is located behind and above his left eye.

This is the story Jack told me; I believe it, I have no reason not too. I try to encourage him, I try to show him a little love, we speak about Jesus, patience and the need to keep pressing on. He's trying, he's trying hard and he's fighting to get back on track, but the rules of his present game are to wait patiently, because an apartment and an income will come. Eventually. Jack leaves my office realizing it's not all doom and gloom, he now possesses a glimmer of hope and a pinch of happiness.

Moments after Jack leaves, Lewis struts into my office wearing his electronic monitor strapped around his ankle. He's African American, around 40, on parole and just completed 3 years for possessing 15 Dime bags ($150 worth) of marijuana. I cringe at the blatant disparity!

Just moments after speaking with Lewis, I'm walking home and bump into Dan. He's African American also, in his early forties, just released from his second short stint in Cook County Jail and is now on probation for possessing 15 Nickel bags ($75 worth) of marijuana. I cringe (again) at the blatant disparity!

Let's face reality; Jack, Lewis and Dan are all very similar. All 3 of them are in their early forties. All 3 of them were caught with marijuana, but are presently drug and alcohol free. All 3 of them are battling homelessness, seeking employment and striving to break the cycle. All 3 of them are dedicated to living productive lives. Yet, their similarities have one obvious disparity; Jack is an "exception to the rule". I cringe, because this blatant reality is terribly unjust. As Jack whines about his suburban non-violent criminal offense, thousands of city dwelling residents are rotating in and out of Cook County Jail and the Illinois Department of Corrections for non-violent drug offenses. Jack's "exception to the rule" is sadly an everyday reality in many of Chicago's black and brown neighborhoods.

I cringe because I think Jesus cringes at our blatantly racist justice system. Jesus rebuked the hypocritical elite for promoting and executing two different systems. Systems based on one's standing in society; whether "male or female, Jew or Gentile, slave or free!" Just read Matthew 23! The elitist snobs were ready to stone and kill the adulterous woman, while allowing her adulterous male lover freedom. Their rules and regulations allowed them to pick and choose how and when to execute, judge and harass who they wanted and when they wanted. Jesus stood up to the "powers that be" by standing with and for the weak, fragile and poor. The "powers that be" used their rules and regulations to execute him too, not knowing this instigator would rise from the dead, and render all their power, powerless!

Our dilemma and duty, is working out how to combat our modern "powers that be" with the grace and love of Jesus.

Our dilemma and duty, is to bring His Kingdom to earth.

Our dilemma and duty, is to keep on being a voice for the "least of these", despite all the gross disparities.

Our dilemma and duty, is to give society's unforgivable forgiveness.

Our dilemma and duty, is to be as "gentle as a dove and as slick as a fox".

Our dilemma and duty, is to have the courage to love society's unlovable neighbors as we love ourselves.

Our dilemma and duty, is to be courageous enough to radically follow in Jesus footsteps.

Jesus said. "the Kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into about sixty pounds of flour until it worked through the dough". This was a ridiculously enormous amount of flour, especially in those days without our modern technology, the parable is hinting at how an impossibility can become possible! If we, as followers of Jesus, live out the love, grace and forgiveness of His Kingdom, we will, as secretly and silently as yeast, affect and change the world around us no matter how huge we think and know the task is.

the Trooper!

2011-08-10T20:50:00.000-05:00

A couple Thursday's ago, I went to visit a homeless friend in Thorek Hospital. I call him the Trooper, because that is what he is. He is 77, and over the past few years he has experienced both hip and knee replacements, a heart attack, and most recently, a stroke. Through all this, he has remained very positive and has stayed extremely active.

It was early one Tuesday morning, and Felipe felt this strange sensation on the right side of his head. Suddenly he found himself unable to see. He was quietly stuck upstairs, in our homeless shelter completely and utterly blind. All the residents at CCO love and know Felipe, so as he made contact with a couple other residents and gained a little blurry vision, they directed him to Sandy, who willingly drove him to a local Emergency Room. There he remained.

Admittedly, it took me over a week to go visit my elderly buddy. I felt guilty, so on the hottest day in years (101F), I walked down to Thorek hospital and was immediately denied the right to visit; it was well before visiting hours. I explained I was his case-manager and the young receptionist willingly allowed me to venture up to the 5th floor. Over the years of visiting the sick, I've found that by actually going into the hospitals, doors open and answers are found.

Quickly, I found out that his blindness was caused by a stroke. They had to cut into the right side of his neck to unblock the blockage. Everything was blurry and he was feeling weak.

As I entered the room, Felipe started joyfully rambling on about many things. He is a remarkable man; despite being homeless, rejected, taken advantage of and possessing a long list of health concerns, he almost always has peaceful positive disposition. That is why I call him The Trooper!

The hospital social worker came into his room. She introduced herself, her job was to make sure Felipe had a place to go upon release, so we all started talking; I know Felipe's story very well; I know why he is homeless, why he doesn't live with his housed wife, why he can't afford a place of his own, yet I also know he gets enough income to be self-sufficient. I know his horrible dilemma and how he is a victim, constantly being taken advantage of.

Despite all this; I know Felipe is happy and content. Despite wanting to raise my fist and march to the "powers that be" and cry "Injustice!", Felipe calmly enjoys his life and murmurs "chill out brother, it's all good, let's not start a commotion, let me relax in my old age, I'm fine", causing me to marvel at this saint.

Felipe looks at the young lady and tells her with all sincerity, "ma'am, let me tell you this. There isn't a place in this world I'd rather be. I love the people there. I love all the staff, they are good Christian people. I feel loved. I feel wanted. It's where I wanna be."

She smiles at Felipe and asks me. "Now, where is he staying? Where and what is this great place he calls home?" I respond, "Cornerstone Community Outreach; a homeless shelter, located a little north of here."

This realization causes a wave of confusion to spread over her face. I explain some of the awkwardness and hassle of his daily life; how he lives in a room with 4 other elderly men, how he needs to climb up 4 flights of stairs with his extremely bad hip and knees and how he needs to travel to the other of the city for physical therapy every day. I explain how we've traveled many roads in search of housing, but the obstacles are great and difficult. At the end of painting his daily picture, her face has now transformed from just confusion into utter confusion. She was trying to comprehend how a 77 year old man could enjoy and feel content living in a homeless shelter.

She questions Felipe, "No other place? How about a nursing home? How about living with your wife? How about a place with a working elevator? How about a place you can choose your own food?"

Felipe looks at her and says, "Ma'am, let me tell you something! I'd rather spend the rest of my life there at the shelter, than spend 2 minutes with my wife in our house!"

We laugh, we know he's serious, the social worker looks at me shrugging her shoulders and I say to her, "it's a long story, but he means it."

"I guess he really likes your place and he'll be heading back there." she says satisfied that he'll be alright. She also was able to get a glimpse of the wonderful power and beauty of community, fellowship, friendship and love that surrounded this sick old guy. Some of the homeless stereotypes were squashed that day and Jesus was glorified.

Disillusioned Dreams and the President's Party.

2011-08-04T21:24:00.006-05:00

Yesterday was a day of shattered dreams, broken promises, obvious disillusionment and outright anger....

Yesterday, the big bossman (President Barack Obama) celebrated his 50th birthday at the Aragon Ballroom; just 2 blocks away from the homeless shelter where I work. Chicago and the new mayor (Rahm Emmanuel) loved the idea. Uptown and the new alderman (James Cappleman) loved the idea. The world's most powerful fella was coming to the diverse Uptown, hoping to promote renewed dreams of a premiere entertainment district, a flourishing economic entity and a tourist destination! It was obviously hyped up and the media loved it.

The elite maneuvered into the Ballroom to eat their $35,800 plates of food and consume their alcoholic beverages. Crowds gathered to witness this mere mortal, helicopters circled, tea party fanatics protested, the Secret Service rotated throughout the neighborhood, streets were blocked, camera crews tried to find exciting snippets, the "blue and white" came from all across this great city and frisked every suspicious looking person that were within several blocks.

This public display of affection and gross mismanagement of money affected our residents at Cornerstone Community Outreach. You see, most of them are deemed "suspicious looking people" because of 2 factors; the color of their skin and their poverty level.

Now some readers may think I'm exaggerating, but this is what happened; we were told by the authorities that our clients needed to stay inside and not wander the streets of Uptown (out-of-sight and out-of-mind). Two Parole Officers came to our location and spent all day checking all parolees in and ensuring they never ventured outside. They told these men and women they had zero movement; stating that if they simply walked the local streets, arrests and incarceration would result!

We also had to keep our men's daytime drop-in center open for an extra 2 hours until 10pm. Why? Because the Authorities didn't want our homeless men to walk past the Aragon Ballroom, to get to their nightly sleeping location further up north. All day and into the night, these poor poverty stricken men and women were seen as a security risk and threat to the president!

The irony struck me when I was chatting to a 43 year old African American parolee. He'd been nicely told, "for your own good; don't dare leave the street, or else!" He complied. He stood on the corner peering around onto Wilson Avenue waiting for his girlfriend to come. He reminded me of when Cyrus and Muriwai would look longingly into the hallway, wishing, wanting and desiring to be able to play with the other kids, but the baby-gate prevented them. Thomas told me "I voted for Obama and got him into office; now I can't even leave the street." Then he managed to find a little humor by stating, "I'm gonna run over there and ask him for a bus card, Obama should, at least, be able to give me that!"

