I was with a prostitute tonight.

I was with a prostitute tonight and it was a lot like visiting friends in the servant's courtiers of Downton Abbey.

Actually, I was with several prostitutes tonight and it was a lot like visiting friends in the servant's courtiers of Downton Abbey.

Allow me to explain...

Here I was, as part of my reaching out to the homeless and addicted men and women of Kensington, under a bridge with a sidewalk loaded with mattresses that these people call home.  It was early evening and many but not all of the young ladies of the community were preparing themselves in dress and makeup for their income producing hours that lay ahead.  

There was one, someone's daughter in her mid-twenties, who shared with me that another who had just walked past us had saved her life with a dose of Narcan and a round of CPR not long ago.  I sat on one mattress that was neatly made up as a dignified bed as if expecting company while this young lady shared with me some of her personal stories.  (These blogs are becoming a challenge to write in that I know I  must maintain anonymity while being accurate in my "story" telling.)

As she shared some of her life story, she was having a terrible time staying awake.  I suggested that she lay back and just close her eyes for the night.  The fact that some unknown guy was already asleep on that same mattress was, for all intents and purposes, irrelevant.  "I can't." she stated...  I need four to five hundred dollars a day to support my drug habit."  She wobbled back and forth on the side of that sidewalk-bound mattress as she contemplated waking up enough to throw on some makeup and a dress and go allow herself to be bought for an hour (a few times over) by some "man" who doesn't give one iota about her as being the child of God that she is...  "If you're going to be with us Chris, you've got to get used to this." she encouraged.  Rather than debate the point, I decided to quietly get up from where I was sitting on the neighboring mattress in hopes that she would fade away into the night for some much-needed sleep.

Here's why I felt like I was visiting friends in the servant's courtiers of Downton Abbey.  When someone hires a prostitute, in and of itself and setting aside the issues of morality for a moment, there is some degree of neatness, tidiness, cleanness, attractiveness, attributes that would entice the customer to buy the product or service.  This is the upstairs areas of the Abbey. Seeing the "servant's courtiers" aspect of this was to see the women in their home environment, living and sleeping and eating under a railroad bridge, tending to discretely disguised or hidden wounds, injecting heroin to give them the boost they need to perform their sex acts while simultaneously deadening their emotions to the sadness and disgust that they feel for themselves as they perform those acts on men who don't give a rip about them as human beings.

Other aspects of the Servant's Courtiers...

I stepped over to a group of older men.  One promised that he and his wife would be joining me for worship at Urban Hope.  Others in this cluster of men expressed thankfulness that I had delivered water and sorrow that they missed the dinner provided by Urban Hope right outside the large bank building at the corner of Kensington and Allegheny Avenues. 

Further up the line of mattresses that line this sidewalk, just north of the "No Shooting up under the bridge." sign, four women were preparing their syringes for their next round of heroin.  Two didn't want to talk to me while two were open to conversation.  I encouraged them to visit Urban Hope...

Oh dear...  This story never really ends... It's 11:30 pm and I'll be back there in about nine hours...  I better get some sleep.

Tell Your Heart to Beat Again

Tell Your Heart to Beat Again

Since becoming involved with the homeless and addicted men and women of Kensington, I've seen two people, one man and one woman cry in utter unparalleled agony of their situation. 

The first time I witnessed this, it was a man about 40 years old.  He was sitting on a box at the corner of Aramingo and York.  He was sobbing uncontrollably.  His whole body was heaving not in the physical sickness of his addiction but with the emotional and spiritual trauma in his soul.  I asked him what was wrong and he looked at me and said this:

"My Mother came and visited me here on the street yesterday.

She balled me out for wasting my life in my addiction."

I spoke with him briefly but words seemed to run off him like water off a duck's back.  He was inconsolable in that moment.  I didn't see him for maybe a week until there he was, at the same corner asking drivers for change.  He brightened up when he saw me and said that he'd found a job and was starting in about three days.  He just needed to be on the street until his first paycheck.  About a month later, I was sitting in my car in a Rite Aid parking lot on the north end of Aramingo Avenue when this man, with a smile on his face, was riding a bicycle, seemingly to or from his work place.  I've not seen him since and simply pray that life is working out and that he is allowing his heart to beat again.

On June 17th, I toured "The Tracks" with several people from Urban Hope.  At the end of that tour, I witnessed something in real time that my protected life had never seen before.  About a hundred feet from me, I saw a young woman injecting herself with heroin.  My heart hurt for her as I thought that she is someone's daughter.

In the minutes that followed, this young woman had come close to our group and I spoke with her about how much my heart hurt in watching her do that.  She became very embarrassed, apologized and said that she hates doing this and wants to stop but can't.  Before our time was done that day, she, a man she was with and I prayed together for her healing that she claimed to want.

