Jeremy lives on the streets and has for several years. Each time I see him he is either writing or reading original material. I was very curious to hear his work. He does a reading of original work here:

Please share your thoughts about his work. A true “street poets’” only form of payment is feedback. Please share.

Cheers,

Jim

There are some common denominators among most of the homeless women I find on the street. High school drop-outs. Teen mothers. Drug abuse–particularly crack and meth. Abusive male relationships.

A lot of these women turn to some form of prostitution in order to survive. Exchanging sex for protection is common. HIV closely follows. Beatings are part of the daily routine. This is no way for anyone to live–especially women.

Imagine being a woman on the streets. No feminine hygiene products, no lipstick, no daily shower, can’t remember the last time you wore a fresh pair of panties.

Please leave your comments and share this post. Donate a couple of bucks if you can.

Teach your children well.

Jim

We walked from park to park in search of food.  It was Saturday and food was plentiful as the drive-by ministries provide free food, water and prayer for the asking.  We finally settled on some Nathan’s hot dogs, chips, bottled water, a banana, a P&J sandwich packed “to go” for later and a copy of the New Testament–compliments of the ministry of Hickory Flats. All of this was free, and not unusual fare for a Saturday on the streets.  We ate better than a lot of people that have homes, and jobs and food in the fridge. You don’t have to be hungry if you’re homeless in Atlanta. You just have to know where to look.

We ate well,we listened to some impromptu street preaching for a while and then walked some more. Walking is the primary activity of homelessness.  Danger, cops and temptation arrive when the walking stops.   We were offered all varieties of illegal drugs, we were solicited for money and cigarettes, we were stared at by passing cars and we exchanged pleasantries with quite a few other homeless people that Andre introduced me to along the way.  For such an uncivilized environment, people that we met were remarkably welcoming, friendly, and for the most part, just wanted to share a minute or two before getting on with their own lives.  We moved invisibly from street to street.  We became part of the urban street-scape–virtually un-noticed and unimportant to hundreds of passing cars.

The following video provides a unique opportunity to do something that a lot of people would like to do, but would never have the opportunity to, or more accurately, would never put themselves in a position to.  That is to talk with a homeless person.  Up close.  Get way, way closer than, “Hi, how are you?”  Here’s your chance to ask the hard questions.  What’s it like out there?  Why don’t you get a job?  How long have you been out on the streets?  Where do you go when it rains?”

The video that follows asks those questions and more.  I think you’ll find something that you didn’t expect.  Andre, like so many others that I know that live on the streets, is a highly intelligent, funny, sensitive guy.  He’s worth knowing.  He’d make a great neighbor and he does make a good friend.  Andre is somebody’s son.  He’s somebody’s brother.  He was somebody’s best friend in elementary school.  But Andre’s life, unlike most of you reading this, took an unexpected wrong turn.  Now he’s caught up in the vicious cycle of homelessness, struggling with addiction and doing whatever he needs to do just to stay alive.  He’s mastered the skills necessary to live on the street, but now he wants off.  Watch his profile and make sure you read the rest of this post for the remarkable end of our tour.

See what I mean? Likeable guy right? Check out the end of our day. Our day started early and ended late. On the way back to my truck from Safehouse we passed a young woman who was standing on the sidewalk on North Avenue. She had a son in each hand. She was clean, pretty and she smiled as we exchanged “hellos.” I have a habit sometimes of asking people that look out of place is everything is ok. It’s my natural follow-up to hello. After we said “hello” to her, we walked another 30 feet or so and I heard her voice call to us.

I’ll shorten the story and write about it in another post, but here’s the super-abridged version. She needed help. She had just escaped an abusive domestic situation and she was running away while her battering husband was at work. The only belongings she carried was what she called, “the important papers.” Id, birth certificates, and a cell phone. She needed a place to stay, and her boys, ages 3 and 4 needed some food. Right that minute. She was lucky enough to encounter Andre and me. We know people in high places that know people in low places. We went to McDonald’s and took her to a shelter. Andre walked the family inside while I rode around the block. He made sure they checked in and were safe. Andre the homeless guy. Andre the guy struggling with addiction. Andre–the guy most people would choose as the least likely person to offer her and her family safety, security, food and shelter. Andre my friend.

Andre, like so many others that live in the margins, is worth knowing. If you see him walking around, blow your horn. Say hello. Better yet, stop to have a chat.

I asked that woman what she was doing on the sidewalk. How long had she been there? What was her plan? She replied, “I’m not sure how I got there. I just stopped and prayed for a miracle.”

Maybe it was just a coincidence that Andre and I walked past her.

Maybe not.