Now I'm going to back track a few years. Obama had just won the election and Uptown was buzzing with excitement. People had the man's name on their caps and his face on their t-shirts. There was a very popular t-shirt sold and worn in the hood which I hardly ever see these days; it had the faces of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr and Barack Obama. People were visualizing Obama as having the spirit and passion of MLK and being a prophet of hope, justice and change. I celebrated his victory too, but I always struggled with those shirts, because these two men possessed very different vocations.

Martin, as a preacher, prophet and pastor freely obeyed the Kingdom of God and his convictions, while Obama, as a politician, needs to fight against the very powerful institution of politics; namely money, power, Wall Street, lobbyists and so on. Not too many politicians have the strength to resist the power of politics and live by their convictions. As I walked down Wilson that night, Doug told me in his drunkenness that there was going to be a new world order, change was going to happen and black folk were going rise and be dominant, sort of like a Mugabe type revolution. Doug was extreme, too extreme, but most people that night just wanted a little more hope, some change and justice to rise, where MLK's dream would actually be realized. The question that night was; would the new President live up to his hype?

Obama had given those in Uptown wallowing in unbelief and feeling the affects of injustice, something to believe in! On that night, back in late 2008, they had a renewed hope in a new America.

Now, to make myself clear; I am not anti-Obama, in fact, if I could've voted, I would've voted for him. Still would've today. I consider myself apolitical, because I believe all politicians are seduced by the incredible power of politics, making it next to impossible for them to stand by what they actually and sincerely believe. Even King David was seduced by it's power a couple times. I wish I didn't have to deal with politics. Ever! But the reality is; when you work with and advocate for the poor and disenfranchised, decisions made by politicians end up invading, crippling and killing the ones living at the bottom! When this happens, the voiceless need a voice and the invisible must be made visible!

August 3rd, 2011, comes! When Obama arrives in town, reality hits, and it hits hard. The circling helicopters, big black SUVs, police harassment and barricaded streets are constant reminders of those broken promises and shattered dreams. They realize their reality hasn't changed, except for a few subtle changes like the crack powder ratio going from 100:1 to 18:1 and a little more assistance for homeless veterans. They realize that equality and justice are mere illusions, and the gap between the wealthy and poor climbs steadily. They realize the bitter reality of homelessness isn't going to simply disappear. They know about this reality because getting employed is virtually impossible, they are still constantly getting frisked by the police, they are still rotating in and out of jail for non-violent minor offenses, while knowing rich white folk do exactly the same thing and never see the cold hard walls of Cook County Jail. They still see no money coming to help them, while it travels overseas to finance a couple wars they think are unjustified. They still know housing is next to impossible with bad credit, convictions and evictions. They still live in the bitterly painful reality that they cannot get healthcare, despite all the promises.

I could go on illustrating reality after reality, demonstrating how hope became hopeless, change became stagnant and dreams became an ongoing nightmare. I'm not going to do that, because our hope should never placed upon any political empire; it will always disappoint and leave us disillusioned. Our hope needs to be in the Kingdom of God, which contradicts the ways of domination, the blatant quest for power, the hypocrisy of lies and the influence of Mammon to succeed in any political arena. Jesus is our example, because he gave up all power; and in doing so, gave unquestionable hope to the hopeless, irrefutable justice to the oppressed and undeniable liberation to the captives.

As political giants disappoint, it becomes our agenda to follow in our Lord's footsteps. The system will never raise up the disinherited, minorities and the homeless. The system will never provide love, hope, mercy and justice. As dwellers of the Kingdom of God, we need to raise our revolutionary fists in the air and cry the words of the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr, trying to bring heaven to earth, a little hope in a world full of shattered dreams, false promises, obvious disillusionment and outright anger......

“I choose to identify with the underprivileged,
I choose to identify with the poor,
I choose to give my life for the hungry,
I choose to give my life for those who have been left out of the sunlight of opportunity. . .

This is the way I’m going.
If it means suffering a little bit, I’m going that way.
If it means sacrificing, I’m going that way.
If it means dying for them, I’m going that way, because I heard a voice saying “DO SOMETHING FOR OTHERS.”

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Helping the Homeless in Uptown Chicago: Cornerstone Community Outreach!

2011-07-22T19:36:00.000-05:00

Here are 3 different videos showing the good work CCO does in Uptown Chicago -
Check out Manifest Media: they made and produced these videos and their website has a few more....
Also check out CCO's website

working with homeless people
advocating for homeless people
supporting homeless people
loving and showing compassion for homeless people

This first video is an overview of the work CCO does...
"Cornerstone Community Outreach has served Chicago's homeless population for over 20 years. This short documentary reflects the work of CCO through the experiences of shelter staff and residents."

cco - cornerstone community outreach from manifestmedia on Vimeo.

This video shows our playground, and the need for help to make it more usable and suitable for the children

Kaboom CCO Playground from manifestmedia on Vimeo.

Patrick “Paddy” Mc Cormack is running 240 miles in 8 days. Why? There are over 80,000 homeless in Chicago. Half of those are families, and over 28,000 are homeless children. His goal is to increase awareness about the needs of the homeless, and to raise support on behalf of Cornerstone Community Outreach.

strive 4 more from manifestmedia on Vimeo.

Here's another video; this time from Chicago HOPES, featuring some of our very talented children and their amazing artwork:

Finally: I'm adding a video of Glenn Kaiser recording "Street Talk" from his new Album Cardboard Box; A majority of the proceeds go to Cornerstone Community Outreach....

From Homelessness to Home: One Man’s Complicated Journey to Get Himself an Apartment!

2011-07-18T15:25:00.000-05:00

I’ll call him Craig; it’s not his real name, but the story is real….

I write this to demystify the myths that getting an apartment is as simple as focusing on the dream and showing a little bit of determination. It’s not as simple as choosing and buying a slice of cake; Craig had the dream and was very determined.

Craig ended up homeless because he needed knee surgery. The injury had caused him to lose his job, he didn’t have any health insurance and he couldn’t afford his rent. Eventually, he came to us balancing himself on his two crutches. He stayed at Epworth Shelter for a very short stint, before we moved him into our program for men over 50. Craig was only 48 at the time, but his immobility and continual pain-factor was a serious issue.

Craig was faithfully attending his AA meetings, doing his mandated exercises, seeing doctors, meeting with Public Aid, he had also applied for SSDI and had lawyers that were helping him. He wanted to work again, but his body wasn’t having the same thoughts. Soon he had a medical card and started receiving $100 a month (via P3*). P3 is what one receives when someone has SSI pending!

He was working well with us at CCO. We set up appointments, gave him CTA passes and he faithfully went. He met with the outreach workers who came to assist our residents. He tried some job training endeavors, but couldn't fulfill them due to his health concerns. Craig just kept on trying and it was getting unbearable for him. His frustration and anger level had started to peak.

Craig had been living with us at CCO for over a year; he was still without a livable income, incapable of holding or getting a job and had his name of many housing lists. He had met everyone he should meet and he simply had to live at the slow pace all these factors set for him. He had to wait, wait, wait, and he didn’t like that. He was tired of being homeless and wanted his own place.

Due to an anxiety attack and chest pains he ended up leaving CCO and living in a Rehabilitation Center for a very short while.

The following year saw many events stack up in his fragile life. Not in this exact order and without getting into all the details, but Craig experienced all these things. Don’t get too overwhelmed or exhausted reading this list; He started drinking again, went to detox a few times, and tried inpatient treatment twice. His depression reared its ugly head, he became very suicidal and ended up in a mental health hospital a couple times. He had 2 heart attacks, went to Stroger Hospital both times and one of these times ended up in a shelter that helps those recovering from health issues. Throughout all this, he slept in many different places; rotating from O’Hare Airport, to parks, to our shelter, to hotels, to other shelters, to wherever he could lay his weary head. That was his life, as he continually tried to keep his appointments and find housing; as he just tried to survive.

A couple years after I first encountered Craig, hope was finally visible. A few outreach workers, case-managers and I had been wrapping our minds around his ongoing saga and dilemma for too long. We had advocated for him, fought for him and wrestled with the system, and finally there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

In the middle of June 2011, Craig wanders in with a smile on his face to tell us he’ll be housed in July. All that effort and those appointments saw fruition. All the networking between CCO and many other social service agencies was going to see this chronically homeless man housed. It was finally happening.

A slight glitz reveals itself, on June 28^th; the bureaucratic machine sent all people receiving P3 or General Assistance a letter: “due to the economic climate, starting July 1^st, you will no longer receive $100!” (Yes! I was horrified, angered and saddened when a group my older, more fragile clients brought me letters revealing how what little they have is now being taken away!)

July happened. It was the second week of the month. Craig came in with another big smile on his face. Smiles like these represent a lot, because Craig is a man who doesn’t smile very often. He shows me his keys. He had his place, his subsidized place, where he only pays $20 a month! Now remember; he has no income!

Craig no longer has to live in the hustle and bustle of being homeless. Every night, he has a place to go and rest his weary bones. One day, (I pray it’ll be soon), he’ll get his SSDI, making him able to buy his own food and live totally self-sufficient again.

Troy. Rest In Peace....