I didn't see her for about a month until she resurfaced last week under a railroad bridge in the community that I've recently written about.  Again, she emphatically stated to me that she wants out of this lifestyle.  She asked me if she could borrow my cell phone to call her dad.  She sat in the back seat of my van where she had some degree of privacy from the other members of her community.  The agony in her soul, just like the man weeks earlier, poured out in her tears that flowed down her cheeks.  At one point, she was screaming at her dad, not in anger at him but with anger at herself.  

After that call, we developed a plan for her to go to detox.  That plan did not work out as I had hoped.  In a follow-up conversation with this young woman two days ago, she continued to emphasize her desire to get cleaned up from her drugs and have a better life.

It has now been about five days since she spoke to her father on my phone.  I've had the privilege of texting and talking with him as well.  It is obvious that this man loves his daughter.  He prays for God's protection and healing in her life just as I did with her weeks earlier.  

The love of a mother for her son lost in addiction...  

The love of a father for his daughter lost in addiction...

The former found healing.

The latter is still searching

and so close to finding.

As I type this, it is Saturday morning.  I will be under that railroad bridge visiting with this community of men, women and at least one fetal child in a few hours.  I pray, and I ask you to pray, that I will find this young lady.  If I do, we will talk for a bit and I will give her a sheet of paper with the following lyrics.  Her new future, like the thousands of other human beings trapped in addiction, is one small decision and one giant dose of God enhanced determination away from reality.  

Tell Your Heart to Beat Again

You're shattered

Like you've never been before

The life you knew

In a thousand pieces on the floor

And words fall short in times like these

When this world drives you to your knees

You think you're never gonna get back

To the you that used to be

Tell your heart to beat again

Close your eyes and breathe it in

Let the shadows fall away

Step into the light of grace

Yesterday's a closing door

You don't live there anymore

Say goodbye to where you've been

And tell your heart to beat again

Beginning

Just let that word wash over you

It's alright now

Love's healing hands have pulled you through

So get back up, take step one

Leave the darkness, feel the sun

'Cause your story's far from over

And your journey's just begun

Tell your heart to beat again

Close your eyes and breathe it in

Let the shadows fall away

Step into the light of grace

Yesterday's a closing door

You don't live there anymore

Say goodbye to where you've been

And tell your heart to beat again

Let every heartbreak

And every scar

Be a picture that reminds you

Who has carried you this far

'Cause love sees farther than you ever could

In this moment heaven's working

Everything for your good

Tell your heart to beat again

Close your eyes and breathe it in

Let the shadows fall away

Step into the light of grace

Yesterday's a closing door

You don't live there anymore

Say goodbye to where you've been

And tell your heart to beat again

Your heart to beat again

Beat again

Oh, so tell your heart to beat again...

Written by Matthew West, Bernie Herms, Randy Phillips • Copyright © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, Universal Music Publishing Group, Capitol Christian Music Group

A Story With No Ending

As I pulled up to the curb under the railroad bridge on Emerald Street, near Lehigh Ave., I was greeted with the words "Hello pastor." Whenever I hear that I try to clarify that I'm very active at Urban Hope but I'm not one of the pastors.  I arrived with two cases of water on ice ready for distribution to the residents of this underbridge curbside community of addicted and homeless men, women and at least one fetal child. I told the first person I saw that I had cold water for everyone. As much as possible, I try to shake hands or bump fists with everyone I greet. I ask their name and my mind retains far less of this important information than I wish it would.

Men and women come up to me briskly at first as I try to acknowledge those I know I've already met.  As I look down the wide sidewalk, I see a line of old mattresses.   Some are empty except for the old sheets and blankets laying on them jumbled in a similar fashion to my own at my house in the suburbs. On one mattress, their resident housecat grooms itself and seems to be completely unaware that its home will never be listed on any top ten places to live list. 

Other mattresses have people on them, one asleep in a contorted fetal position. I watched to see if she was breathing before focusing elsewhere. On another mattress, a heterosexual couple was getting to know each other.  Another mattress was hosting a man possibly in his latter stages of life. On yet another, a man was tending to his waisted lady friend as she seemed to be closing in on vomiting.

There is a low partition on the north end of the sidewalk under this bridge and it is there that people, out of respect for the "No shooting up under the bridge." sign that people shoot up.  It is there that I met two women who have been a couple for three years and one man whose role is a mystery to me.  The more petite of the two ladies of this couple was sitting on a milk crate and holding a blue paper towel on the back of her hand as a direct pressure bandage following her self-injection of heroin just a moment before I visited them.  The uncapped needle and its attached syringe were sitting in her lap as she greeted me with a politeness that caught me off guard.  The four of us chatted about life in New Jersey (of which I know nothing) and an upcoming shopping trip that the other woman was about to take with her mother and child later in the day.

As the conversation was coming to a natural close, I said my goodbyes and left.  I treated myself to dinner at Applebees where I wrote the first three paragraphs of this blog.  (I stopped at the word "vomiting" so that I could enjoy my bacon cheese burger and fries!)