Cheers,

Jim

Please share this post and if you can spare a couple of bucks, please hit the donate button and give. I give it right back. A couple of bucks that won’t break your bank can make someone else’s life suck just a little bit less. Thanks!

Some folks volunteer their services.

Haircuts for the asking!

Street preaching to anyone who’ll listen.

They don't pass the offering plate at this church!

New friends to be had.  Just sit on the wall.  This new friend could spin a yarn!

This is Ephrom. He was a welder until he started going blind.

There’s a guitar slinging preacher.  He’s been declared dead, went to hell–met Satan, then heaven–met God, was sent back to earth as a guardian angel of the streets and would love to tell you about it.  He has the scar to prove it.

Guitars, God and Good Old Fashioned Conversation Available Here!

And of course, no park would be complete without a token Krishna.

Hari, hari, krishna, krishna...peaceful, happy and always ready to share a meal.

By the way, one of my favorite posts on this site was about hanging with the Krishna’s.  You can see it here. Please visit–you’ll be glad you did.

All in all, a really enjoyable bunch of folks.  Unfortunately, I was reminded that not everything in downtown was roses.  I saw this under a nice shade tree.

An addict was here.

All right.  So it’s not all roses and pearls.  I’ll say this though, it’s going on a solid year since I’ve really started enjoying what urban downtown has to offer.  It’s the people that I enjoy the most.  It’s the conversations that I remember.  It’s the friendships and familiarity of so many faces that makes me feel like such a part of something really cool.  It’s right there for anyone that wants to enjoy it.  All you have to do it go outside, sit down somewhere and be ready to say “hi.”

Cheers,

Jim

True, we don’t see people standing in doorways shivering and obviously suffering like we did in February.  True, our homeless neighbors seem to fit in a little easier this time of year–wearing shorts, t-shirts and just hanging out at the park–the gray and tan layers of outerwear are gone. True, there isn’t the obvious, stark distinction between those of us who are fortunate enough to live indoors and those that don’t, but that doesn’t mean that the suffering has disappeared, or in any other way diminished.  The summer months bring on different types of needs and suffering.

Atlanta is one of the world’s most beautiful cities in the Spring.  Most of us watch the summer blooms from the safe harbor of closed windows to spare us from the onslaught of pollen and the allergies that accompany the blooms.  We retreat indoors to avoid the suffering, and if it gets to be too much, we just dose up on Claritin, or Xertic and we get immediate relief.

Well, suppose you lived outside? Suppose you lived outside all the time.  All the time outside.  In the elements. Every minute of the day and night.  Every.  Minute.  Of.  The.  Day.  Week.  And.  Month. And you too have allergies, but you don’t have the $13 bucks for the meds.  Then what?  You suffer.  No kleenex? Use your shirt.  Yeah, it’ll look snotty and dirty after a while, but you can always go buy another shirt.  Whoops.  No you can’t.  You’re homeless, and now you’re starting to look homeless.  Dirty, gray, homeless.  With a sinus headache, a runny nose, watery eyes, dirty hair, chapped lips, dry cracked skin, sore feet,  a hungry belly and no home.  Ahhhhhhh…..glorious springtime.

And those feet. God bless homeless feet. Man, they take a beating.  It’s hot.  Feet sweat.  Sweat causes blisters, foot fungus and skin disease, and unfortunatley, our homeless friends have to use these abused feet to walk around on.  Gotta keep moving.  Gotta keep moving on damaged feet.  Just change shoes and socks and give those dogs a rest, right? No, it’s never as easy on the streets as we’d like to think.  Most homeless only have one pair of shoes–usually worn out and the wrong size– and one pair of socks.  The average useful lifespan of a pair of socks on the street is about 3 weeks before they start to do more harm than good.  Can you imagine wearing the same socks for 3 weeks!?  I’ve personally given out socks to people that haven’t had a fresh pair in 4-5 months.  Their feet are damaged, and every time it rains, they get worse–and so do their shoes and socks.

What about clothing? At least there’s free clothing right?  Not nearly as much as in the cold months.  White-guilt is at it’s peak in the winter months, so donations are up.  In the warmer seasons, clothing and other desperatetly needed items are on sale at a garage sale near you on Saturdays.  T-shirts that would normally be given away or used to wash cars go on sale for $1 each.  It’s ironic the how much value is attached to what most of us would normally discard when a garage sale enters the picture.  Suddenly, everything has value.

What about simple things like chap-stick, suntan lotion, moisturizer, razors, soap, shampoo?  Nope.  Unless you or the Walgreen’s Fairy are donating these items, then our homeless neighbors will just have to do without.  What about the women?  What about feminine hygeine products?  ‘Fraid not. Sorry girls, you’re out of luck.  A couple of napkins or some toilet paper from Chevron will have to do this month.  Truly sorry.