2011-07-10T21:50:00.003-05:00

deATh; you did it again.....

A couple of days ago, I discovered that my friend Troy passed away on the 4th of July.....

Troy had been a regular fixture in Uptown for many years. When we spoke of him, we never needed to say his last name, because Troy was Troy! Unmistakably unique, the only one! Everyone in Uptown's long-term chronically homeless community knew him; his strengths and his weaknesses. They deeply loved their elderly buddy; this rugged survivor and veteran of Chicago's harsh streets and bitterly cold winters!

My earliest memories of Troy was when he used to hang out with his very close friend Ronald. These 2 were inseparable! About 9 years ago, they stayed in our overnight men's shelter located on the cafeteria floor. During the day, they would try to make a few bucks by collecting thousands of empty beer cans just outside Wrigley Field. These 2 older men, of about the same height and age, would wander in together to get their thin raggedy blue mats and gray itchy blankets. They were normally a little tipsy from too much alcohol and would start endlessly giggling, chatting and discussing deep theological truths. The surrounding men, attempting to sleep, would yell at them to shut up often resulting in tiresome rants.

In those days, just after the lights went out, someone would stand up in front of the hundred (or so) men to deliver the "Word!" This happened every night and these few minutes of elaborating on scripture would help mellow out and encourage the masses. Troy and Ronald would faithfully always listen. They were both short in stature, but big on opinions! If they disagreed, they would often loudly question the speaker while he was still preaching his message. We often allowed our residents to preach and we heard some incredibly powerful testimonies, but if Troy or Ron felt the speaker was a phony, a fake or a "flim flam", they would loudly rant in absolute disgust. The "Word" was their time and they loved it!

As a side note; my dad came to visit at this time, and one night I gave him the opportunity to deliver the "Word". Troy always fondly remembered that night and constantly spoke of him coming all the way from New Zealand to preach a message.

Ronald passed away around the time that our original men's shelter shut down in 2004. The men disappeared from Clifton, but I would see Troy periodically as I wandered the neighborhood; he would fluctuate from being housed, to being homeless, to being cooped up in a Nursing Home.

In the harsh brutal cold January of 2007, we allowed a very small number of older guys to reside in the Sylvia Center and Troy suddenly entered our life again. I knew I was taking a risk, because alcohol had always been his number one vice. I didn't want this elderly gentleman to freeze to death, so I gave him a bed!

During his time at CCO, I really got to know Troy. We spoke often. I loved the way he thought about his vocabulary, by using a wonderful array of descriptive words. He greatly respected this opportunity, by keeping himself drunk free. He received SSI and was faithfully saving his money every month. When I would wander into their room, Troy's area would be immaculate, with his KJV opened by his bed every day. Darrell and I held a weekly bible study, which Troy regularly attended and would espouse his knowledge on the Scripture. Troy had surprised me by his self restraint and discipline. He had kept himself away from the people, places and things that were his triggers. He had told me he'd made a vow to the Holy Spirit and he was keeping it.

Troy had been living in CCO for quite a while, and the time came when he had to think about moving into his own apartment. I had set him up with an appointment for Friendly Towers (housing for people over 55), and he had over $3000 saved. He was ready! At that time he'd started drinking a little, but not enough to gravely concern us. He'd had no drunken incidents. I'll never know if it was a fear in moving, a fear of being alone, a fear of interviews, social anxiety disorder or a desire to remain on our 4th floor around his friends, but Troy drunk himself into absolute oblivion that morning. He could barely talk or walk, and obviously never made it to the interview.

Unfortunately, that day triggered a return to the intoxicated Troy "of old". His Bible disappeared from the table next to his bed, there were drunken incidents, his area became messy and stinky, he had worsening hygiene and he loudly ranted his opinions about the Bible, world events and crack cocaine (which he never used). Troy did not want to be controlled by alcohol, but it tightly gripped him and it was not letting go. The sight of alcohol's power on his life depressed me. His saved money was disappearing slowly with endless excuses. We fought to overcome, we worked on numerous solutions, but the bottle deemed itself superior. We discussed AA meetings; but he knew the 12 Steps and the book inside out. We discussed treatment; but he'd been through it many times. We tried harm reduction; but he went beyond the beer to the gin. He was in a battle for his life, and I couldn't rescue him.

Troy had just gone through a very successful period of his alcoholic life, which was quickly descending to one of his most depressing. His repeated binging incidents put him in the verge of getting kicked out of the shelter! He often tried to return to his recent history, he'd bring out that King James Bible and tell me he would renew his vow to the Holy Spirit, (I advised him that was dangerous promise), and after a short sober intermission, his erratic behavior would continue to become more vulgar and hostile. I was on the receiving end of some of those horrible rants.

Troy's residency at Cornerstone ended sadly one night. He had got very drunk, slipped in a bottle of gin and continued to get drunk, and then he threw the empty bottle out the window barely missing a mother with her stroller. I hate putting people out of the shelter, especially ones I grown to love, but we had no choice; Troy had to go!

Over the next few months I would frequently see Troy. He rotated from living in a friend's basement to the streets. He was no longer binging, he was continually intoxicated. Crazily drunk 24-7! I wanted to weep every time I'd see him. The pain was devastating. We had been through so much together. All the money he'd saved was quickly vanishing. All we could do was pray, he was dearly loved by God and he was in God's hands. I needed to fall on bended knee and "Be Still and Know that God is God". I wanted to reach out and save him, I wanted to rescue him, but I couldn't!

In desperation, Troy moved into a Nursing Home for the final chapter of his life. This move helped him to regain his lost and out-of-control life. This move helped him to regain his sobriety once again; at least, most of the time. This move helped Troy find himself and renew his devotion to the Lord "who lifts people from the miry clay!"

Troy passed away July 4th 2011.

Troy; I love you, will miss you and our deep theological discussions. Troy; I always wished we'd played that game of chess!
............... Until we meet again, united by Our Heavenly Father!

Festival Week's Eclectic Chaotic Peaceful Mayhem

2011-07-06T20:08:00.000-05:00

While most of the members of Jesus People USA disappeared into rural Bushnell, to tirelessly work in the hot humid sun; while they're running Cornerstone Festival, with hundreds of bands and thousands of young people full of eclectic styles and energy, a few of us need to stay in the concrete jungle, keeping all of JPUSA’s Chicago operations running!

My responsibility is to keep our homeless shelter above water. We now have more people living at CCO than JPUSA; well over 400! I've done this for a number of years, and every year has many different variables, challenges and expectations! The number of staff, programs and clients has increased every year, so 2011 naturally saw the greatest number of all three!

To try and describe all the complete eclectic chaotic mayhem that happens in these 11 or 12 days is virtually impossible; it would literally take thousands of words. Honestly, such a mammoth task would bore the living snot out of me, let alone the few people who read my blog. My attempt here is to try to paint a hectic picture of all the crazed chaos, urgent mayhem and successful celebrations, coupled with frequent glimpses of redemption and the continued loving fellowship that never ceases within this "rejected community!" My attempt is to do this quickly...

With most of CCO’s main players gone, my responsibility is to cover their responsibilities. The secret to surviving the week is not in doing and controlling everything, but working on the art of prioritizing and saying that magic word “NO!” It can be an overwhelming week, riddled with anxiety, so therefore, it is vital to live out the verse I constantly encourage my co-workers and clients with: “Be still and know that I am God!”

In sum, I would say: Non-stop never-ending chaotic mayhem rained down, yet mysteriously, Peace still reigned! There was calm in the midst of the eclectic roller-coaster! That peace, that calm, that joy and that love could only manifest itself, if God is in control!

Now, here’s an attempt to frantically look at the past 12 days…..

Phone calls, phone calls, phone calls. They never ever ceased. All day. Every day. Big stuff. Small stuff. Phone calls, phone calls, phone calls…..

Mother too aggressive to her teenage son. Yells. Swears. Crying boy. Couple bruises. Police called. DCFS involved. Peace!

Papi's dialysis drop off.

Accusation of sexual harassment. Probably paranoia. Rescinded. Domestic altercation. Much weeping. Much acting. Apologies. Little resolution. Police determine hubby's fate! Cold hard cage. Wife with decisions to make.

More milk. More butter. Coffee. Creamer. Sugar. Salt. Etc. Off to the store. Repeat.

Drunk Derrick a conflict starter. Yelling, Threatening. Hugs. Apologies. Forgiveness.

Birth certificates. IDs. Licenses. Rap sheets. Always needed. Received. Eventually.

Registered sex offender discovered. "No No, we're sorry, you can't stay here." From CDFSS. Sent back.

7 people waiting outside my office door. Needing. Wanting. Complaining. Thanking. Begging. Pleading. Giving. Repeat.

Vitally important meeting. Ready for drastic change. Any day. What, where, how!

Dodged. Watched. Hot police pursuit while carrying Shawn's enormous TV through tight hallways and an awkward elevator. "the heaviest TV ever made!" He keeps hollering. Laughing. Screaming. Laughing.

Drove Walter to get check. Got supplies too! Listened to endless rant!

Bed bugs. Bit up. Swelling arms. Arrrrrrhhhhhhh! Will they ever go away?

Bus cards. Laundry cards. Never ending requests and reasons.