Just prior to going to the recovery meeting at Urban Hope, I visited this community again with my remaining case of water.  A man was sweeping the sidewalk between the mattresses and all portions of exposed sidewalk under the bridge.  As much as I could figure out, his payment for services rendered was that he could keep any and all "rocks" of crack cocaine that he happened to find on the ground.  

I had an in depth conversation with the person who I've mentioned anonymously a couple days ago who is sick of their homeless-addicted life.  I had hoped to lead them to detox and recovery today but this person, while very close to doing so, was not quite ready.  Keep praying!

In both of these visits today, I found it disturbing the number of very nice cars that would pull up to the curb.  A well-dressed man would ask if a particular woman was there.  Every time, they were told no and then they would drive away.  Hhmm... What's going on there?  To clarify the issue, at one point, my recovery candidate was having a discussion with a woman who was getting herself all "gussied up" to use my grandfather's terminology, so that she could make some much-needed money tonight.

Also in both visits today, there was one woman who was passed out in a chair the entire time.  I went and checked on her to be sure that she was alive.  She was.

How do I conclude a blog such as this?  I can't.  There is no conclusion.  As I type this on my computer in the suburbs, this community of men, women and one soon to be born child are gathered under that bridge.  Some are injecting heroin as you read.  Other's are smoking crack as you read.  At least one is with or searching for her next "customer" for the night as you read.

Claiming Recovery

In the following very real story I am doing everything possible to maintain total anonymity of the person involved. For that reason I am avoiding the he-she pronoun. The end result for those of you who believe in perfect English is that some of the sentences are a tiny bit awkward. Bear with me and try to read the story.

It is an incredible privilege to come alongside a human being who has been made in the image of God and who has come to the realization that their life is broken and in need of repair. Such was my privilege earlier today under a bridge in Kensington as I looked into the eyes of this human being and as I heard this human being's voice as they expressed how sick they are of being sick.

This person explained to me how a prescription for Percocet over a year ago led to an addiction to heroin and how they are now thoroughly disgusted with their own life.

This person asked if they could borrow my cell phone to call their father to tell their dad of the agony that they felt in their soul.  This fine person who is made in the image of God sat in my car in the air conditioning and spoke to their dad. At times it was a shouting match. At times it was tears rolling down cheeks and a nose running in my car and probably in some house I will never see as Dad tried to grasp the agony in the soul of their child on the other end of the phone.

When this person finally hung up the phone I asked if they wanted to go to recovery right now. They said "no because tomorrow is my 27th birthday and I don't want to be going through withdrawal on my birthday." And so we will wait 48 hours and go to recovery on Thursday and begin a new life.

I asked this fine and intelligent person how they were going to get through these next 48 hours. Will you be doing any drugs? I asked. They explained that they would stretch the drugs as far as they possibly could so as not to go into withdrawal prior to getting to the hospital. I looked into this person's eyes and I said well between now and then please do not die. They looked at me and they said they would be okay. This person should know because this person has been living on the streets for about 1 year doing exactly this day in and day out.

Please do pray that all of the pieces come together and that this fine human being made in the image of God will hold to their conviction to reclaim the life that they know they can have in the absence of drugs.

A Tale of Two Women

Today at Urban Hope, the worship service was led by the youth.  It was an awesome experience to see so many young people share their faith with us in several different ways.  One of the most moving experiences happened when a young woman shared her testimony of experiencing childhood trauma, how that trauma affected her life and almost brought her to end it.  She closed her message with how God stepped in and redeemed her life for something so much better than she could have ever imagined.  She lives for Christ now, completely.

A couple hours later, I was standing under a rail road bridge talking to another woman who lives under that bridge with about forty other people.  This woman is due to have a baby this fall.  She said that she is drug-free and does get prenatal care on a properly scheduled basis. I congratulated her on making those decisions. She went on to say that she's barely surviving financially and works just enough to make ends meet in her life of residency under the bridge. I got brave and asked her what she does to earn a living. She explained to me that she is servicing only a very select few of her regular clients. She added that this hurts so much more than it used to because she no longer has the drugs in her to numb the emotional pain of what she's doing. My heart broke.

Here is a woman made in the image of God just as much as the woman who gave her testimony in church two hours earlier. And yet here they are on two very different paths in life. What makes them different? What makes them exactly the same? God died for each one of them equally. God loves each one of them equally. One is fully aware or at least learning more and more about her Christian path. The other one has no idea of or a twisted idea of what that Christian path could be in her life.

Searching for Mickey - Never Give Up!

As I begin writing this blog, I'm not sure if Mickey is missing or laying low for some reason I don't know.  I've spoken to several people who say they have seen her as late as this past Tuesday (and maybe Thursday - yesterday of this writing).  It's hard to know what to think and do to find her or to give her whatever space she needs for whatever purpose she has.

I just hope she's safe.

