Years later, before finding my place at Micah, I set out on my own pilgrimage to this mission-driven faith community. I was seeking greater purpose in life and had applied for the Church of the Savior’s 12-month Discipleship Year  program, a residential experience that actively engages volunteers in issues of social justice and servant-leadership. I was drawn to this faith community by its blunt efforts to be the authentic church, the face of Christ to the poor, the sick, imprisoned and oppressed. My mother and I visited on a Sunday morning a few weeks before Easter. We worshiped  with one of the Church of the Savior’s scattered congregations. And as it would happen, the nearly 90-year-old Gordan Cosby, founder of this ministry, was preaching.

He spoke that morning of the significance of Luke 19:28-40, the story of Jesus ridding a donkey into Jerusalem just days before his crucifixion. The exact words are faint to me now, but I cannot experience a Palm Sunday to this day without a memory of the message I heard that morning.

The Sunday before Easter is usually one of great procession, beauty and celebration of the Messiah’s arrival. As a little girl, I couldn’t wait to get my hands around my own palm branch so that I too could participate in the festivities. But Gordan Cosby called his listeners that morning to consider honoring Jesus in a far deeper way than recreating a crowd of palms each year. Anyone can wave their faith about like a palm, he said, just as the bystanders did the day of the parade we learn about in the Gospels. But somehow we forget that same crowd of people vibrantly chose to crucify the man we now call Christ, only a few days later.

In Church of the Savior they have a philosophy. Church leaders are trained in all the mechanics of being a good disciple–interpreting scripture, leading the faith, implementing mission in the community and shepherding their peers in Christ’s vision. But at the point of ordainment, they are not promoted with a title of priest, pastor, Father, reverend or even deacon. There is only one true church leader, they say, and those who discern their call to lead Christian ministry become “donkeys” in their congregations, named for their role in ushering in the good news of Jesus.

It is the Palm Sunday story that inspires the donkey image in Church of the Savior ministry. While this humble beast is known through time as bearing the toughest jobs–plowing the fields, hauling loads and carrying people great distances–he is often discarded as a mere tool that exists for the sole purpose of serving his master. Year after year, even we overlook this character in one of the most important gospel stories.  Instead, the donkey’s brays are resoundingly drowned out by the more glorious shouts of “hosannas!”

Gordon Cosby’s point that Sunday morning, years ago, was just that. If we overlook the donkey in this story, we miss the whole message. Christ the KING could have chosen to ride into the promised land with trumpets and chariots, potentially a more fitting caravan for the welcome he received by the city. But he specifically said to his disciples, “Go to the village ahead of you and as you enter it, you will find a donkey’s colt tied there, which no one has ever ridden. Untie it, and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘why are you untying it?’ say ‘the Lord needs it.” He forewent any possible pomp and circumstance and willingly chose the ugliest, clumsiest mode of transportation he could. But how telling is it for that humble ride to juxtapose against the backdrop of a royal welcome?

By embracing the worship of a king and resorting to the transport of a servant, Jesus sent a message on that ride into Jerusalem. Let’s not overlook the need to praise our Lord, I hear him say, but let us not let worship fall empty of the actions that make it real. Jesus calls us to be the donkey in this story, just as much as he asks the wide-eyed palm wavers to continue in their acts of worship. But we are not just to worship Him; we are to carry him and his message wherever it needs to go, so that others can encounter him, as well. Like the donkey, we do not have to be graceful or pretty to get the job done.  We just have to understand Jesus as our master and accept what it takes to bring his vision forward.

What Gordon Cosby said to the congregation that morning altered my path. I got back on the metro with my mother and rode home. But when we reached our stop, she looked at me and said,  ”You don’t have to go to Washington D.C. and spend a year figuring out what you want to to do with your life to be the donkey in that story, you know.”

I pulled my application from the Discipleship Year process and sent an email that night to a pastor of one of the now Micah churches. I poured my heart out for role I thought I could play in offering a face of Christ to the poor in our local community. Months later, I was quitting a job I had planned since childhood as a life’s profession, and setting foot into my first day of work as a “donkey.”

So, much has happened these last six years. And not a single day goes by that I don’t ask why our Lord thought a 25-year-old reporter knew a darn thing about helping the homeless. But my palm Sunday experience so long ago, really says it all. There isn’t a one of us placed on this earth that Jesus didn’t call to find our selves on all fours and carry his message and his example everywhere that we go. Of all stories there are, this story speaks the loudest of the qualifications to do so.

