Routine…predictability…we might be tempted to see it as boring…but it’s actually healthy!  Of course we like to shake it up every now and then to keep it interesting, but mental health experts say that routine and knowing what tomorrow will bring is a key factor in your overall health.  The stress of not knowing what tomorrow will look like can be seen first in a lowered  immune system leading to frequent illness, and chronic stress leads to changes in the very biochemistry of one’s body leading to conditions such as depression.

What did your morning look like?  Many of the people we see at OIM woke up not knowing where they will eat today, or where they will sleep tonight.  Many don’t know where they will be tomorrow, let alone in a week.

Routine…predictability…doesn’t sound so bad does it?

Physical Abuse: most kids are fleeing domestic violence.  Hard as street life is, it’s viewed as better than ‘home’.

Substance Abuse: if it hasn’t already started, it comes into the picture big time when the kids hit the streets.  It begins as self-medication to try to deal with pain of whatever they are facing. Then it turns into a physiological thing and then the kids need to maintain so as not to go into withdrawal.

All alone:  Even though they hang out in larger groups for safety, each of these ‘tough kids’ is just a kid, like the kid across the street from you, who has HAD to put on an image in order to survive. It is a mask, necessary for survival. No support, no one to help, none.  None.

Violence: is a part of it all, along with ‘survival tactics’ that are less than pretty: prostitution, drug use with needles and prescriptions and whatever else comes to hand, even running drugs for the ‘boss’ man.

We deal with these issues, portrayed through kids who mostly never had a fair chance because of their background.  So we love on them, encourage them in the smallest things you can imagine, build self-esteem whenever we can, and really, just try to hang on to them.

Statistics report that there are a few levels of socio-economic backgrounds of kids on the streets, but guess what?  The pimps, dealers and other exploiters, really do NOT care.  They see a source of income, a piece of meat to ‘sell’, a means to their own selfish ends.

They come to us.  They come every week.  They have no other place to go that is positive, encouraging and supportive.

Yea, it’s hard work, and it really hurts sometimes, but we believe in these kids with all of our hearts.

Eddy was one of the first members of our Passion 4 youth art program. He enjoyed coming every week and worked on building model cars and also a model of a mountain with a stream running from the side. After the first art show he and his girlfriend Sue stopped coming to the group. I caught up with him a few times on outreach and he told me that he was selling too much crack now and could not afford to take a night off. So we just kept telling him that we loved him and that he was welcome to come back whenever he wanted to. Then we stopped hearing from him all together for a few months. At one point his girlfriend Sue contacted me and told me that he had been arrested for selling drugs. A few more months went by and I got a facebook message from Eddy. He told me that he had served 7 months in Jail and then was released to serve the rest of his sentence at a rehab facility in Quebec. He was allowed to go home for a weekend and while at home he used heroin again. When he came back to rehab and failed a drug test and was dismissed from the facility.

At his next court appearance Eddy was informed that he would have to serve a few more months in jail because he failed the drug test. He asked if he could go and call his mother. When he left the room, Eddy got scared and decided to run from the court room. He later called his lawyer who told him that he needed to turn himself in to the authorities. He knew that he should do the right thing but he was very scared to turn himself in.

Eddy asked me what I thought he should do and I told him that he needed to listen to his lawyer. He said that he has never willingly put himself in Jail. It was just too crazy to think about. So over the next few weeks Eddy would contact me and tell me that he was going to turn himself in. But the next day he would not follow through. He called me again and said that he was thinking about turning himself over to authorities in the morning. I told him that if he wanted I would meet him I would meet with him at the Rideau center in the morning and we could go together. That way he could have a friend with him in case he got scared and wanted to run away again. Eddy said that he would like that so we arranged a time to meet. When I arrived at our meeting spot he was already there waiting for me. We hugged and I told him that I was proud of him. I got him some breakfast and sat and talked for a while. I asked him why he felt that he was ready now. He told me that he had just found out that our mutual friend Roni had died of a drug overdose last week. Roni was a good friend to him and her death had a profound effect on him. He decided that if he didn’t want to end up the same way he needed to make some changes in his life. We talked about how this was an opportunity for him to face some of the things that he has been running from. We walked over to the court house together. Along the way Eddy noticed a man sitting on the Mackenzie King Bridge pan handling. Eddy walked over and gave him all but 4 of the cigarettes from his pack, as well as all of the money in his pocket. We went into the court and called his lawyer. The lawyer agreed to meet him there. When the lawyer came we approached one of the police officers stationed at the court house and told him that Eddy was turning himself in. He filled out some paper work gave up his wallet and shoe laces. He looked very scared and started to cry. The officer told him that he was going to process the paper work and be back in about fifteen minutes. In the mean time Eddy was allowed to go outside and have one last smoke.