Dell blows sobriety contract. Discipline time! Anthony keeps sobriety contact. Reinstated!

Daniel arrested. Marijuana. Clobbered. Wilson. Broadway. Nose broken by police. Clients witness assault. Still sitting in cell.

Rebellious family constantly violating. Needs warning. Again. And again! And again!

Irate woman snaps at new family man. Accusations. He barks back. More accusations. Nothing new there.

Volunteer smoking in kitchen. Busted. Emergency late night run. Barred.

Storm results in electrical fire. Sparks. Kids fascinated. Did lightning really hit?

Blind lady’s family appointment. 6 kids. Far South Side. Needs transportation. Pace cards needed. Metra tickets needed also please! This time Waukegan. Another appointment! Man!

Second floor flooded by mysterious leak. Plumbers in Bushnell. The water flowed that day. Waterfall. Beastly hot. Unblocked air conditioner pipe. Thanks Thien. He came from Kankakee!

Two families. Constant arguing over TVs, loud babies. Threats. Racism. Working on resolutions.

Bees swarm onto Hannah House playground. Beth rescues them. Much drama. Kids fascinated.

Old man makes many verbal assaults. Gets physically assaulted by one. Others complain. Keeps blabbering. Insults staff. Justifies his actions. Isolated.

Watered roof top plants.

Client drugged out by a doctor’s prescribed monthly shot of Seroquel. 12 days to go! Looks like heroin addict. But he ain't! Drive slobbering dazed confused man to safety.

Suspended employee. Dirty drop. Suggested treatment. Suggested hospitalization. Many tears. Much praying. Constant swearing. Relentless counseling. What will the future hold?

Two older gang members fight. Over money. Police involved again.

Need emergency eggs now! Potato salad. 11 dozen please! Had just driven 500 miles. Deliver 15 dozen!

All important text; "these 3 are chosen. 100k. They will be housed shortly" Seek and find! Found! Appointments set!

Kept Ewayne housed. Helped pay rent.

Melissa lights almost off. Helped pay utilities.

Dana, Lazaro moved into apartments. Helped pay rent. Paid security deposit also.

Chris housed also. Many phone calls made. Yay, he’s too sick to be homeless.

Endy gets renewed CACD substance abuse license. Helped pay for that too. Aggressively hugs me. Tears of joy. Now pursuing employment.

Thomas changed his direction. 180 degrees. He's serious. Focused. Detoxing. Drug Free. Looking to the One. Now he's heading up!

Family of three successfully moves. Once Homeless and Jobless. Now employed and housed!

Oh yeah! Played 2 hands of dominoes with my 85 year old buddy!

The good outweighed the bad. Peace outshone the violence. Redemption overcame the bitterness. Forgiveness defeated the hatred. Compassion shone in the darkness. I smiled at the hand of Jesus gently guiding us through it all. Bringing hope! Bringing love! Bringing his Kingdom!

Well: That was my week: Scattered with countless phone calls, numerous requests, intense discussions and urgent determinations. It was a good week. Busy week. Relentless week. Peaceful week. God kept it flowing...,

Like He always does!

SoCiaL PhOBiA anXiEty dISoRdeR and Homelessness!

2011-06-30T23:31:00.002-05:00

Rasheed comes storming into my office, slams the door, plonks himself down in the chair in front of me and starts furiously ranting….

“Jeremy; You better do something!”

“I’m as mad as hell; if you don’t do something, I’m gonna snap, yeah man, I’m gonna hurt that boy, you better do something Jeremy, before I hurt him!”

“You know me man! I’m old enough to be his daddy, he better not yell at me like I’m his kid. I ain’t his kid! You know what I’m saying? I’m bi-polar, I’m schizophrenic, I’m both of them: what’s that called?”

“Schizoaffective disorder”

“Yeah! That’s it; the doctor says it causes me to snap. That’s why they give me meds. Let me show you all the meds I gotta take everyday!”

Rasheed reaches into one of his bulging pockets, and pulls out a paper-bag fill of medication. He starts showing me his prozac, seroquel, risperdal and some other prescribed psychotropic drugs.

“You see what I’m saying Jeremy, you better do something or I’m gonna snap!”

I calm Rasheed down, by trying to use as many peace-making techniques as possible. We discuss how he cannot change how this twenty-something year old man treats him, but that he’s responsible for how he reacts. We discuss how it may be harder for someone with a schizoaffective disorder to react peacefully, but hurting someone is wrong and could result in being barred from the shelter, or even worse, imprisonment. We look together at the insults Jesus took, and how he didn’t call a legion of angels to destroy those who had arrogantly harassed him. Rasheed mellowed out and temporary peace was achieved.

Now, the reality is, variations of this scenario frequently happen around or in my office! People charging up to see me about their depression, schizophrenia, bi-polar disorder or PTSD. Like Rasheed, they frequently end up placing a host of prescribed psychotropic drugs on my desk, packaged in brown paper bags. Most of these men and women are very open to meeting and discussing their issues with mental health outreach workers.Together, we try to tackle the obstacles they are facing.

But there’s something that silently enslaves many homeless folk. It’s often ignored and forgotten, leaving too many people quietly depressed, grieving and suffering. It called Social Phobia Anxiety Disorder or Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD)!

Michael’s roommates bugged me all morning. Each one of the guys came complaining about the previous night’s drunken episode. He had stumbled into the room and threw up all over the floor; then he fell asleep, leaving the room with a rancid stench and covered with watery vomit. His empty bottle of rum lay next to his outstretched motionless hand. The roommates could not tolerate this smelly health hazard, so they mopped up and sanitized his disgusting mess, as the disheveled Michael lay comatose.

They were furious, so one-by-one, they started ranting. Some just wanted me to kick him out of the shelter, while others felt sorry for him. Michael was only in his late 40’s and had already had a stroke that had left him partly paralyzed. He was unable to work, and had been waiting a long time for his disability benefits to finally kick in. I heard about how he lay in bed all day, kept himself isolated, wasn’t motivated, hardly ate, didn’t shower enough and had irregular drunken incidents.

The truth is; all the complaints were legitimate. He barely left the comfort of his bed and novels, except to smoke cigarettes and use the bathroom. He seemed to live off a diet of Red Bulls and Pepsis, which were often lined up by his bed. The times he ventured outside were to go to appointments or stores, and that is when he consumed alcohol. The overcrowded CCO cafeteria and the extremely social “smoke rooms” overwhelmed him. Michael was a sickly rack of bones. He had a couple homeless buddies, who did a lot of running around for him and possibly purchased alcohol for him.

I knew Michael had committed a number of offenses (a few times) to be thrown out. He sat in my office sweating. He was petrified. He was consumed by the prospect of having to sleep outside or in another shelter. He had been living with us for quite a while and never caused any trouble, except for these occasional incidents of quiet drunkenness. At the time of this particular incident, he was also moments away from finally receiving his disability income (SSDI).

In my office, we discuss some sad elements of his life; the stroke that ended his working life and left him homeless, the depression that rocked his daily existence and his addiction to alcohol and pain pills. We work out an appropriate discipline; he was able to stay, but he had to be moved to another location, but only if he met a number of mandatory requirements that would help him with all his physical and mental health issues.

That day, I told Michael I thought he had Social Anxiety Disorder. He had never heard of it and immediately denied it. He nervously shuffled in his chair, desperately wanting to escape our conversation. Yet, the evidence was undeniable; he never initiated conversations, nervously spoke with a quivering voice, avoided eye contact, steered clear of large areas full of people and stayed isolated as much as he could. AA meetings, waiting in lines and making phone calls terrified him. His health drastically suffered because of these things; he simply didn’t eat because of an overabundance of boisterous people in our cafeteria, he overindulged in energy drinks and alcohol to try and gain an ounce of confidence and smoked too many cigarettes to settle his overtly anxious nerves.

I am not a psychiatrist, but have studied SAD, and believe I struggle with it myself. Here is a link to my own self diagnosis.

This is the reality: Michael’s story is depressing! He is a realistic picture of what many homeless people struggling with social anxiety go through daily. The truth is, homeless shelters and the homeless community simultaneously terrify, challenge and satisfy the SAD individual. Being homeless means; they live in, and can’t escape, a world where they have to make contact with other human beings. Due to their circumstances, they are forced to deal with their fears, which is something we all, as human beings, need to do.

When someone, like Michael, transitions into their own apartment or SRO, relief is realized, because they no longer feel all eyes are watching and judging their every move. They feel they can now, just simply, “be themselves”. Yet ironically, it is not necessarily the best thing, as they are then left isolated and alone, with no way to challenge all those haunting and daunting fears!

All this leads me to say, the homeless environment can actually be better for an SAD individual than the isolating reality of a subsidized apartment. This also leads me to say: this reality challenges my whole premise and way of helping and case-working people. A SAD homeless person needs housing that offers an all important network of care and community around them, so they don’t simply “fade to black!”

Well, Michael finally got his disability check (SSDI) and successfully moved into his own apartment. He received a little of that all-important continued community when he moved. He moved just a few blocks from the shelter, and a couple of his homeless buddies would frequently visit him in his apartment. We encouraged him to come around and eat an occasional meal in our cafeteria. He also moved into subsidized housing that provided continued case-management and check-ups. Sadly, Michael died a few short months after transitioning into his own place.