The catalyst himself, Gordon Cosby, passed away this last week within the humblest of quarters at Christ House, a Church of the Savior ministry that shelters and cares for homeless who are sick or dying. In his final days he spoke to those close to him about the way  he saw the vision of Jesus Christ. Those words are posted on the Church of the Savior blog.

“This is the true joy of life,” he said. “The being used up for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.

I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the community, and as long as I live, it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live. Life is no ‘brief candle’ to me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for a moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.”

Consider the torch passed my fellow future generationers. Wave palms if you must. But if we truly desire our Lord to use us for a purpose, Christ is very clear about our place.

Which is why I’d like to reflect on this past Sunday’s message by saying…I know the prodigal son. And yes, you should take away from this story that God loves all the prodigal sons of this world no matter how far they stray. You should hear from this story that you or anyone else who stumbles and falls will always be welcomed back into God’s kingdom with open arms. But what I want to know from you today is when you meet the prodigal son, are you the father in this story or the brother?

There was a woman who substitute taught in my elementary school and whose children grew up with my sister. By the time I met her as a guest of Micah she was divorced and isolated from her entire family going on seven years.  In her reality, the government had taken her husband and children away, hiding them somewhere safe and putting clones in their places. She always assured us that her family would send for her, and she too would have the opportunity to be rescued as they had. But in the meantime, she survived off of the cold weather shelter, community dinners and the little bit of money she earned from knitting hats and selling them. So many times our staff and volunteers designed the grandest plans to help this woman.  If she would just realize she had a disability…..If she would just take medication. If she would just… If would just… All the  “If she would justs” we could come up with… meant nothing to her situation until the day I answered my phone to find her brother on the other end. He’d been looking for her. Didn’t even know she had divorced. Certainly didn’t know she was homeless, especially as long as she was. A week later he was on a plane, headed for Fredericksburg, and I was delivering the news. I half expected a wild outburst or that she’d disappear upon hearing of his imminent visit. But I saw in her teary eyes, for the first time, a moment of clarity and peace as she asked, “He’s really coming for me?” I saw, that following Monday morning, the “Prodigal son’s” homecoming with her family. Do you know she left that very same day to go live with her brother in another state? All after seven years of homelessness. There, she accepted mental health treatment, got her driver’s license back, was approved for Social Security and made plans to return to Fredericksburg, get a part-time job and rekindle relations with her children. This summer will be the third year she has lived independently an apartment.

I actually get calls from family members of those frequenting Micah services quite often. “Please,” they often say. “I don’t know what else to do for my son, my sister, my nephew or granddaughter. I will do whatever I can to help you with what you are doing for them. But I can’t have them in my house. I’ll give money to help you, help them, but I can’t give it to them.” And usually they add, “I love them, you know, thank you for caring about them.” But sadly, many of these calls come as the individual is dying or even afterward when they are called as the next of kin. Yet, even these moments have a bit of prodigal son effect to them as well.

Not long ago, I picked up my voicemail to hear a message from the brother-in-law of a Micah guest who had passed away. “We have so many questions,” he said. “I don’t know where to start, but I hope you will call me back.” He and his wife, our guest’s sister, had spent many years trying to set their family member back on track. They’d helped him get jobs, brought him into their home, hooked him up with a car and spending money from time to time. But with young children, the antics associated with his substance abuse and depression left them with no choice but to excuse him from their home. For the next 10 years, they had little contact with him, instead dreading late night phone calls—fully expecting it would be the police letting them know he had been found dead in a ditch somewhere.  They lived with guilt and hope that some day their brother would come home with reconciled struggles. And that call did come not too long ago, but it wasn’t the police. It was the hospital, requesting an end-of-life decision maker.  And after he passed, it would be they who were invited into their brother’s apartment to see that he actually had made it “home” after all. While on the street, this gentleman had been able to stay some nights in the shop of a downtown business owner, who also gave him some light work for cash occasionally.  And even members of the police department had stepped in at times, driving him personally to rehab programs and making sure he had what he needed to make it through harsh winters. Through this support, Micah had been able to help him get disability and an apartment about a year and a half earlier. “For so long, we did our part, we carried that torch as long as we could,” our guest’s brother in-law told the Free Lance-Star recently. “We didn’t have the tools, but Micah did….What an amazing gift we have received through them.”

