Please Know...

As I come to know these fine people, they share with me more of their personal and sensitive stories. Their collective story is what I am trying to share with you as my way of breaking the stereotypical beliefs that exist. "Blog names" have occasionally been given to me by the person whose story I am telling. Names are never their actual names and wherever I can do so, I might use the opposite pronoun (his/her, etc.) just to help increase their privacy.


Sunday, August 5, 2018

Thank you, Beth.

What I am about to share, I do so with no sense of inflated ego nor pride nor any other such viewpoint in this life.  I share this with you out of a pure and humbled heart that our God and LORD has allowed me to come alongside men and women, addicted, homeless, relatives thereof and dealers thereto and been able to share with them to the best of my feeble ability the simple and profound fact of facts that the King of the universe adores them for being exactly who they are: His beloved children!

Before I continue on much farther, I need to explain to you that today's activities are bathed in the light of an apparent stalker/rapist/murderer who has claimed the lives of at least two women on the street and nearly claimed the life by severe choking of one woman I've written about extensively in this blog series.  These are the street facts of the situation.  The factual reality facts are possibly different but basically the same.  The street understood facts are the facts that set the lighting and tone for what plays out on this real life stage for the men and women of Emerald City and the Frankford Avenue Bridge Community (not to mention the other pockets of such communities that I've not yet visited nor mentioned in this blog series).

Having been visiting these communities for over a year now, previously distant men and women have begun opening their lives to me in ways I would never have imagined months ago.  As you read that last sentence, you're probably assuming that I mean the addicted and homeless people of these communities.  Yes. That's what I mean.  Much to my surprise, I also mean, albeit to a lesser extent, the men and women who run the drug distribution process in these communities. 

It's one thing to hear a man or woman describe their pain and why they consume what they consume.  It's another thing altogether to hear a man or woman explain why they distribute what they distribute and as they acknowledge their recognized reality that they play a part in burying your sons and daughters.  And yet, there I am, in some roll I never would have guessed ten years ago when I moved back here that I would be a listening ear focusing on the anguish of the addicted and their dealers.

Now hold those thoughts as I switch gears and share with you a very tiny segment of today's events…

Thanks to Beth, a friend here in Delaware County, I've discovered that I can buy a case of bananas (60 - 70 total) for $11.50 at Produce Junction on Chichester Avenue in -Umm - Chichester, Pa. (That's a great place to put such an aptly named avenue!).  That's ridiculously cheap!  I've purchased three cases so far for my typical distribution. 

It got me thinking…

If I can buy these bananas for such a great price, can I resell these bananas at my cost to a willing lady who's at increased risk of assault, rape and murder and she, in turn, sell them to passersby on a street corner, earn $50.00 profit and not need to go out on one or two dates, which may unintendedly be with the current Kensington Stalker?

I figured it was worth the $11.50 gamble.  I bought one more case than what I needed and presented the idea to several ladies throughout this day.  I first thought of the woman who suffers from a non-addiction related medical issue that does not even permit her to date due to extreme pain that ravages her body.  When I found her, she was desperately dope sick and more concerned with messing her pants than selling bananas so as to raise funds for the purchase of her medicine.

"Dear LORD, please show me who these bananas should be entrusted to."  I prayed.

Shortly after that prayer, the most petite resident of Emerald and Frankford meandered past me wearing a street length long flowing black elegant summer gown.  She was carrying her all too typical rather oversized purse in preparation for her long night of back to back probably scheduled dates.  I'd seen her maybe one other time. 

This blog is getting a bit long so allow me to summarize…

"Hi, most petite daughter of your heartbroken parents and frightened family.  Would you like to sell a case of bananas and cancel a couple of those dates tonight?"

"Sounds great!  If I can't sell them, I'll make smoothies.  Either way, I'll be giving you $11.50 on Tuesday."

Why did this sound slightly reminiscent of days in my childhood long since past?


She returned to her tent so as to inject one last dose of her medicine in order to numb her mind and body to the anguish of selling herself to 'men' who don't give a rip about her as a human.  After several attempts of sticking the needle into her hand at the base of her thumb,[1] she needed to dispose of that first dose (a $5.00 per packet cost and I don't know how many packets were represented in that syringe.)  of heroin because her own blood had clotted firmly in the tube.

I brought the case of bananas to her tent that she shared with a man who is or was involved in some aspect of the drug distribution process.  I explained to him what the idea was for this case.  He liked the idea and thanked me for caring about the dangers the ladies of the community face on an hourly basis each and every day.

Shortly thereafter, I said my goodbyes and made my way home.  As I was leaving, she was still trying to find a vein for her medicine.

Will she sell or smoothie those bananas?  If she makes a profit and avoids one or two dates, will they have been dates with the current Kensington Stalker who would have raped and/or killed her? 

Only Heaven knows…

I'm just thankful to our LORD that I've been able to be a part of this journey. 

And, by the way, you may have saved a life tonight so I need to say:

Thank you, Beth.



[1] You try doing that some day!  That would hurt beyond words and yet she needs to do so multiple times each day.

No comments:

Post a Comment