The search for Mickey yesterday took a fascinating and wonderful path as I visited with Anna Batten (Yes, she is an outrageously distant relative.)  of "Never Give Up - Heaven Can Wait" two areas I had not yet seen up close.  (Click here for a wonderful Facebook hosted video.)  One of the places we visited is nicknamed "Emerald City" because it's on Emerald Street under a long railroad bridge.

Imagine if you will located right here a sidewalk lined with

• worn out discarded mattresses
• personal belongings, 
• 30 to 40 men and women and one fetal child due to be born in September
• food and filth 
• tables and chairs 
• needles and heroin and crack cocaine
• an active card game 
• a man in a wheel chair
• sleeping or unconscious humans
• A woman thinking nothing of changing clothes out in the open
• A couple intertwined
• A man "knighting me" because I visited with iced Gatoraid
• A woman turning from me so I would not see her light her rock of Crack Cocaine. 
• She was embarrassed by her behavior because she was doing what her body called her to do as is the case with any addiction.  Her embarrassment was increased by what we had learned about each other during our chatting over the past few minutes when we realized that we were from neighboring communities in Delaware County.

How does this relate to Mickey?  As I shared the flyer I created as seen above, with these men and women of varying ages and backgrounds, several expressed concern for this woman they know and care about and love.  Some offered suggestions on where she might be and where she typically can be found. 

One mentioned a small apartment house where she sometimes visits friends.  I had seen Mickey go in under a bridge near the Aramingo Ave. exit of I-95 on a tip the night before that Mickey may be there.
there the last time I saw her.  Anna and I said our goodbyes and drove to that apartment after making one very sobering visit to the area

No one was there at the time but these pictures show a bit of what we found.  

We left Gaitoraid, PB&J sandwiches, and Mickey's "Missing" flyers on each mattress. 

Imagine how heartsick I was as I placed the flyer for Mickey's safe return on that bed that was also holding nine used syringes and other drug paraphernalia...

Even in the midst of this hellish setting, God's Word was there to be found...

Well, as I said, we left here and made our way to the apartment house where Mickey has been known to visit a friend.  Located next to a community vegetable garden, this residence is filled with people whose hopes and dreams for a better life seem to be all but gone.  Our visit seemed to break up the monotony and give them something else to think about. Each person knew Mickey and gladly took a flyer with the understanding that she was not in any trouble and that we care about and are concerned that we had not seen her. 

As much as I wanted to keep actively searching for Mickey, there was one more person who needed to meet Anna.  That was Mike who has been living behind the Rite Aid on Aramingo for about five weeks.  They hit it off nicely as they compared their Italian childhoods.  The conversation was mixed with the normal stuff of life and getting Mike's life unstuck from its current setting.

Mike was sure to say that he had not seen Mickey in several days.  In that one comment from Mike about Mickey, I was all the more aware that while she may be homeless and addicted, Mickey is still a very cared for human being, something of a feral kitten in her approach to others as I said before but a human being, made in the image of God, none the less.  

I just hope and continue to pray that one day soon we will see her safe and sound again.

Please keep searching for Mickey.  The picture at the top is a printable flyer.  She is someone's daughter who needs to be found!

Mickey - Black Eye and Bruised Face

For the past several days, I've been reporting on Facebook that Mickey is missing.  I've come to know how much love there is for this woman who has been calling the street "home" for something like four years.  I wrote about those aspects of love for Mickey in my previous blog.

In these past several days, I've been texted and called by caring strangers who have seen Mickey and described behaviors that I know to be hers. This morning's call was different.  A woman called to say that she had seen Mickey near the Arby's on Aramingo which is reasonable.  That's her typical path.

She said "Mickey has a black eye 

and a bruised face!"

I shared with this caller my observations of Mickey and how she is not your typical addict on the street.  There's a small community of people who see the goodness in Mickey.  None of us can, as of yet, coax this Feral kitten of a person - made in the image of God - into a better life.

And so we sit on the sidelines and wait...  and pray...

Mickey has a black eye and a bruised face!  She's somewhere in the vicinity of Aramingo and Huntington, Lehigh, B Street and The Tracks.  Her path may be widening and so keep looking.

Don't look for a pathetic panhandler!  Don't look for an addict!  Don't look for a loser!  Look for Mickey (or Kim)!  Look for that young woman who could be your daughter, granddaughter, niece or neighbor!

When you find her, remember, she's a feral kitten who needs to be gently guided to a safer life.  And please call me...

Caring Community for Mickey

In my most recent blog, I stated the following about Mickey:

It needs to be understood at this point that as far as I know 

Mickey has virtually no one really looking out for her on a day-to-day basis.

In some ways, that's true and that's dangerous.  In other ways, it's far from true and that's the message of this blog.

In the past three days, I've spent about 15 hours searching for Mickey.  I've handed out fliers and posted in relevant groups on Facebook.  I've asked other homeless people, sidewalk restaurant cooks, firemen, nurses, security guards, admissions personnel, and cashiers if they have any insights into where Mickey may be or when they've seen her last.  