So here’s your chance to answer:

Are you the father in this story, loving our neighbors in need no matter what and waiting patiently for them to be ready to go home?  Or are you the brother in the prodigal son story, working hard and doing the right thing always, but lacking a forgiving heart for those who have strayed from the family?

You know, I experienced the most magical moment of my life last February. It was the moment I held a little four-pound wonder in my arms and called him “Patrick.” My son looked at me, and neither one of us had to say a word to acknowledge how important we were to each other. I’m convinced every parent has one of those moments. And that is what lets me know how great the responsibility our community has to care for people in need is.  They may not be tiny innocent creatures anymore and a lot may have gone wrong for them. But somebody once called them important and gave them a name.  That name is a mark we each carry that says we belong to someone. And if my love means that some mother or some father could one day welcome their son or daughter home, that’s reason enough for me.

Don’t you see? The people in my stories were dead to their families, for one reason or another.  But the love they were shown by others helped them became alive once again.  You too can participate in these stories, not just with the prodigal son after prodigal son who walks through Micah’s doors each day. You can do it with the people who visit a community dinner or food pantry each week. You can do it in your own families and circles or anyone you meet throughout the week, who may struggle. We are all on an inward journey, sometimes closer and sometimes farther from God’s plan for us. But it’s the people in our lives who love us through it that make it possible for us to continue journeying at all.

There is really only one thing about the people in my stories that makes them any different than those who experience mental illness or struggle with substance abuse and live very successfully in housing. Their family was missing. They didn’t have a support network. Even the prodigal son reached his darkest hour when he was farthest from people who loved him. And even he struggled to rediscover the value in himself until he could be restored by that community. If you take nothing with you from this message, I hope you hear me say this. When biological family is absent from the lives of our neighbors in need, this story alone calls the church, calls the community, calls you to be it.  We understand this unconditional love of our heavenly father. We know that we can’t refuse to love someone that God loves. God welcomes and loves all of us. He desires that we, like the father in the parable, will love the prodigal son day after day until he is ready to carry himself home.

No matter how much passion I pour into the story; No matter what lengths we’ve gone to help a person; and regardless of how resoundingly successful the story is, there’s always one.

Sometimes they don’t say anything at all, perhaps out of fear of being the minority or desire not to be confrontational. But most of the time they wave their banner high and boisterously exclaim, “why don’t those people just get jobs?”

I have no problem answering that question.  And usually, a few facts from my back pocket allow us to move on in the greater conversation about homelessness. But at its core,  the issue is worth discussing from few different angles.

When people ask that question, they don’t typically account for all the reasons they themselves can get and keep a job, simply because they live indoors. Hygiene, a good night sleep, and a regular diet are a must for most any employee to fulfill a boss’s expectations.

Someone who lives outside, is unfortunately challenged in their pursuit of such basic needs. Showers are competitive and limited to certain hours of the day. They carry everything they own on their back, and they depend on the most accessible non-profit for whatever clothing they own. Then again, no quality wardrobe or regular bathing schedule matters much at all when your home is the woods and there’s a good chance that bad weather, a police intrusion or an unruly neighbor could disturb your night, and ultimately your work schedule the next day.

Pile on lower education levels, a mental health issue or disability, lack of transportation, possibly a criminal background and simple stereotype, and circumstances are close to impossible for any street person to find their own way into sustainable and gainful employment. When that resume stands up against a bachelor’s degree, a clean record, a driver’s license and a solid pattern of experience held by one of the other 8 to 10 percent (or close to 100 million people) of America’s unemployed, guess whose application lands in file 13!

Despite the fact that 40 to 50% of homeless in our nation have some kind of disability, one-third of the country’s street and shelter population actually does work.  Incomes, however, are often not enough to afford both a place to live and the other things they need to survive.  Each winter, when we run the cold weather shelter, at least five to six clients get up at 4am each morning to stand in line at a day labor business, hoping to go out on a job that day. Even so, many of them owe so much in fines, alimony, child support and to other creditors, that as much as 65% of their wages are garnished each payday. When you are talking $50 a day or $7.25 an hour, even a 40 hour week doesn’t offer much leverage off the street. When caught in the predicament of working and being homeless or not working and being homeless, even the most capable employees give up.