A few years ago, I bumped into Derrick. He had stayed at CCO before and was consumed by worry. He is an impeccably dressed African American in his mid fifties. I ignite a conversation and he tells me his story: he is homeless again and is sleeping under some bush a little up north. He didn’t beg for help, he just had this lost look in his eyes because he was unemployed, without any cash and was sleeping under Chicago’s smoggy stars. He groaned, with a slow depressive monotone, about his plight and his doomed future. Derrick told me how his life was a picture of misery and how he was always judged by the people who surrounded him.

I gave Derrick a spot to stay at Cornerstone. He was convinced his roommates were judging and looking down on him. Yet, the reality was, people only had very good things to say about him, as he was extremely tidy, respectful of others and quietly went about taking care of business.

Knowing Derrick’s social phobias and his very depressive anxious demeanor, I set up appointments for him. I got a very reliable local outreach worker to meet with him in CCO. Every week when he came, he was usually bombarded with a long line of very vocal mentally ill folk waiting to utilize his services and most of them did not worry about sharing their struggles with an audience. I knew Derrick felt differently and would not get the help unless there was just the 3 of us chatting.

This meeting ended up being extremely profitable and beneficial for Derrick. It was the thing that kick started him getting the psychological help he needed, a vitally good support network, employment and, eventually, his own apartment. If it wasn’t for a couple of people gently nudging him in the right direction and respecting his Social Anxiety Disorder, Derrick would quite possibly still be wallowing in his own grief and homelessness.

A couple days ago, as I was wandering down Wilson Ave, Derrick rushed up on me and profusely thanked me and CCO. He told me to shake his hand because I was looking at a Cornerstone success story, Derrick is still housed in the same apartment, has that all-important supportive network around him, started receiving SSDI and is actually enjoying his quiet life: I told him how thankful I was to see how he is doing and we parted ways!

Feliciano had been staying in Epworth for quite a while. He would quietly stand in lines, get his tickets and lie on his bed at night. He never caused a problem. In fact, most people didn’t even know his name, who he was and that he even stayed in our shelter. Feliciano is close to 60, so when a spot opened on the 4^th floor where we allow some of the older guys to stay, we selected him to move into the open bed. These beds give older and disabled men an opportunity to get more of the rest their bodies actually need.

Because of the general chaos of my life at Cornerstone, combined with the over-abundance of extroverts invading my space, I rarely got to communicate with Feliciano. He never came down to my office and when I would do room checks, he would be sleeping. His blanket or a t-shirt would be covering most of his face. He had quietly zoned out.

A couple of months ago, one of his room-mates came up to me and loudly complained about him just outside their door, stating the obvious, “all he does is sleep! I’m out there working my butt off, trying to find employment every single day, and all he does is sleep, sleep, sleep! He doesn’t even shower! He needs to do something! It isn’t fair.” I had been planning to talk to Feliciano, so I went into their room and set up an appointment for the next day.

Feliciano had heard my whole conversation with his room-mate, so within an hour, he hurried down to my office in a panicked state. He was absolutely convinced I was going to throw him out, so I had to reiterate again and again that he was in no danger of being tossed into the snow and I asked him to “not to let his nosey neighbor live rent-free in his head.” I probed into his personal life and he nervously told me how he was being constantly judged and analyzed by everyone that surrounded him. He shared about his many recent tragedies that left him unemployed, family-less and homeless.

It took quite a while, but I was able to calm down this quiet man riddled with phobias. Our little meeting ended up being extremely profitable. Not only did we extinguish many fears, we established a few attainable goals and now they are getting met. Feliciano is still homeless, but is regularly meeting with a couple of very compassionate and patient outreach workers who are helping him with his social anxiety disorder, chronic depression and PTSD. They are also assisting him get an income and ultimately transition from homelessness into housing.

When I look at these three men, I see guys controlled by crippling fear and paranoia; a fear that captures many homeless folk and which often goes unnoticed; it is an unrealistic illogical fear of the people who surround them, fear that is governed by thoughts that they are being constantly judged and analyzed. They fear daily that they can never reach “the standard” and they are letting everyone down. I know, because I myself, struggle daily with social anxiety disorder and have written about it here!

Mike, Derrick and Feliciano are from three different races and had very different backgrounds. They all dealt with their Social Anxiety in different ways; Mike fell into addiction, while the other two are both drug and alcohol free. Derrick was very active and sought answers, while Feliciano tried to escape and sleep. SAD is a silent killer which isolates and captures it prey. Cities are full of socially anxious individuals barely talking to another living soul. Yet, with strange irony, homelessness helps illuminate the problem, by actually making the Socially Anxious individual face their fears.

Those of us working and living in this field of social work, (along with many other fields like the Church), need to keep our eyes and ears open. Our doors may be already wide open, but a socially anxious person will never wander in and lay their burdens upon us. We need to be constantly looking and analyzing, so we can make the advances and lend a compassionate hand.

Some of my efforts have been futile. I’ve missed, and sadly ignored (or dismissed), many opportunities to help a SAD person. Some of my efforts have bore fruit, and I am thankful that God has been able, and will continue to use me, in the lives of wonderfully quiet folk like Michael, Derrick and Feliciano.

Jesus could have ignored the bleeding woman, but he stopped in the midst of the hustle and bustle, and said, “Who touched me?” She wanted to vanish, but Jesus wanted her to receive complete healing. He took the time, drew her out of the crowd and let her (and the impatient mob) know that she was a precious, important, wonderful and beautiful woman, that had as much right to him as the extraverted masses that squashed up against him. His eyes saw beyond the rowdy desperation and the pompous arrogance that constantly sought his attention, by seeing a silent voiceless sufferer and he met her humble needs.

We must do likewise…..

"They made me feel like a King!"

2011-06-22T22:35:00.002-05:00

We set him up! He's 85 years old, he's homeless, he's tiny, he's fragile and he doesn't speak English; this made him easy to set up.

I walked up to the table where Humberto was playing dominoes with Elihud and Richard, and simply said; "it's time!" Richard faked he'd had enough of the game and instantly quit! Elihud told Humberto (in Spanish) he needed to show him some important papers and off they went to his room.

Josh, Darrell and I rallied. We set up the table on 4th floor, with 2 massive balloons, a sheet cake and a case of root beer. We ran around and gathered other clients and staff. A large youth group of volunteers were working on the floor, so we got them together also. And, of course, there was Uptown's own famous Stewart Brown.

It was time. Elihud brought Humberto through the door and this huge group of gathered individuals started singing "happy birthday!" The look on his face was priceless; he stood there wide-eyed, wondering what was happening. He was stunned, he was confused, he was amazed, he stared at the mass of people thinking they were hooping and hollering at someone else. Elihud whispered into his ear "this is for you, they're singing happy birthday!" A little grin came onto his face. He was totally and utterly surprised.

We escorted him to his chair, I cut him a piece of cake and poured him a cup of root beer. The crowd that surrounded him represented a host of ages, nations, colors and races. A kid came and shook his tiny hand, meanwhile a known gangster gives him a big hug and this older gentleman gently slaps him on the back, all wishing him a happy birthday. He doesn't know a lick of English, but he could feel the love! Everyone up on 4th floor feasted on the huge cake and marveled at how good he looks for being 85, while trying to learn his secret to a long healthy life.

Gradually everybody left, and being overwhelmed by the ordeal, he just wanted to chill by playing another game of dominoes: this time against Elihud and myself. Sandy came up, so we told him that she'd brought the cake and balloons. With a humble show of respect and thanks, he stands up and gives her a hug. As we played, Humberto would occasionally utter a few quiet words in Spanish looking rather teary eyed or he'd have a small grin come over him. With all the phrases Elihud would interpret for me, the one that touched me the most was: "they made me feel like a King!"

The whole party was humbly beautiful. It made his day! It made his year! There was this gleam of happiness that shone over Humberto that lasted beyond his "today" and into his "tomorrow." He just couldn't believe what happened! We'd somehow made this 85 year old homeless foreigner feel like a king!

Click here to see photos of the surprise party from my facebook page

Now, to digress a little. Many may be reading this and have naturally started thinking, he's too old and fragile to be living in a homeless shelter. His homelessness dampers the excitement of the whole party; shouldn't there be someone or some program that should be housing and supporting this elderly gentleman? I most definitely agree! But, my purpose here is not to get into the politics and ethics of how this senior citizen (I could name many more) ended up alone, homeless and without income.

Humberto shuffled into our lives, when a fellow homeless Guatemalan brought him to us so we could house him. They didn't know each other, but he had discovered Humberto "out there" and knew he desperately needed help. This "good Samaritan" quickly got employed and housed, and vanished from our lives.

It's hard not to like Humberto; he's drug and alcohol free, he's tiny, he's hard working, he's always smiling, he never complains, whenever he gets a little cash he loves to give little gifts, he's addicted to dominoes and, every day, he quietly proves what a trooper as he is, as struggles up 4 flights of stairs.We are his family and he is now loved by young and old at Cornerstone, and especially those who reside on the 4th floor.