I met a girl a couple of days ago.  She was sitting on the sidewalk on Peachtree St. Crying.  Alone.  Suffering.  Pure tradgedy. She was young, white, bruised, high on crack and had just been beaten and raped the night before. She lives on the streets.  She thought it would be safe to sleep outside since it was nice out.  Brutal. My God, we must do something.  Anything.  We just simply cannot sit idly by and let this happen.  We cannot do nothing in good conscience. Hundreds of people walked past her.  She was invisible to them. All she wanted at that moment was some relief.  We can provide at least some relief, if only on a base level.  It matters. It counts.

What can you do? Give, and more importantly this time of year, know what to give and to whom.  Give t-shirts, shorts, shoes, socks.  Give toiletries, underwear, razors and lotion.  Give away all those little shampoos and lotions that you got from hotels and will never really use.  Give money to organizations that help those most at risk who are living on the margins just trying to survive the day.  Save your canned goods. There are some 33 places to get a free meal in Atlanta.  Our homeless are not hungry.

Here are two places where your donations and support will immediately and directly go to those in need.  Church on the Street, and Open Door Community.  If you’re not comfortable doing that, then reach for your wallet and hit the donate button on this web-site.  I give every penny I raise on this site to these organizations.  If you have stuff and you don’t know what to do with it, contact me and I’ll arrange to have it picked up.

Give a damn.  It doesn’t hurt at all.

Cheers,

Jim

My audience was diverse. Black, white, male,female…as young as 6 years old to as old as 70. The street does not discriminate. My audience lives on the streets, but was interested in taking the time to listen to, and to discuss a poem. Think about that the next time you try to avoid contact with someone that’s lying on a piece of cardboard in a park.  That’s a person with a brain lying there.

The word “Invictus” is from the Greek term invincible. The theme of the poem is about the will to survive while facing dire and seemingly impossible circumstances. The author, William Ernest Henley, had one of his legs amputated due to tuberculosis. He was faced with the prospect of losing his second leg when he penned this poem.

INVICTUS

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley

After reading the poem, we had a discussion. My homeless audience could certainly relate to Mr.Henley’s dire circumstances–they each have their own dire circumstances to deal with. My homeless audience could also relate to being “bludgeoned and bloody by circumstance.” Life on the street does not come without scars. My homeless audience engaged completely and understood my interpretation of the poem as it related to them.

My message to my homeless friends was simple: Your body can, has and will continue to take a beating as your life continues. Your body can heal from the physical wounds; however, within that body that you’re carting around, resides your soul, so be a little bit more careful about where you take it. Avoid the “horrors of the shade” and walk a straighter, narrower path. Being the “master of my fate” and the “captain of my soul” carries a responsibility. Be a better caretaker of your soul and have the courage to face each day with your head lifted–never bowed to your circumstance.

My homeless friends and I made an amazing connection. I struggled with my emotions as I read and  thought about the “clutch of circumstance” of each and every audience member.  I know quite a few of these people personally and am familiar with their struggles. I care about them.  Luckily for me, emotional exchanges are welcome at the Retreat From the Streets.

After I concluded our discussion, we shook hands, we hugged, and went our separate ways.  I drove away.  They walked away.

While I may be the Captain of my soul, I never lose sight that God is my co-pilot.

Please share this post, and as always, your comments are encouraged and appreciated.

Cheers,

Jim

Most of the people I speak with are guys like the one in this picture.  Double click for a real close look.

Think about what he's thinking about.

Or this one.

The branch in his hand makes him invisible...just part of the landscape.

Or this one.

He's praying, not sleeping.

Or her.

Alone in a city with five million people.

Or her.

Just thinking about the way things used to be.

You get the picture.

You don’t have to feed or clothe them.  It’s not your responsibility to fix them.  Just remember that they’re somebody’s son or daughter.  They were children at one time.  Maybe you rode bikes with them.  Maybe, just maybe, there’s a connection.

Here’s all I want you to do.  Just say “good morning.”  Just acknowledge their existence.  Smile.  Remember they’re human.  Help them have at least one moment in their day that makes their day suck just a little bit less.

Your comments are always welcome and appreciated, as are your donations.  Please share this post.

Cheers!

Jim

Suppose God were to create a modern day Job. I think his life might go something like this:

Let’s call our guy Joshua, and let’s throw everything at him.  We’ll start with the parents.  We’ll make his father a member of the Outlaws Motorcycle gang, and we’ll give Mom a drug addiction.  That’s a tough start. Looks like Joshua might have to raise himself.  Joshua does have an important adult relationship with his grandfather who helps guide Joshua.  Too bad.  A drunk driver kills off his Grandfather at the age of 12.  Joshua starts drinking to mask his pain and becomes a 12 year old alcoholic.