Thanks to Facebook, people have contacted me who have seen her in places I haven't and offered guidance on where she might be.  A good friend of hers from her days prior to being homeless offered her insights into Mickey's character, and other aspects of Mickey that are greatly helping with this search.  (I'm trying to tell a story here without breaking confidences.)

There is so much I'd like to share and yet I know I need to keep this brief...

When I first met Mickey, she was folded up within herself to the side of the entrance to the Wawa on Aramingo Ave.  She sat there and asked people for any change that they could spare.  Her clothes were filthy with multiple days or weeks of grime and body sweat (and more) and her stench stank. 

Over these weeks, with the incredible help of someone who wants to remain anonymous, we began a clothing exchange for her where every two days, she washed up and changed into something fresh of her choosing since there were many options provided.  I brought her dirty clothes home and washed them.  When I took them back to her washed, dried and folded, she was noticeably shaken.  She laughed with delight in realizing that someone cared enough to do that for her.  "I care because Jesus loves you." has been my response.  Mickey's responses to this and many interactions told me that there is something unique and special about Mickey.  She began taking better care of herself and her fragrance was increasingly more along the lines of "Red Door."  

In the past fifteen hours of active searching across three days, I've heard the same sentiments from several people.  Here are a few examples:

Janine is a woman who lives in a home near the Wawa.  She looks after Mickey as best as she can.  She and I agree that there is someone special trapped inside Mickey's heart.

There is the woman on Huntington Avenue who has a sidewalk restaurant.  When I asked her if she'd seen Mickey recently, she commented on how nice Mickey is as she walks to and from the Tracks.  "She'll come to her senses some day.  God will guide her to safety." was this woman's response.

There's a woman who works at the carry out section of Applebees who has had some interaction with Mickey.  She's going to call me the moment she sees her because she knows that no young woman should be on the streets alone.

There is the friend from years ago who saw my post on facebook and told me that Mickey is "a nice girl.  She's just lost and needs some guidance."

There's the manager of the Exxon where Mickey has been asking for change more since Wawa Corporate decided to have guards chase "people like Mickey" away so as not to be an offense to customers.  He's asked Mickey to leave on sevaral occasions but has promised me that if she reappears, he will call me and allow her to stay until I arrive.

Wawa Corporate decided to kick Mickey and other homeless people off their property.  They did not break the determination of one of their employees who has noticeably and boldly befriended Mickey as long as I've known her.  Her name is "Jazz" or something like that and she gets a gold star from me for her help in providing the best lead today as to where Mickey may be!!!

And here's where God's obvious presence was in this story today.

I was having moderate success in finding little leads as to where Mickey may be.  I pulled into the same Wawa to get a snack.  The place was packed and I could not go down one aisle.  I aimed for the next isle and ran right into Jazz whose height made her invisible from where I had just been.  Knowing of her efforts with Mickey, I asked if she'd seen Mickey and she said: "No but I spoke to a ______ who told me that she's at __________ ________."  (I told you that I'm trying to maintain confidentiality and tell this true story at the same time.)

I thanked Jazz and I drove to __________ __________, twenty minutes away. I explained this whole story to the receptionist and she was very helpful - as much as she could be due to privacy rules.  "I can not deny or verify that Mickey is here at __________ __________.  

"May I pretend that she is here and write her a letter for you to pass on to whoever should get it?" I asked.

 "That's fine." was her response.  And so I wrote a letter to Mickey and gave it to the receptionist at the front desk of __________ __________.   She did suggest that I fill out a missing person's report so that the police can investigate where Mickey may be and let me know.

I made my way back to Wawa and thanked Jazz for providing the best lead for the day.  Jazz told me that she had worked in a rehab at one time and, therefore, had a heart for Mickey.  (Wawa Corporate could learn a thing or two from one of its employees!)

I went on to file a missing person's report only to be told that I did not have enough accurate information to file an official report.  The officer did say that they can maintain an extra awareness of Mickey and encourage her to call me if they see her.

Mickey may be at __________ __________ or she might not be.  She might receive my letter and choose to or not to respond.  Those are big variables, too big for my comfort.  And so, the search continues.  This is a search for Mickey and any information that helps us to move forward with finding her.

I'd like to write more but I need to prepare for my morning appointment with my service business that is funding this ministry. 

A Neighbor and an Unfound Mickey

This is my first attempt at voice texting a Blog. I hope the words on the screen will be the words that I said. I will do my best to review the written content.

I went into Philadelphia today and up to my now favorite Wawa store on Aramingo Avenue. Almost immediately I found Mike. Mike is approximately my age, maybe a little bit older. As I've already told you he's a professional welder and according to his own testimony rather skilled in various forms of home and building construction. We started chatting for a while in my car and he volunteered some interesting information. Prior to being homeless he was living with his adult daughter and her family in Garnet Valley Pennsylvania.