We walked out to the patio in the back and he lit his cigarette. At this point I reminded him of all the times we had talked about the difference that Jesus could make in his life. We talked about how God’s love for him is unconditional, and that he was going to need Gods strength to overcome the things that were controlling his life. Usually an agnostic, Eddy told me that this time he really believed that what I was saying was true. So I asked if he would like to ask the Lord to be his Savior and give his life to Christ he said that he did. I sat next to him and we prayed together.  When we were done praying we looked up and the police officer was waiting in front of us to take him to the cells. We stood up and walked together with the officer to the elevator.

The officer agreed not to handcuff him until they were downstairs so as not to embarrass him in front of the public. Eddy teared up again and then gave me a hug. I left him my number so that he can continue to call me while he is in jail. He thanked me for staying with him and then asked if I would call his dad and let him know what happened. As I left the court I thought about how proud of Eddy I was. This was very hard for him but he did it anyway. I thanked God for taking what the devil would want to use for harm and turning it into an opportunity to bring my friend into a relationship with him.

It’s a new beginning for Eddy, a fresh start.  Let’s pray that he continues to make good decisions and plans for his future.

A few weeks ago another agency called us to ask if we had seen him.  Neither we nor they had contact with him for three weeks or so, and long story short, he was found in the river after partying at his 19th birthday with some friends.

But that’s not my story… There was a memorial service just last week, and many of the kids on the streets were in attendance to pay their respects.  Our youth outreach worker had to leave the memorial a bit early and noticed the two policemen that were waiting downstairs just outside in the hallway where the memorial service was held.  Imagining that they had come to pay their respects to the deceased, he greeted them and walked outside.  ‘Nice of them to come’, he thought.

The next day we started to hear reports about the aftermath of the memorial.  Apparently these two policemen were waiting for a specific purpose.  They had a number of photographs and list of descriptions of youth who had outstanding warrants, and were waiting for the kids to emerge from the memorial service to apprehend them and take them off to jail.  These would be for breeches of probation, failure to show at court, unpaid fines and the like.

OK, so the police are just trying to do their jobs?  Yes they are.

Nothing technically wrong with it, there were not violating any laws or anything.  It just seems to be a bit shortsighted in that it achieved a short term goal, but does no long term bridge building betweem the kids and the police.

I would love to hear your comments on this one!

We can look forward to spring, but it seems a long time coming.

No less for our street friends – not that’s the understatement of the year.

Christmas is a time typically when there is a generous outpouring of love and generosity to those on the streets and we are thankful for this.  But what about after Christmas?

Maybe we don’t think about it all that much, but the winter is a misery when you are on the move all the time, with no place to rest your usually wet, cold, freezing feet.  The laundromat is usually a good place, but it is often the case that the proprietors of the same are on the lookout for people who don’t wash their clothes.  The laundromat just beside our offfice entance is a good example.  It is common for the police to be called to this place, because some of Ottawa’s homeless population need a warm place.

In extreme cold -whatever that is- I guess it depends on whether or not you are in the cold all the time .  Street-engaged people are herded up and forced to go ‘inside’ (not the Chateau Laurier).  This experience can be worse that staying outside, because it is yet another violation of their persons (the force that can accompany can be excessive) – there are reasons why people cannot access services.

I guess I’m painting a pretty dark, bleak picture.  A bit negative, eh? But it is what it is – I’m pretty sure about that.

What then?  Well, don’t forget about those on the streets, even when the weather has some degree of improvement: the nights are still very cold.

Why not think about doing something about this problem?  You could contact one of the local agencies in your city and volunteer to do something.  Maybe you could give something – time, talents or money.  Stop and talk to someone you pass who is panhandling on the streets: you would be surprised how ‘invisible’ someone can become as soon as they sit on a curb with a ball cap and ask for money.  Give or not, it’s up to you, but you need to see that this is a real person, with a real story,  he/she is where she is, not from choice,  but from a cascade of trouble that they could do nothing to change (it usually begins with childhood abuse – how can we hold someone responsible for that?)

Give some change if you like – better a bill.  Once you give, forget about what will happen to it.  We hold people so very responsible for so little, when we are so careless with the treasures with which we have been blessed.

One thing for sure: we really can’t do nothing about this.  In our affluence, remember the  poor.

Make a difference.  Go out there and change your world.

Switching from Wednesday to Tuesday and the first of the month when all the cheques are out, and when it is absolutely beautiful and sunny, attendance was a bit low.  But, every person is important, and our gift is to come alongside those who are given to us on any day.

I had seen Jacques several times but never had a chance to sit and visit until today.  Add to that, Jacques can neither hear nor speak.  So I sat across the table and tried to communicate, thinking he might read lips or we could have some sort of communication.  He clearly indicated some things to me, one of which was he was not interested in trying to communicate with me (at least in my clumsy manner).  I was at a loss, until I looked at the white napkin in front of me, and then caught a glimpse of a pen that my neighbour had placed next to her book.  DUH!!

I picked up the pen and napkin and wrote a sentence of welcome.

The transformation was immediate and eagerly accepted.  After a few pen exchanges, I went and found some loose leaf and we spent the next while going back and forth, writing like we were age old friends.