At 14, we’ll introduce Joshua to drugs.  All of them.  And to make the challenge more interesting, we’re going to give Joshua an addictive personality so that he becomes an addict. Remember, he’s already an alcoholic.  Let’s introduce him to pot–that’s an easy little gateway drug right?  Okay, pots not enough.  How about heroin, coke, crack, meth, LSD and every other fucking drug you can think of.  Mission accomplished.  At 14 Joshua becomes a drug addict and an alcoholic.

Joshua’s going to need easy access to all of those drugs, so let’s get him in a gang.  A big one.  One you’ve heard of.  Use your imagination here.  Joshua’s going to be a drug dealer, a gang banger and he’ll regularly participate in drive-by shootings. At this point, there’s not much use for school, so Joshua quits.

Here’s a great idea for his 16th birthday.  We’re gonna have him shot. Yep.  Joshua gets shot on his 16th birthday. By a friend.  Shot.  Some kids get a car for their 16th…Joshua takes a bullet.  Happy Birthday!  Joshua heals and continues his drinking and drugging ways. One day, Joshua gets epically fucked-up on speed balls, crank and LSD.  He was 17.  Remember he’s in a gang.  Gang members pack heat. Okay, so here he is minding his own business, high as shit and guess who walks by?  Yep.  You guessed right.  The guy who shot him on his 16th birthday.  What does Joshua do?  He walks across the street to the guy, says “remember me?”, and blows the guys brains out right there in the street.  Street justice.

Joshua ends up in jail and earns his street name–Six–for the 6 felony murder charges he was facing.  He ends up getting acquitted on the murder charges and gets out of prison.  Joshua hangs with a really rough crowd and ends up back in prison.  He serves a couple of 5 year terms and at 31 years old, has spent the last 10 years in prison.  One day while in prison, Joshua gets high and drunk.  He gets so fucked up that he is unable to walk.  Some of his friends inside take him to the chapel and dump him on a pew where he could sober up. The prison minister that day is a member of Hells Angels.  Remember, Joshua’s dad was an Outlaw, so this guy is an arch enemy.  Joshua makes a half-assed attempt to make sense of what’s being said.  Suddenly, Joshua experiences a moment of clarity.  He stands up and confronts the Hells Angels minister.

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make me sober.  I was so fucked up 10 minutes ago that my friends had to carry me in here and drop me off. I literally couldn’t walk.  What is it that you’ve got?”

“God.”

That was the moment that defines who Joshua is today. From that moment onward Joshua began to straighten out his life. He completed his GED while in prison and began studying the bible.  He’s out of prison now, and has a desire to speak to at-risk youths, to keep them from going through the hell that has been his life. They’re likely not as strong as Joshua and they may not survive.  Hearing Joshua speak would be a blessing to at risk-teens.  I have no doubt about that whatsoever.

But God wasn’t done testing Joshua yet. Joshua broke his hip in a parking lot and had to have a partial hip replacement. He’s unable to do the honest work that he used to do in sober moments–construction. He’s applied for disability, but that’s a bureaucratic waiting game. Despite this set-back, his will is strong and he’s staying clean, sober and determined.

Meet Joshua:

I’ve met Joshua several times now and have spent hours just listening to him talk about his ex-life. His story is compelling. At risk-youths would benefit from hearing him speak.

I like Joshua. I’m a fan. He’s lived against all odds and is determined to rise above his previous insanely challenging circumstances. He could go home and get off the streets, but he’d have to live with a meth addict. That’s not an option. 

Think about the predicament he’s in. Not everybody that’s on the streets had a fair shot from the get-go, and frankly, not everyone on the streets is making any effort to get off. This guy’s trying hard. He has a purpose, the desire and the will to make it.  He’s surrounded himself with real friends that help one another stay the course.

Put Joshua in your prayers.

Your comments are appreciated. Please share this post.

Cheers,

Jim

You’re partially right if that’s your profile.  There are people on the streets that are exactly like that.  There are some others that aren’t.

I want to show you something that I guarantee you will surprise you.  I’m going to introduce you to someone I’ve met that lives on the streets.  She’s…that’s right, I did say she...she’s intelligent, sweet, honest, clean, pretty and an all around good person.  She’s just completed a job-training program and is looking for work.  She’s been on the streets since last September.