For those of you who don't know, the town and zip code of Garnet Valley is a fairly new phenomenon. I won't bore you with the details other than to point out that Garnet Valley is basically where I live. And so, this man who I have been getting to know for the past 5 weeks or so was fairly recently, let's say 6 weeks and earlier, more or less, my neighbor.  He went so far as to give me his daughter's home address and her name.

Now let's stop to think about this a little bit. Of all the people I could be getting to know as I am involved in this homeless Ministry, one person who I'm getting to know has lived extremely close to me until becoming homeless. I'm not sure where this particular storyline is going to go but I find it interesting. As much as is appropriate and without breaking confidences, I will share the story with you.

After visiting with Mike for about an hour as he sat in my car and enjoyed the air conditioning on this extremely hot day, I set out to find Mickey. Four hours later with some Bible reading and driving around her normal path I returned home having not seen her so much as one time. This is reason for concern because that is not her pattern at all. She has been one of the more easy people to find hence all the stories that I have about her. So if you are reading this through the night prior to me getting up there in the morning to keep looking for her, I'd greatly appreciate it if you would say a prayer or two or three or even four for her and my search to find her.  I do pray that she is safe.

There was one moment in my search for Mickey that I thought I had found her. It was when I rounded the corner onto the bridge on B Street. This is the bridge that goes over the tracks section of Kensington. As I've mentioned in earlier blogs, "the tracks"  are the most devastating region in and Kensington for the current drug pandemic.

As I rounded the corner I saw who I thought was Mickey standing on a Ledge about 3 ft above the sidewalk and dangling there, not in a hanging from the neck kind of way but in a leaning very far forward extremely wasted kind of way. I pulled up to her and called "Mickey Mickey it's Chris get down please." She was completely incoherent and so I pulled the car over to the curb on the bridge and got out. And so here I was directly above the tracks getting out to help Mickey who turned out not to be Mickey but another woman approximately the same size and approximately the same if not more malnourished than Mickey completely wasted and incoherent but standing. As I said, she was standing on the three foot tall ledge that separates the road from the sidewalk on that bridge. I tried to get her attention to guide her down but was unsuccessful. At that same moment a young couple was walking across the bridge and they helped to guide this young woman, a child of God, to relative safety on the sidewalk where she continued her stand and incoherence.

I've seen this same pose before on different people in the few months that I have been doing this. They just stand there and some of them are leaning way over without actually falling to the ground. For some odd reason we knew that she would be essentially safe as long as she stayed on the sidewalk. The young couple and I went our own way.

About an hour later I made my rounds again as I was trying to find Mickey and I wondered what I would find when I rounded that corner up onto the bridge again. And there was the woman very responsive and walking across the crosswalk of the road just north of the bridge.

A man standing on the Street corner gave me a very suspicious look which told me this should probably be my last pass on that road for the day. I would certainly never want to Typecast anyone but men standing on Corners in that area are typically drug dealers.

I made my way back to the area of the Wawa store and just parked for a while in hopes that Mickey would find her way to me rather than me trying to find her. I never did find her. As I said before, this is very unusual and it is reason for concern. I will do all I can to find her in the morning and if I cannot, I will start asking people who may know.  If I am not successful, I will probably file a missing persons report. It needs to be understood at this point that as far as I know Mickey has virtually no one really looking out for her on a day-to-day basis. While I would never hope this to be true, in theory she could be one of those people who disappears never ever to be seen or heard from again.

Please do pray.

Dad Would Be Proud of Urban Hope!

I thought of my Dad's quote today at Urban Hope when Omar presented a digital welding mask to Mike.  

Here's the story...

Mike has been homeless for the past two or three weeks.  Life fell apart for NON-drug related reasons.  He has been living under a tree behind a drug store all this time.  He's been carting his few personal items with him whenever he walks away from that tree.  

Mike is a professional welder.  Among his personal supplies was a digital welding mask, an expensive and vital tool for a welder.  Last Thursday, it was stolen from him when his back was turned.  With a possible welding job interview in a couple of days, not having this welding mask could break any possibilities of getting this desperately needed job.  

When I saw Mike on Thursday night, he was angry at the world and thinking there was no point in trying to get life fixed.  He mentioned to me having the mask stolen.  I texted Omar, a man at Urban Hope who would know what to do to find a new mask.  Within a couple hours, a mask had been found on line for Mike, a man who had never entered Urban Hope but who has entered our community.

Mike agreed to go with me to Urban Hope for church to get the mask.  As a diehard Roman Catholic man, he promised me that he would not be influenced by the differences between his church traditions that he holds dear and what he was about to expreience at Urban Hope.  He did his best to maintain his composure in a worship environment that was significantly different than his own.  

He was greeted warmly and with Christ's love by many men and women who were clearly glad he was there.  After the worship service, Omar presented the mask to Mike and all defenses within Mike melted away.  This hardened south Philly construction worker (Did I mention professional welder?) warmed up to so many people when he sensed something going right in his life for the first time in weeks - maybe months or years.  He was so moved by what was happening that he requested a Bible of his own (large print).