Yes, there are lots of things many of our homeless could have done differently in their lives to make themselves more competitive employees. We don’t know why they made some of the choices they did. But by the time they become homeless, no one can’t change that. We can work on attitudes, build skills, make job connections and hope that sustainable, gainful employment will come their way. Nothing, however, can change a fine that’s owed, a degree that wasn’t earned, the time spent in jail, or a condition that ails them.

People who ask, “why don’t those people just get jobs?” typically dismiss that argument. It’s not their responsibility. They didn’t make the mistake. They don’t have the disability. And people should be held accountable for themselves. But if we understand we can’t change the past, and we accept there are homeless who can and want to work, how can we possibly proclaim “Get a job,” and take no community ownership of helping that to happen?

I recall the story of one famous homeless man. Centuries ago, he wandered the countryside living only off of what others provided him. He had a trade–carpentry–like most in his time. But there wasn’t much handiwork that came out of that skill.  So, in some circles people probably thought him a bum, a free-loader and that he definately needed a job. All his behavior was accomplishing anyway was stirring up trouble for the government, the church, the tax collectors and other hard-working people in the community.

But his message was resoundingly comparable to those hurling accusations at him. “Come, follow me,” he says in Matthew 4:19 “and I will show you how to fish for people.” In saying such, he turns to those who shouted “Get a job!” and asks that they do the same. “Give up your life” and “follow me” he calls to us throughout the New Testament. And time, after time he gives the world a job that has nothing to do with money or power or ladder-climbing fulfillment. It has everything to do with reaching out to those who don’t have a job and helping them to find their way.

Micah Ministries is always interested in talking to community businesses that would be interested in hiring its clients. We offer a supportive employment program called Step Forward that connects eligible applicants to sustainable work. Our partner employers realize many benefits, including lower turnover, less responsibility in applicant screening and endless pool of skilled workers. To learn more contact Melissa King at 540-373-4567.

So let it be known that this is not a story about one that died, but one who lived.

By the time I knew her, she was “the last.” The last, of a core group of chronic homeless that once affectionately called themselves the river rats—named for the piece of earth they mutually claimed as sleeping quarters each night.

One by one, over the years, she had watched members of that street clan die before her. A gentleman the police found dead in the woods after a tragic injury. Another who became so ill that his friends were pushing him around town in a wheelchair just before a massive stroke landed him on life support. And most memorably, her own long-time boyfriend, who battled terminal cancer. She cared for him in his final days in an apartment a community church had rented so that he did not have to die on the street.

Before the Hospitality Center, before the Residential Recovery Program, and back when the cold weather shelter was a simple thing a few churches pulled together every year, this woman and her friends had survived in our woods on the backs of each other.

As it would happen, her own days would be shortly numbered. She was diagnosed with cancer—aggressively growing in her right tonsil.It would spread to her  jaw and down her throat. It would take over such that eating was a multi-hour task and she could barely lift her head to take a bite. But while the rest of us were counting down her days, she was adding them up.

The doctors talked feeding tube. She went to Subway, Taco Bell, Dairy Queen, and Kentucky Fried Chicken.

We talked process and programs. She spoke of Goolrick’s Steve, a particular police officer she thought looked good in a pair of jeans and other community favorites that she knew would help her get what she needed.

Simple things became a challenge. But she walked to the store,  cleaned house and wandered with no plan for where she was going.

We engaged conversation about settling her affairs. But she wanted to talk about her recent baptism, plans for lunch the next day, and when a particular Micah volunteer would be taking her for a ride on his motorcycle.

There was something about that feeling: speed on her face and wind in her hair. And I don’t just mean the thrill of riding on the back of a motorcycle. She cruised through life with the top down, basking and enjoying everything she could from the given moment. Perhaps it had something to do with the scenery. Maybe she just liked the thrill. But whatever the reason, her ride through life collected her a “great cloud of witnesses.”

When she got sick, there was someone to help her with a disability application. When her money came, there were people to help her find an apartment. As she sought treatment, there were countless caretakers who toted her to doctor’s appointments and spent time understanding her care.

Volunteers spent hours delivering her favorite meals, fetching her medicine and sitting with her in the hospital. Our staff scoured the country for her family, found them in California and Minnesota and made arrangements for them to reconnect after 20 years.  And when the day came that she could no longer hold her head up, a bed was waiting for her at Micah’s home for the sick and dying.