There is unusual truth that resonates in Humberto's story. Due to his circumstances, I couldn't think of a better place for him to be right now. We have a hefty number of gentlemen over 65 who stay with us, and we have become their family; often their only family. I would rather Humberto (or Walter, Felipe, Angel, Charles and many others) be living in our homeless shelter, than rotating in and out of emergency shelters, trying to survive on the streets, cooped up in a Nursing Home, or even, existing alone in a SRO. I doubt some of them would even be alive today living under those different circumstances. These fragile old men continually receive a priceless gift by living in CCO, and that gift is not given by me or my fellow staff......
.....that priceless gift is community and fellowship, which so many and too many, senior citizens unfortunately fail to receive at the end of their long lives! Humberto; you have received this gift, and in your poverty, you're loving it!

My Routinely Stable Daddy!

2011-06-16T22:00:00.000-05:00

My dad, Mr. John Cyrus Nicholls, just retired from 27 years of being an elder at Titirangi Baptist Church (formerly Kaurilands Church of Christ L&A). He did not retire due to animosity or hostility, but due to some ongoing health issues and felt he could not fulfill his duty to the best of his ability. Last Sunday (June 12th), TBC held a service recognizing dad's faithfulness and dedication all these years. I could not obviously be there, as he lives in New Zealand and I reside in Chicago. This is what I wrote and it was read aloud on Sunday: it was my attempt to convey and recognize a man who poured his heart, soul and mind into the Church he dearly loves!

Sunday is Fathers Day in the US. Fathers Day in NZ is in September. Yet, I feel it is fitting to post this in recognition of my father, who despite living in a society where so many people constantly give in, give up and change their direction when they see or glimpse at a slight obstacle; well, our father has defied that mentality by faithfully trucking on.....

To be honest, I don’t remember what year it was and I don’t remember all the details…..

Mum and dad had gone on their first big overseas adventure; they’d gone to Fiji for a couple weeks! Jamie, Jenny and I stayed with different friends. I think I was about 11 or 12. When it was time to come home, we all went to the airport to pick them up. I was very excited; you see, I knew that while they were away, the Church had voted about dad becoming an elder.

I impatiently waited for them to come through the gate; I wanted to be the first one to tell him. Finally they wandered through, I ran up to dad and told him, “dad, you didn’t make it, you’re not an elder!”

If looks could kill, I’d be dead right now because I got his infamous stare, what us 3 kids called his “evil eyes.” Mum, and especially dad, looked devastated. I had just deflated the joy of us 5 Js reuniting. They questioned why I’d come up to say such a thing and told me I wasn’t the one who was supposed to tell him.

I can’t remember all the details, but I remember being completely confused. For some reason, I thought dad didn’t want to be an elder. That is why, in all my excitement, I revealed the news; I thought I was bringing good news, not heart-breaking news! I felt terrible.

Sorry about that dad! I was doing it out of love! I really was!

I don’t know why I thought what I thought that day. Maybe it was that stability he possesses, where we never knew if he was excited or depressed, passionate or angered by something; we always got that classic dad response of, “I’m alright, I’m good”, no matter what had happened that day! Except when he was watching rugby of course!

But this isn’t about me; this is about my dad, a man I dearly love, admire and respect. That day, I realized how important eldership and being in the leadership of our Church meant to dad. There was this “sadness” in his eyes. I could tell he took it personally, even though he tried to remain stable and composed. I knew, that day, becoming an elder was so very vitally important to him.

Well, it wasn’t long after that; he was voted in! 27 years ago, dad took on the duty and became an elder.

When dad took on this job, he didn’t step into it half-heartedly. He knew all the responsibilities, it was a "God given calling" to him and he dived into it with full force. I’m not just talking about all the frequent meetings until 1am. I’m talking about how it occupied his mind, his passion and his love for the church. When dad embraced eldership, I witnessed a man (even as a teenager), who was driven to do what was best for (the then) Kaurilands Church of Christ and for the Lord. He knew his responsibility and he always wanted to see (the now) Titirangi Baptist Church, and the people he dearly loves, grow in the knowledge and grace of our Lord Jesus Christ.

There’s a lot I could say, but I’d like to summarize with five words that I think speak of who my dad is. These are things I witnessed everyday, because my dad has been and remains a creature of remarkable habit and routines. Rock Solid! This makes dad easier to observe; I see him as an excellent example of reliability, faithfulness, honesty, perseverance and stability.

Dad has always had the Church’s best interest at heart. He knows what he believes in accordance with scripture. He won’t budge if he thinks something is scripturally, ethically or morally incorrect – believe me, I know, dad and I have had our fair share of very heated debates. I may have joked earlier about his flat-line of emotions, but this is a testament of the 5 words I just mentioned. There was no up and down, up and down, “oh no, who’s John going to be today?” Dad was and is always dad; faithfully and reliably serving and leading the Church with all honesty and perseverance. Dad has been a stable fixture in TBC for many years; many more years beyond his 27 as elder! This is the dad I witnessed all these years!

Dad, I want to thank you for the example you’ve been to me. TBC has been honored to have had you as an elder all these years. I love you and wish we could have been there today (June 12, 2011) to celebrate all your wonderful years of service.

He Came Expecting Something!

2011-06-05T21:27:00.000-05:00

He came expecting something
He ended up getting something
But it was not "the something"
he thought was his destiny
he expected to be his right

He came with elitist arrogance
Looking down upon the mere peasants
Expecting royal treatment
Valiantly proclaiming from his throne
"I ain't like these lazy homeless bums"

Exclaiming "Give me what I deserve"
Staff simply cringed and smiled
having witnessed this reoccurring scene
Yet he needed to follow the same path
disgracefully sleeping amongst them all

He came expecting something
He ended up getting something
But it was not "the something"
he thought was his destiny
he expected to be his right

He stayed amongst the "peasants"
looked into their battle-scarred eyes
listening to their relentless stories
He watched his layers strip away
their humanity a new found revelation

He realized they were no different
he began accepting his prolonged fate
Through humility he started flourishing
finding newness in this loving community
who embraced his weakening power

He came expecting something
He ended up getting something
But it was not "the something"
he thought was his destiny
he expected to be his right

He moved on with this "new something"
Gently embraced by this homeless mob
as he sadly left now continually realizing
this community of rejected "peasants"
had given him long-lasting family

Elitism had confidently dissipated
Love had been emphatically embraced
Community was surprisingly found
Courage desperately clung onto him
Mercy wrapped itself around him

Now he smiles at "what once was"
memories of that simpler existence
the thing that caused tremendous fear
tumultuous weeks joyfully transformed
this homeless shelter's subtle redemption

He came expecting something
He ended up getting something
But it was "the something"
he needed at that time
he needed in his life!

By Choice now he humbly visits
they'd forgiven his arrogant elitism
by embracing him he'd embrace them
Compassionately he gives a little back
thanks the crew of unknown redeemers

He'd thought they were unworthy
not worthy to give him something
This humble gruffly looking mob
had given him a definite "something"
many somethings he never expected

Something cloaked with eternity!

He came expecting something
He ended up getting something
But it was "the something"
he needed at that time
he needed in his life!

A simple explanation:

This is a typical scenario over at Cornerstone, (mainly by relatively new people), that nudged me to write this little piece - it goes something like this:

"Listen Jeremy, I ain't like all these other cats, I can't do it! I can't sit around all day watching TV and playing pool. They're a bunch of lazy good-for-nothing homeless bums; going nowhere! I'm better that that."

I cringe and smile at the same time, because I've heard this phrase hundreds of times, mainly by new men and women trying their best to impress me. They think it is their right to get some special royal treatment; better mattresses, different food, dodge standing in lines, CTA and laundry cards whenever they ask and a host of other things they think they are entitled too!

Before they can promote their superiority too much, I cut them off, gently beg them to stop as I tell them we're not going to favor them, that their phrase doesn't impress me at all and, in fact, it does more to worry or anger me.

I conclude by telling them something like this..,,

"You're no better than any of these guys, and they're no better than you. You don't know their stories, or what they need, just as they don't know yours! You're all different; you all have different personalities, different pasts, different addictions, different stories and you're all traveling down different paths; you don't need to worry about them; that's my job, that's their concern, it isn't yours! You need to worry about you! Now, let's start again, so let's concentrate on you; why did you come to see me today?"

It works most of the time - and when they humble themselves, they receive unexpected blessings they never thought was possible at a homeless shelter!

Seven Weary Veterans!

2011-05-30T16:36:00.002-05:00

This week I spoke with...
Seven weary veterans struggling to survive
Seven weary veterans struggling to stay housed
Seven weary veterans struggling to live in the torment of their pasts

They tell stories with tears in their eyes, plucked as impressible teenagers with nothing to do, to serve their country with courage.
They tell stories of becoming killing machines, seeing their comrades and innocent civilians die.
They tell stories trying to hide their pain, their terror, their grief, their regrets, their guilt. But their eyes tell a story of fear and confusion.

Confused of the suffering neglect they now feel!
Confused as to why they've been left behind!
Confused of their homelessness and troubling mental illness.
Just dazed and confused, they rest before me, and I try, simply try, pitifully try, to offer a little of what I can!

They are heroes, homeless heroes, disposable heroes, faulty heroes and heroes without answers to all the questions that ricochet inside their heads!

Bernard stumbles by in a drunken, drugged out, stupor, he slowly lifts his right hand to signal "hi." Possessed by the bottle and the pipe, which he self-medicates on, he tries to escape the nightmares which endlessly haunt and taunt him. He wants to be alone, as people make him aggressive. He fails to stay housed, so he trudges down Wilson Avenue with a full belly from our cafeteria. He settles down behind Uplift School for the night, and tries to find some sleep, combined with a little peace.