Urban Hope, through prayer, seeks to meet the real and essential needs of the people coming into its community.  Dad would be proud!!!

Does Anybody Hear Her

Does Anybody Hear Her 

Casting Crowns

She is running

A hundred miles an hour

In the wrong direction

She is trying

But the canyon is ever widening

In the depths of her cold heart

So she sets out on another misadventure just to find

She's another two years older and she's three more steps behind

Mickey,

who has been on the street

for about four years,

 and others like her,

are doing all they know to do

as they try to survive.

The distance between the path to what will be

and the path to what could have been is widening.

Does anybody hear her?

Can anybody see?

Or does anybody even know she's going down today?

Under the shadow of our steeple

With all the lost and lonely people

Searching for the hope that's tucked away in you and me

Does anybody hear her?

Can anybody see?

You see a "panhandler."

I've learned to see a person.

They are so physically close

to your church building 

and yet you choose not to see

these lost and lonely people 

who are searching for the same exact hope

as you and me.

She is yearning

For shelter and affection

That she never found at home

She is "so lonely and frightened

and has no boyfriend or husband"

to call her own.

She is searching

For a hero to ride in,

To ride in and save the day

She just wants to be normal

and drug free

and fear free

and loved.

And then walks in her prince charming

And he knows just what to say

A momentary lapse of reason

And she gives herself away

In the world of homeless women on the street,

they bear the extra burden of dealing with men who

want to "help" for their own warped reasons.

If judgment looms under every steeple

If lofty glances from lofty people

Who can't see past her scarlet letter

And we never even met her

Has your “church” become more focused

on hosting Kentucky Derby Parties?

Have you pushed to one side the image

and message of the Victorious Christ in

Exchange for sparkle, glitz and glitter?

Yes?

You will never meet her! 

Does anybody hear her?

Can anybody see?

Or does anybody even know she's going down today?

Under the shadow of our steeple

With all the lost and lonely people

Searching for the hope that's tucked away in you and me

Songwriters: John Mark Hall

Does Anybody Hear Her lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Capitol Christian Music Group

Mickey's Flip Flops

I guess it had to happen eventually...  Sometimes there is a topic that lends itself to being shared in a video more than through written word...

Ashley gave me lunch.

How do I convey to you, my reader, the depth of human and Godly interaction of this weekend of Homeless ministry in a concise and yet thorough way?

I think I can do it in one sentence and follow that up with some explanation...

Here's the sentence:

"Ashley gave her lunch."

Here's the story...

At some point in Mickey's past, she dared to visit a church and was yelled at according to her own testimony.  She vowed never to go back to any church ever again and has made it clear to me that she will never go to any of my church activities.

Out of total boredom with her day on Saturday, she said she would go with me to Urban Hope so I could drop off ten bags of donated women's clothes for their homeless ministry distribution.  She was coherent and communicative on our way there.  When we arrived, she said she'd like to catch a quick smoke before going over to meet people.  I agreed and she stepped to one side of my van while I organized those ten bags.  A couple minutes later, I looked at Mickey through the window of my van and realized she was not smoking a cigarette...

With a sense of paranoia on her face and struggling to navigate the ground under her feet, she stepped to the back of my van.  I had to take her hand and guide her to sit on my back bumper where she composed herself enough to walk one block to meet people at the church as they set up for a block party.  We walked down the sidewalk toward the church.  We walked arm in arm due to her recent onset of instability.  The first person to meet us at the corner of A and East Tioga was Jason Holt, the senior pastor (although they don't use that term).  Ashley and others greeted Mickey with the warmth of Christ's unconditional love.  Having never met Mickey before, they might not have picked up on her current condition.

And you know what...  It would not have mattered if they had.  Urban Hope is such a place that anyone could enter in any state of insobriety and that person would be accepted and loved in the name of Jesus.  But that is a blog for another day...

Without getting bogged down in the details of the next half hour or so, shortly after these introductions, Mickey sat stoned in my van waiting for me to move those ten bags to their storage area.  I had discretely told Ashely what Mickey had smoked just prior to walking with me to the church.  Did anyone yell at Mickey?  No!  In response to Mickey's condition,

Ashley gave her lunch.

This morning, when I saw Mickey at the Wawa on Aramingo, among other things that we talked about, I asked her what she thought of Urban Hope.  Even though stoned in the moment, she knew what had happened.

"Ashley gave me lunch."

"Yes.  Ashley gave you lunch."

Natural and Normal Until The End

Each time I head toward Kensington, I'm never sure who I'll find of the several homeless addicted people I've come to know.  Some, with whom I 've had significant conversations, seem to have moved on.  Ian now has a job.  Gina, I think, is in some form of a recovery program. Mike is, well, I'm not sure.  David and Autumn are professionals at being homeless and addicted and so I've backed off on "helping" them.  I do keep in touch with them as able.  And then there are the countless mostly younger men who do what they can to earn a legitimate income by opening doors at stores or washing windows on cars.