When you meet her, I want you to think about this vulnerable woman living outside in the freezing cold, rain, and sleet.  I want you to think about the dangers she encounters everyday in her quest to just survive–the real addicts, thugs, and street criminals that see her as a target. I want you to be aware that there’s no money in her pocket, no refrigerator full of food, no permanent shelter and no apparent end in sight to her homelessness.  I want you to think about how in the hell did a nice girl like her end up on the street.  Then, I want you to give me a dollar.  That’s what it costs to see her video.

Her name is Rachelle and she’s an angel. I’ve met her many times and every time, there’s a smile.  She has an unbreakable will to rise above her situation.  You should care that she’s out on the streets.  Get your wallet ready.  Here’s her video.

Why do I want a dollar? I want to give it to the organization that provides a safe haven for her during the day. The organization that provides her with a warm meal every day. I want you to help me help her and other people like her. It’s easy. Just hit the donate button and give me a dollar. You can give more if you’d like–I won’t be pissed off.  Here’s the other option: hit this link and go to their web-site.  You can give directly to them and see what they do.

It’s only a friggin’ dollar.  Gimme one so that I can give it to someone else.

Your comments are always appreciated.  It’s easy.  See below.

Cheers,

Jim

One day back in February, my boss decided to take me to lunch.  This was an unexpected pleasure.  I like my boss and I like to eat.  I did however, bring my lunch to work that day.  Usually I remember to take my leftovers and place them next to the trash can so that someone that needs the food more than I will pick it up.  I forgot that day.

I was driving home on Ralph McGill Blvd.  It was raining and it was bitter cold.  I saw a man walking slowly up the sidewalk.  I could tell he was homeless.  I know the signs.  It was trash day and people had their trashcans out by the curb.  This man was digging in them trying to find food. 

Shit.  It was raining and it was cold.  It would be much easier to keep driving.  Something came over me as I passed that man, and I drove down the street and looked for a place to turn my giant truck around.  I remember thinking, “giving should take some effort.”  Well, this did.  I turned around and pulled over.  Got out, grabbed my lunch and walked up the sidewalk in the rain.  “Yuck.  Damn it’s cold I thought to myself.  This sucks.”

I approached the man.  He was startled.  Here he was minding his own business and some crazy white guy gets out of a truck in the rain and is chasing him up the sidewalk.  He probably thought I was a cop.

“Sir.” I said.  “Would you like some food?  I didn’t get a chance to eat it today, but I’m not hungry.  Here, you can have it.”

He looked to be around 70, but you can never tell as the streets age those that live on them  prematurely.  He looked tired, worn.  Leather black skin.  His clothes were wet, old and gray.  I opened my brown bag and handed him a sandwich, a banana, a granola bar, yogurt,a spoon and a fresh pair of socks.  He looked confused.  I smiled at him and said “I hope you enjoy it.  Go find someplace dry and eat.”  I turned and started back to my truck.

“Wait.” he said.  I turned around and his eyes were welled up with tears.  “Can I have a hug?”  

“Absolutely.”  I said.  I walked to him and hugged him in the rain.  He hugged me hard.  He took comfort in my arms.  We stepped back and exchanged a meaningful stare.   We had just shared a big moment together.

“Did God send you?” he asked.

I thought about that for a moment.

“Yes, I suppose he did.”

Cheers,

Jim

A moment of peace, please.

If you don’t enjoy seeing homeless addicts on the street, then throw a few bones to these guys.  They’re not self-funding and a small donation goes a long, long way.

Dear Cocaine,

When I first met you I thought you were a recreational drug. So, then I decided to get to know you better. What I think I liked about you was, that you were there through the good times and the bad. But, then the more I got to know you things changed. Not just you had changed but me also. My addiction for you started causing me pain and suffering. You remember when we hook-up at 10:00 o’clock that evening and partyed all night and I told you I had to be at work first thing in the morning and you had other plans. So, I agreed and missed work and got fired. And, as a result I couldn’t pay my rent and got evicted. But, I didn’t turn my back on you. I gave you another chance. Do you know my sick love for you caused me financial problems, legal issues, and family pressured me to stop seeing you. So, I am writing this letter to say it’s over. You have been destructive to me and my well being. I wished I never met you. But, today through the faith I have in Jesus Christ, I hope you will never destroy another persons life ever again.

JB

Tough stuff.  Your comments are always welcome.  You can help these guys with a small donation here.

Cheers,

 

Jim

 

 

 

Lucky Guy! He has plastic!

Wrong.

It’s raining today. It’s going to rain all day and all night. Me–I’m going inside, but you? You chose to live outside, remember? So, maybe you can just go to a shelter and stay dry. Actually, no you can’t. You have to be out of the shelter by 7:30am along with your 400+ temporary shelter-mates–rain or shine. How ’bout a library? Nope. Not an option. Okay, maybe you just find a doorway, or some steps, or maybe a bridge underpass. Shit. None of this sounds like fun anymore.