Gregory celebrates a new chance, a new life, a new start, a new reality. He represented his country on two tours, in two different wars, yet stands today plagued by ever increasing trauma, angry outbursts and rapidly rotating medication trials. He lives in a bureaucratic nightmare, but on this day, his many homeless years cease with newness and a fresh new beginning. A new apartment.

Donald sits hunched over dazed, utterly confused and sweating profusely. Judged as a heroin addict, they had loaded up his veins with depakote to stop the seizures. I take him by his hand, and guide him to his housing appointment. I become his voice. I pray! He needs it, yet he fears it. He loves and feels at home outdoors, the place where thugs have victimized and assaulted his zombie like existence. "Not eligible" the administration says, "you went crazy! You're on your own!" "hey I served you guys for 3 years!" he blankly weeps at the neglect, yet he finds relative peace by Lake Michigan with some local raccoons.

Jeremiah sanely protects and guides the fragile souls that cling to him. He questions his own inner rational, as he supports and remembers the forgotten, neglected and psychotic weaklings that beg for help. They grip onto him like a leach and he extends his compassionate hand. With stubbornness and love in his heart, he stays homeless by lifting others up.

Shane stumbles into my office, desperate for a place. Tormented by a horrific past in Vietnam and present day blackouts, he drowns those visions with the bottle. His impatience infuriates him and he yells at me, his helper, as he wants an unanswerable answer now. I cringe, but the pain is unbearable and he mellows as he grasps the need to try a little patience. Housing will come, yet bureaucracy says "it's there, it's ready, just wait". He's tired of sleeping on trains, but he leaves my office to do just that.

The sunglasses Micah wears, hide his glossy eyes. He is tired. Tired of prisons, tired of homeless shelters, tired of drinking, tired of drugging, tired of fighting to survive, tired of the nightmares, tired of the blackouts, tired of trying. He is tired of endlessly being tired. Today he is housed, and he takes off his shades to tell me of that 17 year old boy they'd trained to be a killing machine and how he'd done horrendous things. Tears flow down his 62 year old cheeks, revealing how the meds can't heal or forgive him. He's tired, but he keeps on fighting!

Freddie sits in Starbucks, riddled by endless paranoia and fear. He cannot see me on our site, as he fears the CIA, the FBI and the Chicago Police. We meet by chance, as he once graced our humble shelter in his military garb and his tireless work ethic. Sweating with his countless layers of uniformed madness, he dramatically expresses his need for freedom, God, community and peace of mind. Upon leaving, he remains in tormented isolation, fed by that continual mistrust and paranoia in the ones he once diligently and faithfully served!

These seven weary veterans have very different stories, yet they endlessly cry for hope, cry to God and beg for mercy.

These seven weary veterans are riddled with pain, subjected to countless aftereffects and consumed by a colorful array of addictions.

These seven weary veterans love our little homeless shelter, are thankful for non-judgmental love, the community and fellowship. They see and experience filled bellies, changes in clothes, beds slept upon and listening ears, giving these seven men glimpses of Jesus and a picture of hope in the harrowing street they once called "blood alley!"

These seven weary veterans have a faith that shames my own, a love that extends beyond mine and a courage that overshadows my weak attempts to raise a revolutionary fist.

These seven weary veterans are clinging to the merciful God, begging like the humble repentant tax-collector and praying with all earnestness to the One who boldly proclaimed, "blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

PRISON: the fields are white for harvest!

2011-05-25T15:57:00.000-05:00

This is something I wrote back in 2006 and had posted on the old CCO blog...
It relates to the previous post I just finished (below this one)

We grew to love many guys through the 3 year duration of the men's shelter. Many arrived on our doorstep, paroled from various penitentiaries to our facility. Sadly, since it's closing, a high percentage have ended up back in the Joint. Some justly, some unjustly! But most are not in for violent crimes!

I set about to write letters and made visitations to Cook County Jail. A couple other guys also helped me. The Lord had laid upon my heart the importance to remember my brothers in prison (Hebrews 13:3). When we wrote, they responded, and when we visited, they were overjoyed.
So many were encouraged and blessed by my feeble attempts of letter writing.
Most do not receive letters during their stint.
Hardly any of these 50 men get visitors.

Prison life for these men brings them to their knees. In being caged, they lose their freedom, their dignity, their family and friends. In their cries of desperation and weakness they call out to the Lord; they recall the words they heard at Cornerstone, at Church, by Christians and other shelters and beg for the blessed Book. When everyone forgets them, Jesus remembers them and is there waiting for them with open arms. The fields are white for harvest!

The letters of many prisoners indicated a change of heart. Some frequenting Bible studies, others studying the Word in their cell and others going to chapel. They would send me literature! A couple had written how they given their lives utterly and completely to Jesus! The fields are white for harvest!

Before retreating to Aotearoa (NZ) over the winter I set about to write to the 50 prisoners I know throughout Illinois. I typed out a letter, mailed and posted it to them all, encouraging them in the Lord and in making the most of an awful situation, by getting an education, learning a trade or doing whatever their facility offered.

When I came back from my travels, I received a letter from an individual serving time. He did not have a good reputation at CCO because, in an act of rage, he had actually punched one of my co-workers. He wrote about how in desperation he cried out to the Lord, how everything was lost and begged for God to speak to him. Not ten minutes later, the guards gave this man my letter. He went on to explain that he had given himself to Jesus , got his GED and is studying to become a minister. "I'm anew in Christ and the joy of his Merciful Grace is mine and he's alive in me" he writes. He thanks me and writes how the letter is his 'personal sword of endearment'. His letter brought tears to my eyes. He was sincere, he is a new creation, the old has gone, the new has come! Thank you Jesus.

Visiting Our Rotating Sick and Incarcerated Friends!

2011-05-22T14:34:00.002-05:00

Homeless people are some of the most vulnerable people living in our cities and towns. Many of these folk just rotate in and out of Emergency Rooms and County Jails on a regular basis. That's why a program like 100k homes is so essential. When The 100K program meets with, and surveys, our homeless population, their staff determine who is the most vulnerable and gets them into housing as soon as possible. This Housing First model helps the homeless individual regulate their health in a safe environment and get the rest they desperately need. It has also been proven to be a very cost effective model because it results in a huge decrease in hospital visits, ambulance rides and petty jail sentences for minor infractions.

Cornerstone Community Outreach, the homeless shelter where I work, actually had the person 100K homes deemed as the most vulnerable, periodically staying with us and frequenting our cafeteria daily. I know her and her extremely sick boyfriend very well, and they would spend their lives rotating in and out of our local Uptown hospitals. Seizures, congestive heart failure, alcoholism and many other symptoms plagued their fragile lives. I would bump into Sheena, and she'd tell me how Archie had "fell out" and an ambulance had came and took him to the ER. About a week later, I'd see the freshly released Archie, and he'd tell me how Sheena had had a seizure and an ambulance came. This was their cycle! This was their life!

I wrote a brief story about them a few months ago: watching the world rush by

We can celebrate because Sheena and Archie are now successfully housed. I, and a few others in CCO, have worked extensively with some of the 100K outreach workers to help locate and house some of these extremely vulnerable homeless people. Yet unfortunately, a dire problem remains, despite the few successful programs like 100K, coupled with the ceaseless work and dedication of their outreach workers: hundreds of very sick, highly vulnerable, exploited and ignored individuals remain rotating in and out of shelters, hospitals, nursing homes and jails, desperately needing to be rescued from Chicago's dangerous streets. They need housing! They need stability! They need safety! They need support! They need community!

As a shelter, Cornerstone gravitates away from the norm! As our sickly residents and local homeless folk end up in hospitals or nursing homes, we try and visit them. This is obviously not in our "scope of services"; in other words, visiting the sick and incarcerated is not a requirement from CDFSS and is not something we get paid for, but it is something we see as essential, important and necessary.

As a follower of Jesus, a child of his Kingdom and believer in the power of the Gospel, I cannot escape what Jesus said in his parable of the "Sheep and the Goats." He said, "Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me!" (Matthew 25:34-36)

Confused, the sheep asked the king a couple verses later, "when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?" The king answered; "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me!"

At Cornerstone, our mission is to obviously help our clients (along with the locally homeless and precariously housed folk) with the first four things Jesus mentions; hungry and thirsty people are able to come inside to get a hot meal and a drink, we have our Free-Store full of donated clothes to choose from and we welcome homeless strangers inside by giving them beds to sleep in and case-managers to eventually help them find their own place to live in.

As we have gotten to know the hundreds of homeless people who have entered our lives, our mission changes and becomes more encompassing. Too many of these people we know and love are plagued by the woes of homelessness. The reality is: homeless people have compromised immune systems, some are victims of hate crimes, many are suffering with PTSD and a host of other mental illnesses and far too many are constantly standing at deATh's door! (deATh's door was a piece I wrote; it's about a number of my homeless friends who have passed away)

The truth is, the homeless population will not stop rotating in and out of Emergency Rooms as long as we have unaffordable health care for the "least of these." They are sadly released from the hospital often still in a compromised state, and being without an income or insurance, they are therefore unable to get the medication they desperately need. They also are unable to relax in a bed to rest their weary bones and start on the path to recovery. Meanwhile, those with an income and insurance, are able to get the medication and rest they desperately need and quickly be restored to health.