She may have been “the last” of those “river rats,” but she was the first to have so many walking with her in that journey to the grave. We know from Hebrews 12:1 how important that cloud of witnesses is in the race that God has marked out for us. And that is the very thing our Micah family strives to be for all those races we witness every day.  

The only guarantee for any of us is that we all cross the finish line, some perhaps more gracefully than others. But as a cloud of witnesses looking out upon the races run by others, it is our job to help each other run the best possible race we can. It is that love for one another, the cheers, the tears and unconditional care that gives us all the opportunity to throw off all that hinders us and ride with the top down, all the way to our final breath.

“Have you ever seen a more adorable baby in your life,” one said to the pastor as she approached the group.

“Well yes!,” she replied. ” And so have all of us who have had them.”

For a split second I found myself almost heartbroken that someone wouldn’t resoundingly agree that I brought THE most beautiful child into the world. But as i got used to the idea, it occurred to me that she was saying much more than any of the “oohs” and “ahhs” ever would.

Those who know me well are aware that I often refer to Micah Ministries as my first born. For a good while, my own mother was convinced she would never be a grandmother to anything other than this little 501c3 in Fredericksburg. And until February this year, the people Micah serves, most old enough to be my mother, father or sometimes grandparent, have been my only children. For them, I’ve spent my waking hours, and many when I should be sleeping, researching solutions, planning for outcomes, creating opportunities and finding resources for the sole purpose of ending their homelessness in Fredericksburg.  And because of that effort this “baby” of mine has grown from a helpless, grunting concept to one that walks, talks and impacts the lives of others.

But now that I have a biological child of my own, I’ve come to appreciate my “first children” and their plight all the better. While gazing into the perfect face of my little man, I have considered more than once how every person, even my homeless friends, start their life as something just as sweet and innocent.  Some mother, somewhere, swore him or her, even for just a second, to be the best thing that had ever happened to her. And the rest of the world could show nothing on their faces for these children, but joy, happiness and love. But somewhere along the line, for our homeless, those heart-warming looks from the community turn to disgust, sadness and hate.

So if I’ve got this right…God gives us something incredibly perfect, and at the mercy of the world it either makes it or breaks it? Because they are an adult and should be making better decisions for themselves, they aren’t worth our time? That beautiful child that came into the world doesn’t matter anymore because the world got ahold of him or her and they just aren’t CUTE anymore?

Where have we gone wrong in understanding the blessing of every life?

A friend of mine, a doctor who has spent time in a delivery room or two, warned that I would learn the true meaning of John 3:16 when my own child entered the world. And oh, how right he was!

God may have so loved the world that he gave his only son,  but my soul rattles with just the idea of my child strapped to a cross to die, no matter what he did or what benefit it might bring about. When you become a mother, you not only realize the great gift a child is; you finally understand the sacrifice God made on our behalf. He gave us HIS child, knowing what the world would do to him, and He accepted that sacrifice, so that every baby from that point forward would be blessed.

I look at my son and, yes, I think he is the most adorable and wonderful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. But I acknowledge that so does every other mother, no matter what becomes of their children as adults. Even our homeless had mothers who realized the true miracle of life upon their child’s birth. “All of us who’ve had them,” know our babies have been given to us just the way they were supposed to be. At the mercy of the world, a lot of things can happen. Regardless, that original perfection never changes. Nor should our commitment to all of brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, born at the hand of God.

So what? Jesus raised a few dead guys, made some sick people well and made sure the party didn’t spoil for lack of wine.

Of course, that’s usually why the holy landers paid him a visit. But if the mission is to develop productive Christians who spend their days contributing to the fruitful work of the Holy Spirit,  skip all that hocus pocus stuff and get them on their knees!

An interesting strategy, maybe? But I’d bargain that two in every three knees that hit the floor wouldn’t have lasted much longer than the traveling Jesus team’s over night stay in a Jerusalem town.

Miracles gave Jesus an opportunity. It didn’t define his mission. Healing certainly got people’s attention. And it made them want what he had to offer so badly that they’d line up for days just to spend five minutes in his presence. He didn’t know them at all. But he loved them as brothers and sisters–each placed on this earth by the same Father. Of course he wanted to heal them. And the mental and physical pain he took from them did just that.