Face it. Some days it’s going to rain while you’re out here. I’d be wary of going under a bridge to stay dry. You weren’t there first, and the folks that were aren’t very welcoming. Seeking shelter under a bridge is a great way to get your ass kicked, get mugged, raped if you’re a woman, or killed. Beware of the people under the bridge.

You’re just going to have to tough it out. There’s going to be a downside to each and every rainy day. Here it is. You’re going to get wet. So are your clothes. So are your shoes. So are your socks. No problem, just change clothes, right? Wrong. You’re homeless and you don’t have a spare pair of anything.  By the way, you’re going to stay wet long after the rain has stopped.

Going barefoot! Good idea! Not.

Staying wet starts to get to you after a while–especially your feet. No matter what the temperature, your feet feel cold and they get swollen. And you have to keep walking so that you don’t get arrested for loitering. ( Funny how that works. I could stand in the same spot all day long without a cop even noticing me, but you can’t–you’re homeless, and cops don’t like homeless people.  They like to arrest homeless people.)

You can feel the blisters starting to form. Your shoes, which weren’t the right size to begin with because you got them from a mission, start to get really heavy. It’s a labor to walk. Shit, this hurts. Don’t worry. After you’ve been out here for a while the blisters will turn to calluses.  Today, your feet and legs will just get numb and they’ll stay that way as long as your shoes, socks and pants are wet–usually a couple of days.

Your pants are wet up to your knees. Splash!! That’s what you get for walking too close to the road. Drivers love to splash homeless. Now you’re soaked. Sucks being homeless today.

Looks like somebody could use a fresh pair of socks!!

This is exactly why I carry around a bag full of dry socks. They’re $6 bucks for a bag of 10 at Walmart. I get the white ankle socks. I give them directly to the homeless, but I don’t want you to necessarily do that. It can be dangerous. Instead, give them to a mission or a shelter or to me.

This one kind gesture will make someone’s life suck a little bit less–even if for a couple of hours.

I invite your comments.

Cheers!

Jim

The purpose was to spend some time being with some of our homeless neighbors, share some cake, some coffee and just treat them like human beings that matter.  I frequently do this on my own.  I give out socks and granola bars whenever I can.

I asked Pastor Andy Odle what would make this morning a success.  “If you make a connection that’s meaningful.” he replied.  I set out to do just that.

Pastor Andy Odle Presiding Over His Parish

A mess of a man walked up the sidewalk.  He was wearing red sweat pants, a wife-beater t-shirt, a dirty winter coat, no socks and his aroma arrived before he did.  He was extremely shy.  I introduced myself, offered him a fresh pair of socks, some cake, some coffee and most importantly, a real conversation.  His name was Matthew.

Matthew’s story, like so many others, was tragic beyond comprehension to those of us that reside in the safe, insulated and curtained ‘burbs.  I didn’t care what his story was.  I cared that he was a human being and was hurting.  We shared stories and became friends.

I introduced him to a friend of mine, Gary Tucker–Director of Retreat from the Street.    Gary offered Matthew some prayer and some tough love.  Matthew was ready to receive both.

GaryTucker-His Brother's Keeper and Finder of Lost Children

I got a phone call from Gary this morning that literally brought me to tears.  Matthew has been visiting Retreat From the Street every day since Saturday.  He’s been clothed and fed. This morning Matthew was admitted to a drug rehab program with the help of the Gateway Center. After Matthew completes his rehab, he is eligible for residency in a half-way house and job-training.

Matthew is on his way to being off the streets and out of your backyard!

This happened because we treated Matthew like a whole human-being whose life mattered.  We offered friendship–not judgment.  If we had not been in the park Saturday, today Matthew would be continuing to struggle with a life that was spiraling down hill.  He’d still be living on the streets fighting to survive in conditions that most of us can’t imagine.

I’m no bible-thumper and I don’t attend church.  I keep my beliefs close to my vest, but sometimes, events are obvious.  This doesn’t feel like an accident or a coincidence.

Enter God.

The program that made this possible for Matthew could use a couple of your dollars.  Let’s start with $1.  You can spare a buck.  If you can’t, let me know and I’ll give you one of mine.  Hit this link for Church on the Street and/or this link for the Gateway Center–both really important and worthy organizations that need our help.  Hit the donate button on their web page.  Don’t even think about it.  Do it.  Right now.

There’s something else I need you to do.  Please forward this post to your friends–better yet, post on your facebook.

Your comments are always appreciated.

Cheers!