The truth is, the homeless population will not stop rotating in and out of County Jails as long as we have a justice system that locks people up for non-violent and petty offenses like loitering, sleeping in a park, drinking on a public way and minor possession charges. Without an income, they are unable to afford to bail themselves out, and they remain sitting in a cell until the Judge grants his or her judgment. Meanwhile, those with an income, and often with far greater offenses, are able to bail themselves out, hire a quality lawyer and stay connected with their community. I go into a lot of details about all this in this piece I wrote: Casting Stones

There is another reality about our rotating sick and incarcerated homeless friends, they often don't have the family or friends who can afford to bail them out, or pay for their hospitalizations, aftercare and medications. They are often alone. They need people. This is why Jesus placed so much emphasis on visiting the sick, dying and incarcerated. This is why Jesus spoke the "sheep and goats" parable and emphasized the need to get down with the "least of these!" His parables always challenged and provoked the elitist mindsets of His day! This is why Jesus emphasized the Kingdom of God, which stated "blessed are the poor, for theirs is the Kingdom of God!" He knew that other empires (politics, government etc.) were more interested and focused on the pursuit of money and power, than in uplifting and helping the poor and downtrodden!

We cannot instantly change the Health Care and Justice systems, they are too big and ingrained in our culture. There are a lot of good advocacy groups trying to do that, but as individuals, we can and must do random acts of subversive kindness. We can bring the Resurrection power to our hospitals, nursing homes, jails and prisons. As Jesus taught us to pray in the Lord's Prayer; we need to bring heaven to earth! This recently happened in Weiss Hospital, when my homeless friend Jerome was involved in a horrible accident and the sheer number of his visitors shocked all the doctors, nurses and receptionists in the hospital. Jerome had tears in his eyes at all the masses that surrounded his bed.

I recently wrote his story also: Collapsing Walls and A Snapped Femur

I cannot remember the first homeless person I visited in hospital or jail. I do remember my fear, anxiety and excitement of those first visits. I had to build up my courage to wander through the doors or gates. I took with me companions like Beth, Scott or Darrell. As someone who struggles with social anxiety, I was concerned about saying wrong or inappropriate things, I was concerned they wouldn't want to see me and I was concerned about praying a stupid shallow prayer. It is also a fearful experience entering the locked and intimidating gates of Cook County Jail. Those fears, however self-absorbed, illogical and irrational they may have been, they were very real to me, and I had to gather up as much courage and faith I could muster, to actually do what Matthew 25 mandates.

Now a lot of those early fears may have disappeared, but visiting the sick and incarcerated is not a simple task. It takes time and the person may require a little more than just our mere presence. It is hard to visit someone incarcerated for something small and insignificant, while you know many people who have done the same thing and have never seen the inside of a squad car, let alone a jail cell. It is hard to yell through six little holes in bullet proof glass, while they weep on the other side begging for a hug. It is hard to sit next to someone hooked up to machines and asking why God did this to them. It is hard to sit in the ICU next to a comatose person. It is hard to know that visiting a sick individual may result in a whole lot of new responsibilities when he or she is released. It is hard to know this person may die!

But blessings reign down too and, quite frankly, overshadow the difficulties. It is a blessing to walk down the street and the released prisoner comes up, hugs me with tears running down his cheeks, and say "thank you! That letter, that visit meant so much; It was the first I ever had!" It is a blessing to know they were blessed by my visit, sometimes the only visit (or letter) they've ever had. It is a blessing to pray with someone while they lay in their hospital bed, they often have a big smile on their face. It is a blessing to fellowship with the person's family and friends around that bed, they often ask us to join hands and pray together. It is a blessing to advocate for the person, making sure they're not ignored and forgotten because of their poverty stricken state, so they may get some long term help.

All these things may seem small and insignificant, yet they are relatively simple acts that are huge blessings to that lonely man or woman suffering in a hospital bed or locked in a cage. They remember it. They don't forget. These visits speak more of God's Kingdom and His Resurrection Power, than all the countless tasks that we endlessly run around doing. A lot of us who work at CCO can testify about people coming up to us and saying something like: "Thank you for visiting me, I couldn't believe it when you came in, it's something Jesus would do!" To them; that brief moment in time, that simple visitation, was "Thy will being done, on earth as it is in heaven!"

Papi showed up on my doorstep at JPUSA struggling to breathe, struggling to walk and struggling to live. He had just been released from the hospital, where I had visited him a couple days earlier. I had known him for years! At that time he was homeless, but he wasn't staying at CCO. Papi is a spunky Cuban in his seventies, who had just had major heart surgery and kidney failure. The hospital simply released him with a walker, a day's worth of medicine and no place to go. Papi struggled down a few city blocks to see me, so I got him a bed and a meal over at Cornerstone. His story didn't stop there; due to his deteriorating health and a new life on dialysis, he lives a continual drama of rotating in and out of the hospital. Many people at CCO have embraced Papi, by taking him to and from dialysis three times per week (especially Chris and Sandy), his frequent appointments and trying to utilize the free clinics to get him all his medication. It's very time consuming and ceaseless because he's old and not getting healthier. Last week, we had to call 911 for him because he collapsed and he spent nearly a week recovering in the hospital. Papi does what he can to bless us and say "thank you", he constantly shuffles around our first floor doing our dishes and making all of us coffees throughout each day.

Papi's story is just one tale of countless stories! My blog is full of them. We are Papi's family, we are the people he trusts and loves! I have written about Papa G and his ongoing saga. I have written about Abdul and visiting him in prison. We become their family, their people, their lifeline, their advocates and the ones they love!

Visiting "the least of these" in these places of depression, bondage and death is not always easy, in fact it can be very difficult, but it is always a blessing! Why? because in doing so; we are bringing about the reality of God's kingdom into their lives, we are bringing heaven to earth as Jesus wants us too and the power of His Gospel is being actualized in this grim place called planet earth. This is why Jesus wanted his followers to live out and do the six deeds mentioned in the "sheep and the goats!"

Twenty Minutes with an Eclectic Crazy Community!

2011-05-13T16:28:00.000-05:00

It's always unusual, quite eclectic, somewhat daunting, and often times blessed experience to enter our humble doors at Cornerstone Community Outreach for the first time?

Bobby makes the long commute on the L-train from the southside. We engage in a nice conversation, he tells me his dilemma and I give him a check to pay for this month's rent. He asks if he can get some food as well, because things are very tight and its next to impossible to survive off a monthly veterans benefit of only $123.00! I say "Yes! Of course. Not a problem!"

We have to go downstairs to xerox all his documents. I am bombarded by a few of our more flamboyant daily visitors who endlessly holler all their requests.

As I enter the door, Lateef surrounds me and loudly proclaims with his Nigerian accent, "don't you love me no more Jeremy? Why you always ignoring me? You need to give me some time?" I smile at him and say, "you know I love you, but I'm with someone else right now!" Lateef, in true Lateef fashion, just keeps loudly begging for my attention.

Shawn, who's louder and taller than Lateef, tells him to shut up and beckons my attention. They intensely argue with a somewhat friendly banter. As I start photocopying, Shawn notices the new guy who came in with me, he's standing a couple steps away with an awkward and puzzled grin. He yells at Bobby, "hey guy, watch this!" Shawn grabs my goatee, tilts his head back, opens his mouth as wide as possible and screams "aaaaahhhhhHHHHH" and then erupts with his ear piercing laughter!

As Shawn is in the midst of doing daily routine with my goatee, Lateef is telling me I need to clean Shawn's filthy clothes! He keeps saying, "look at them! You need to do something about that! Wash them! Give him some new clothes!"

Shawn holds out his fist, and our brief new visitor smiles and exchanges friendly fist-pumps with him. Then Shawn does his eccentric noisy goatee routine again. I give Bobby his original documents and we head back out the door, as Lateef begs for my utmost attention. Shawn just kept on hooping, hollering and exploding with laughter!

The auditors at the table are busy calculating numbers and enjoying the never dull first floor show. Their continual looking-up and grinning seemed to indicate some form of amusement anyway!

Bobby quietly asks, "how 'bout that note for some food?"
"Oh yeah, that's right, come with me!" We wander outside, I find security and ask them to take him to the CCO cafeteria to get him a few bags of food, where I'm sure he had another unique experience!

$123 a month certainly isn't enough to pay rent, buy food and pay for medical expenses! Today, he walked away from CCO with his rent paid and enough food to last a couple of weeks. He hopped on the "red line" blessed by the reality of receiving material help in what I now call "Hope Alley!"

Bobby spent only twenty minutes in Clifton Avenue. As he wandered away, I couldn't help, but wonder, what about everything else he saw and received? What impression did we leave on him?

As we shook hands, he said his thanks and I'll probably never see him again. Yet, it seemed to me, he enjoyed his crazy eclectic 20 minutes. He seemed to enjoy our unusual, yet very compassionate, little homeless community. He seemed blessed by the fascinating people who occupy our time and space everyday! He seemed blessed by our small minute efforts to be Jesus to the "least of these".

This day; Bobby was blessed...