That leaves Mickey and it is from her that I'm learning a great deal.  I went to Kensington early Thursday afternoon, arriving at about 2:30 pm.  This left 4.5 hours until the Faith Based Recovery meeting to which I hope to take a person or two.

I drove around for a bit as I looked for anyone I knew or others with whom to chat.  After one pass between the Wawa on Aramingo and the Tracks, Mickey almost magically appeared at the back of the Wawa.  She told me that she'd barely eaten since I saw her four days earlier.  I asked where she'd like to go and she mentioned Popeye's Chicken.  And so off we went, up Aramingo...

Unlike other times when I've taken Mickey to get something to eat, this time we went inside, ordered from the counter, received our order, went to a table and had dinner together.  She had a two piece chicken dinner with macaroni and cheese plus a Cajun rice with added brown gravy.  I had a three-piece chicken strip dinner with mashed potatoes and gravy.  My drink was a vanilla Bark's Root Beer and Mickey's was an iced tea.  She sat directly across from me at a table designed for four people.

Why did I just explain all that detail to you?  Here's why....

I want you to understand that this dining experience could have been had by you and your child, date, spouse, platonic friend, your sports buddy or any socially accepted combination of two people.  In our case, it was between a typically socially unacceptable combination of me and a triple addicted homeless 29-year-old woman who has been living on the street for four years.  We had a reasonable conversation and equally enjoyed moments of silence just as any combination of two people would have during a regular meal together.

Afterward, we went to Walmart where Mickey found a nice pink-faced watch, a six-pack of women's rings and some smell good spray for her hair plus some cream for her aching feet.  The total bill was not even $20.00.  Mickey showed great restraint and courtesy in not spending more than what was needed for a few nice items that helped her feel better about herself.

And that's the point of this blog.

Mickey, just like every person you see on a street corner or at a store "panhandling" for money, is a human being who very much wants life to be "normal."  This was made even more evident in Mickey's expressions of joy and the life in her eyes as we wrestled to unbind her new watch from its casing and the rings from their cardboard prison.  Once that was done, she primped herself up with her new spray as she straightened her short hair while looking into the mirror that is attached to the passenger side sun visor of my van.

Again, I share these details with you to help you see that all of these activities are such that anyone would do if they were there to do them.  There's nothing abnormal in any of it.

I was so taken by the normality of Mickey's actions and the joy in her eyes and expression that I commented to her.  "I don't understand why you're living on the street."  Everything you're doing is totally normal and reasonable.  You have life in your eyes unlike some homeless and addicted people I've come to know."  She smiled and said, "Thank you."

Between each of these places, we parked in the corresponding parking lot and listened to the radio and chatted for a short time.  Mickey seemed to greatly appreciate the opportunity to just be herself and not the frightened homeless person that she is as she wanders alone from store to store in hopes of being tossed a quarter.

And that's another thing about Mickey.  On two occasions as we entered or exited stores, SHE WAS ASKED BY A HOMELESS PERSON standing outside the store and who she did not know if she had some change.  In both cases, she approached that person and placed her own quarter directly into their hand being sure to close that person's fingers around that quarter.  I was stunned by her gentle and caring thoughtfulness.  As I type this, I can't help but be reminded that we often minister to others most successfully out of our own brokenness.  Mickey knows what it is like to have change thrown at her and hit her in the face.  I've seen it happen to her.  Mickey is not about to have that happen to any homeless person for whom she can provide a coin.

Toward the end of our time together, we pulled into a large shopping center parking lot and parked off to one side.  Mickey looked through the selection of clothes that I had available for her and she changed into them in my van while I took a short walk.  She felt respected and trusted; respected that I didn't stay in the van and trusted that I allowed her to be in my running van alone.  Again, while a bit unusual - OK... a lot unusual to use my van as a changing room - this moment gave Mickey dignity as compared to the guard at Wawa following her through the store each time she dares to walk in.

Four hours after this time with Mickey started, I invited her to come to the recovery meeting at 7 pm.  She declined with a smile and a hint that some other day might work and so off I went.  The meeting turned out to be a Memorial service for one of the founding members of the group who had overdosed earlier in the week.  I was shaken by that.

On my way out of town, I stopped to see if Mickey or any of my regulars were at the Wawa.  Mickey was in the back parking lot, standing there and looking lost and alone.  I asked her if she needed anything to eat and she said no but asked for a sweet tea.  I got it and an ice cream for myself.  I love my evening ice cream.  I came out and told her about the memorial service and how sad it was.  I told her not to die from her drugs and that I'd be sad if she overdosed.  She looked at me with a sense of - well - I'm not sure.  It was as if she'd never thought that anyone could care enough to say such a thing to her.

All of the natural and normal behaviors within our interactions of that day as I have just described were counterbalanced by the most unnatural behavior of all for that day.  It was that moment when I said goodnight and left Mickey standing alone in the relative darkness and dampness of that night in the back parking lot knowing that she would have no indoors to call her own.