Jim

I spent some time with some chronic, hard-core homeless men on the street recently. (DO NOT DO THIS–IT IS EXTREMELY DANGEROUS)  Here’s what they told me their life is like.

Suppose you decided to go camping.  You do this because you just lost your job and you have some extra time on your hands before you get back on your feet.  Ahhhh!  The great outdoors calls!  Sounds like a lot of fun.  Only this time, you can’t take your tent or your camping gear.  And, you’re going to camp in the city–downtown.  And it’s illegal to camp downtown, but you have to do it anyway.  Oh yeah, you can’t take any extra clothes with you.  Or money.  Or food.  Or ID.

On your first day, you mostly wander around looking for a place to camp.  There are a lot of other campers around so there must be plenty of places, right, and I’m sure they’re all friendly and will be willing to help you out, right?  Wrong.

You’ve been at this for around 8 hours and your feet are starting to hurt from walking on concrete all day.  Forgot… you don’t have another pair of shoes–that sucks.

Duct-taped shoes suck!

You also start to get hungry and thirsty.  Whoops!  No money.  Now what?  You get really, really hungry.  Hungry enough that you ask a stranger for a few bucks.  The first stranger ignores you and keeps walking.  You ask a second stranger who tells you to fuck off and go get a job.  Okay, maybe you can stop camping if you get a job.  Oh yeah, no ID.  No address either.  Can’t get a job with no ID and no address.

It’s getting dark and you’re really tired.  A couple from Decatur in a beat-up Volvo stop and offer you a blanket and some saltines.  They make you pray with them.  They leave and you look for a place to sleep.  There are a lot of other campers walking around.  They all have plastic bags.  The camper in you says to sleep in the park under a tree.  You curl up with your blanket and eat your saltines.  You eventually fall asleep.  You’re awakened by another camper who’s kicking you in the head.  Hard.  “Where’s your shit?” he demands.  You have no idea what he’s talking about.  He kicks you again and takes your blanket.  Not a good night so far.

A dangerous nap in the park

You have to take a crap.  No bathroom in sight.  You go to McDonald’s to go to the bathroom.  “Get out!  If you’re not buying anything then get out!  No campers allowed!”  the manager screams at you.  You go to the convenience store.  Same thing.  No campers allowed.  You have to go really bad, so you walk behind the dumpster out back and take a crap behind it.  This is also against the law and eventually you’ll probably get arrested for doing this, but no public or private businesses will let you use their bathrooms.  No toilet paper.  Too bad.  You smell food in the dumpster and you start looking through trash bags.  You find a half-eaten cheese-burger and take a bite.  Under the circumstances, this tastes wildly delicious.  Suddenly, you’re hit in the back of the head with a board by another camper.  “Get the fuck out of my dumpster, mother-fucker.”    You try to run, but you can’t, so you walk as fast as you can.  To nowhere.  You didn’t realize that campers own the dumpsters.  Your head hurts badly and you’re cut.  Nothing life-threatening, but the blood is getting sticky in your hair.  You might have a concussion.

You stayed up all night, you lost your blanket and got your ass beat twice.  Welcome to the campground.  You have about 48 more hours to get better at this or you’ll die or be killed.  You find a small group of campers outside a church.  One of them is sleeping on some cardboard.

The others are sitting in a stairwell.  Each of them has a styrofoam plate with food.  “Where’d you get that?” you ask.  They point to the back of the church.  “You missed it.  They done serving today.  They gonna serve again on Saturday.”  Today’s Wednesday.  You’re really hungry.   “You want some of this?” one of the other campers holds up a plate with mac and cheese and collard greens on it.  “Yes” you reply.  “C’mon then.”  The camper motions for you to come up the steps and behind a makeshift wall of cardboard.  You reluctantly go up there with him.  The camper pulls his cock out.  “I don’t understand” you say.  The other campers laugh at you.  “Suck my dick.  You want this food, then you suck my dick.”  He explains that “sucking dick” is a form of currency on the campground.  You want some food, or better yet–protection while you sleep?  Then you’re going to have to come to grips with sucking dick.

You reluctantly suck some dick for the first time.  No need to go into more detail.  It starts to rain.  Another camper asks if you want to stay dry on the stairwell with them. Guess what that’s going to cost you.

This is the reality of homelessness, and this story was described to my by a man named Joshua who’s been on the streets for about 8 months now.  I have much more to share, and I will in coming posts.

Here’s the irony.  The people on the street all have one singular focus:  Stay alive another day with the lowest amount of bullshit possible.  Yeah, they have a strange currency, but their mission is the same.  The ones that aren’t drunks or junkies are proud of who they are.  They’re just in a fucked-up mess that’s really tough to get out of.  The clean and sober ones have each others’ backs and are approachable.  They want to share their stories.  They want us to remember who they were, and they badly want to be that person again.  We need to help them.