But let’s face it. Jesus had an ulterior motive. He came to save the world. (John 3:17)

Miracles certainly provided relief, nourishment and encouragement, but they really didn’t have a whole lot to do with what Jesus hoped his guests would take away from his encounter. No amount of healing alone could help the world to understand the life-time of responsibilities required by God’s call.

Considering Jesus and his marketing strategy, I’m not so sure Micah Ministries is taking all that different of an approach. Feeding, showering, clothing and meeting the most basic needs of those without, I think, are some of the most magical miracles of our modern times. With a meal, we cure a hungry belly. With a shower, we wash away a person without dignity. With a set of clothes, we straighten the back of one who could not be proud to be in public for the stains on his shirt or the holes in his shoes.

It’s certainly working for us. Our door is never shy of a person in need. But those miracles at their core, do not define our mission. We too, have an ulterior motive. If it takes a meal, a shower or pair of shoes to get a street man who doesn’t interact with people to cross our doors, so be it. For the hour he sits in our building, we get to know him and his needs. Soon, he trusts us enough to help him. He lets us take him to a psychiatrist. For the first time he starts to take medication. He decides to stop drinking. He begins to volunteer. One day, he gets a few hours work. Eventually, he’s working weeks at a time. And down the road, the little miracle that brought him to see us in the first place turns into a person with all the tools to move off the street and continue his journey as a valued member of society.

If that is a strategy that “enables” our homeless in anyway, I offer no apologies. Miracles, you see are just part of the process. Our men and women who sleep on the street tonight are the blind, the sick, the lame and the broken. How can we possibly expect them to believe we can help them with a job, a doctor a place to live or anything else, if we cannot address their most basic needs?

So go ahead, call us what you will. Name us, “soup kitchen enablers.” And accuse us of making it easy to be homeless. While you are caught up in our miracles, we are busy trying to save the world.

In the fall, the little pint of personality starts at kindergarten. Mama has anxiously been toting her to doctor’s appointments for check-ups and immunizations. They’ve been collecting gently-used children’s clothing from thrift stores and church closets, so that baby is dressed for the best throughout the school year. Lists of items needed before the first day have been made. And mom is more excited than child could ever be about school starting and the opportunity to volunteer in the classroom.

This story could have changed courses many times, and the possibility is high that it still could. But the striking force that has kept this story on track, has less to do with time and finances and much more to do with investment of energy in the person and the issues at hand.

It was three years ago that this mom and baby came to us with the prospect of sleeping on the street the coming night. For months prior, their story had spiraled downward. Starting with the child’s father leaving and the rent rising on the apartment they were living in, the pair had landed in a couch-hopping situation, dependant on how far mom’s social security check could stretch. The day they came to us in panic, was the day mom’s equally homeless boyfriend, who also managed her disability check, had refused to have anything else to do with her. Stuck with a mental handicap since birth, no access to her money and a child who needed a place to stay, she was in crisis.

For the next two weeks, Micah staff focused on housing applications, transferring money management responsibilities to someone who wouldn’t back out on her and supporting this mom and child in their various needs. More quickly than we imagined, the phone rang. She had been accepted in a subsidized neighborhood and could move in by week’s end, once security deposit and rent were in place. Even after the hotel rooms and basic financial needs from the preceding two weeks, she had enough left in her checking account… plus 4 cents.

We tend to look at homelessness, sometimes as a complicated mess full of people layered with challenges. Challenge after challenge often runs so deep that we see the whole picture and say these people just cannot be helped. The time, the money, the effort is simply overwhelming, if we consider the depths of their struggles all at once. It is only when we address each layer of their struggles that we can begin to peal them away and reveal the possibilities.

Meeting the needs of this mom and child took two weeks of relatively undivided attention. It cost $28, which covered the difference between the funds in her pocket and the price of a hotel room on the night she found out her boyfriend wasn’t going to help her any more. I’d be a liar to say the energy and effort on her case stopped the day she moved into an apartment. Plenty of transportation needs, parental guidance, household management advice, etc. continues to be rendered weekly for her to maintain her living situation.

But as I watch that little one cover her eyes on the playground, count as high as she knows how and forget that she is supposed to go find, not hide, I can’t help but feel reassured. It’s the excitement in mom’s face and the joy in that child’s laugh that makes me remember that any energy that Micah puts forth to keep their lives in tact…is more than worth it.

http://www.unspokenallies.com/

“December”

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“Before You Accuse Me”

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“Little Wing”

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Sometimes naturally, sometimes tragically–they die

There’s the man who used to take the newer homeless under his wing and teach them how to survive.

And there’s that guy who finally got housing and almost lost it because he let anyone without place claim a spot on his floor.

There’s the fellow with the crutch who’d trade you his food stamps if you’d do the walking to get what he needed.

One was always dying of something, but finally passed from something he could have cured.

Another didn’t keep many friends, but somehow people always talk of the thing they own that used to belong to him.

There’s always something our street folk are privately remembered for.

And now there’s the guy who was tragically struck by a train last week.

He wasn’t homeless that long, but knew the community long enough to earn a reputation as the street’s gentle giant. He is remembered for watching over another who kept getting beat up. And some claim his words were the thing that made them decide to seek a better path.

But there is something different about this story that needs not to be lost.

Although his death be untimely and horrific, he gets to be mourned in the ways our world expects. Memorials, funerals, obituaries and tears. Flowers, crosses, prayers and honors.

As his story goes, he once owned a house, talked regularly with friends and family. And now that he’s gone, those who loved him find it hard to believe that he could have been homeless.

It doesn’t always end like this.

When our street people die, Micah usually finds itself more engaged in the search for a long lost family than the opportunity to remember their life. Early in my career, I grew numb to the questions about when the funeral will be or why the obituary had’t shown in the paper.  And it still breaks my heart when I have to confess that there isn’t going to be one.

I’ve learned, however, that those who leave this world with no home are by no means forgotten. With recycled goods, hand crafted items and tattered belongings, our homeless population shared their way of mourning with the people of Fredericksburg today. They cry, they swap stories; they bring flowers and eulogies. They mourn indeed, for the people who were important to them, just like the rest of us. And when they are done, the people they love become another legend, shared on the street so that all may know who went before them.

“Big Jim’s” story is a powerful testament to the very real possibility that any one of us could become homeless under the wrong set of circumstances. It has been an honor to watch the community rally around his remembrance. He is truly mourned in both the mainstream world and the homeless circle.

It is in their lives that I understand our street folks as valuable individuals.  In their deaths I remember they are a community, each valued by someone. May we never forget that everyone, whether homeless or housed, is someone’s son or daughter, placed on this earth with an important purpose.

We can say “no child left behind.” And we can fight global wars to stamp out terrorism.

But if we say… “end of homelessness,” heads cock sideways, eyes cross, minds scramble and the questions roll.

“You can’t say that,” I’m told. “No one will believe you are legitimate and realistic about your cause.”

“I’ve always understood homelessness as something that will always be among us,” they say. “How is it that you who spend your days with them, can think any differently?”

It may be true, that people will always be poor. It is guaranteed that someone will have a need. And its clear that some people have been trapped in their circumstances so long that they can’t see the prospect of doing anything any differently.

But does that mean we pour water on the mission and only work for what we believe to be possible?

Consider just reducing cancer-related deaths in the United States. How do we convince a patient that their odds are just as good as the next person?

We could work to minimize the number of children growing up to be overweight adults. What do we say to the parents who outlive their children because they weren’t part of the minimum?

Our slogan could be, “no child left behind, except the ones who want to be.” How do we inspire the youth and families of our generation to do any better for themselves.

We could even send soldiers into harms way just to “control” terrorism. But is that enough of a cause to sacrifice someone’s life?

When we talk about minimizing, reducing or anything but ending the ailments of our world, we are appealing to the status quo. Of course we want as few people as possible to die from cancer. Of course we want as many children as possible to grow up to be healthy, happy adults. OF COURSE we want any school child to graduate and go on to be a productive contributor. And by all means we want to limit the harm any person or group seeks to inflict on the world.

Minimizing, reducing, limiting–those are all things we do as human beings to find our place and our purpose. But ending something calls us to a much greater mission. It means that no one gets left out. It means that, when we’re done, our contribution to the cause will contribute to the path that someday will bring about an end to something. We may not live to see it; nor are our children guaranteed a life without one of troubles of our generation. But if we set the path for the moon, history proves we can get there one day. We ended slavery, we stopped segregation and when we got to the moon, we started planning for Mars.

So, yes, I talk about an end to homelessness. And when you look at all things we have ended in our  past, I don’t think it is too much to ask for all people have a safe and sound place to sleep at night.