Here’s the bottom line.  I’ve spent time with these people.  They were all somebody’s little boy or girl at one point.  They were your school-mates and neighbors.  We rode bikes with them.  They had lives, but they hit a shit-pile of bad luck.  Some are ex-convicts, some are drug addicts and most “self-medicate” with alcohol.  But all of them are humans and are hurting. You can help them.

Quit giving your stuff to Goodwill and Salvation Army.  Give to a shelter or a mission that gives your donations directly to the people that need it most.  You’ve got 5 pairs of Nikes in your closet.  Screw your stupid garage sale.  Do you really need to sell them for $2?  Here’s what I’d like you to do.  I want you to gather up 6 pairs of shoes–especially men’s shoes.  Then I want you to look through your closet and stuff a bag full of clothes and put it in your car.  Drive your car to a Homeless Mission and selflessly give your stuff away.  I personally like the Clifton Sanctuary Mission on CT. Ave off of McClendon and the Open Door Community on Ponce across from Fellini’s.  Your donations go directly to the people that need your stuff.

Homeless Joe asked me this morning, “What’s the greatest nation in the world?  DoNation!” he replied.  “What’s the greatest city?  Generocity!” he replied.  I know times are tough for all of us.  I’m not asking for your money–just stuff you don’t use or need anymore that can make a difference for someone else.

Contact me if you have stuff and don’t know where to take it.  I’ll pick it up and take it for you, or tell you where to go.

Sorry for the super long post.

Karma.

Abeerforbreakfast

Ping site

Granted, Lot and his daughters had a really rough go of it since God sent two Angels to destroy their most recent hometown–Sodom.  It didn’t make matters any better that Lot’s wife died a horrible death and was turned into a pillar of salt as they fled the hell-fire unleashed on Sodom.  I’m sure the despair was devastating.  

Anyway, Lot and his daughters ended up in Zoar–a nearby town that was spared destruction by the Angels for the express purpose of being the sanctuary for Lot and his daughters.  Lot actually negotiated with the Angels to spare Zoar.  The Angels gave in and Lot had a safe place to flee to.  Lot didn’t get along with the people of Zoar, in fact, he feared them–so he and his two virgin daughters fled to the hills.  Caves to be precise.  Questionable choice if you ask me.

Here’s where things take a very uncomfortable turn.  The daughters–after living in the caves for a while with their Dad, Lot–come to the conclusion that they’re never going to be around other people again.  That means they’ll never marry and the family name has come to a dead end.  Put aside the fact that they fled from a town that wasn’t destroyed.  There were people there!  Men.  Men with sperm!

Enter incest.

The oldest daughter has this crazy proposition for the younger daughter.  “Let’s have sex with Dad!”  (Genesis 19:32)  “Better yet, let’s get him drunk first, then have sex with him!  Then we can have sons and carry on the family name!” 

“You first,” replied the youngest daughter. 

No problem.  The oldest daughter got her Dad so loaded on wine that he passed out.  She had sex with him and he never knew it.  She told her little sister what she had done.  “I had sex with Dad last night.  You’re up next tonight.” 

The youngest daughter complied.  She too, got Lot so blasted that he passed out again from the wine.  She, like her older sister, climbs on top of her Dad, has sex with him and goes back to her sister.  Lot, again, doesn’t realize he’s had sex with another virgin daughter.

Both the daughters become pregnant and bear sons.  One was named “Moab” which loosely translated means “from my father.  The second son was “Ben-amimi” which is “son of my relative.  Lot spoke the language.  He knew what the names meant.  Wow.

There are several points that are disturbing here, not the least of which is the incest.  First of all, it’s been my experience that if I were so drunk I was passed out–no boner is coming along anytime soon.  So, the obvious question is “was Lot really unaware that he was having sex with his daughters?” 

Second, both daughters were virgins.  We know that because he offered his “two virgin daughters” to a rape-hungry rabble in Sodom the night before the Angels obliterated it,  and everyone that stayed behind.  On another note, sex with a virgin takes some effort.  How’d he get this done passed out drunk?  Hmmmm? 

Third, there’s no mention of Lot ever questioning how his new sons/grandsons came to be.  I don’t know about you, but I’d be pretty curious about how my daughters got knocked up in the middle of nowhere, with no one else in sight.  And what about the names?  “C’mon Lot, you had to know something was up with a name like Moab, right?”

There’s apparently no repercussion for this act, as Lot and his daughters appear to live happily ever after.

Justifiable incest?  I’d love to know your thoughts!

Cheers!