Jacques told me days, dates and years of significant events in his life.  We talked about the drop in and answered questions that he had since he came through our doors some time ago.  Of where he lived, how it was hard to live on ODSP, how old he was, where he was raised and more…

It was refreshing, even exhilerating!  I had a friend to talk with, and so did he.

We get so busy with things – and I would be one of the worst offenders.  This and that call for immediate attention and we can neglect or overlook the gifts of beauty in the people around us.  This is clearly my story with Jacques. 

I wonder who the deaf and dumb one really is.

 I don’t know why I didn’t think of writing before, but I am thank God that I thought of it this week.

And I thank God for my new friend – my note pal.

I wonder what riches we will uncover as we develop our friendship?  I am really looking forward to more.

God help us to slow down and see the opportunities that present themselves to all of us each day.

We opened the door to find Rachel, a twenty something native Canadian with a three inch gash over her  right temple, blood not fresh, but not old either. “I had no where to go.  I couldn’t find anybody.  I didn’t know what to do, so I came here.”

We ushered her in, sat her down and started to tend to her wound.  There was more: a bicycle pedal imprint over her right knee where she had been thrown, sore ribs and bruises on her body where she had been kicked and punched.

“I don’t know why I get guys that beat me up,” she said softly, between tears.  “I left my last boyfriend for this very reason.  I just found out I am a month pregnant.  What am I going to do?”

“You did the right thing to come to us,” we comforted her.

We cleaned the wound and bandaged it – thankfully it didn’t need stitches – this time.  She spoke so softly, as if her every word, let alone her presence with us was, as she thought, was such an intrusion.

“I couldn’t find Benny or Smitty or Lally, or anybody.  I had nowhere else to go.  I didn’t know what to do,” she said again, and then broke into muffled sobs.

As I watched, Erin put down the towel, and wrapped her arms around Rachel, and held her.  The sobs turned to a moaning and deep sobbing from areas of pain deep within.  She melted into Erin’s embrace, now just a little girl, all alone, with some pretty big problems. 

“There, there,” Erin whispered, “You’re Ok with us.  You are safe here.”  And she held her.

That’s it.  That’s what OIM is all about – somewhere and someone to whom you can run when the bottom falls out of life.  A safe place where someone who cares will hold you when the whole world is crashing around you.  Where you have a name.  Where you can share your pain, and know that another human being really does care.   Where, for not-enough-minutes-at-a-time, you can have a family again.

Moments of time etched on our minds, some of which will not be soon forgotten.  When something we do seems to make a whole lot of sense, in a world which doesn’t make sense at all.  If we never did another single, solitary thing for the rest of forever, we were there – and we are here – for Rachel.

Two settings of eighty people each, tickets are distributed and it works well.  This year we had an East Coast Trio that did well: one of our Newfoundland guys said, “I close my eyes and I’m back home.”

Volunteers cooking, serving, cleaning, visiting – with our friends from the streets sharing words of thanks and appreciation.  One Christmas treat bag each, along with one sock filled with more treats. The other sock was inside the first one – I asked.

So, near the end of the second setting I leave through the kitchen door to return my camera to the car.

I noticed someone standing, well leaning, on the wall outside the main door, just out of view of anyone inside.  He was standing on one foot, his leather dress boot in one hand, while at the same time, he is putting on a fresh emptied sock from the gift table.  I looked away to preserve some of my friend’s dignity, and my mind was flooded with thoughts filled with emotion.

I didn’t notice any used socks around when I returned: I wonder if he had any socks on at all.  The leather dress boots had seen better days, and then only inside, but the winter had turned them white with salt, and there was enough water to penetrate the leather right to the bare feet.

What could happen to a person that he would not have socks?  This is sadness.

Then, what could be a better Christmas present than a clean, fresh, warm pair of socks?  Can’t get much better than that!  That is gladness.

Sadness and gladness all wrapped up in a simple exercise of putting on a pair of socks.  The sad story behind this we may never know, but we could imagine there’s a lot of stuff hidden in that story.

Then we have to consider the bigger picture of a bunch of volunteer stuffing socks with candies, hoping to bring a little light into someone’s life – if only they knew just how appropriate their gift really was!

A small thing really, for most of us – but a pretty  large thing for our sockless, water soaked, leather booted friend.

You have to wonder if all the preparation of the meal, the music, the gift bags (and sock bags), the venue, the volunteers, and so many countless deeds of kindness that went into the whole Christmas dinner in January… was so that one man, who had cold, wet boots, could have warm feet for just a wee while.

And know that Someone cared.

Jimmy takes a size 15 boot and has difficulties finding this size anywhere in the city.  Bill has a rather large circumference and has the same problem.

I approached Bill and told him we could help.  If he would like, we could go to a big box store and he could get a couple pair of pants.  He declined, saying that his sweat pants were serving their purpose quite well, and that there was no need – perhaps I could find someone who was really poor and who needed it.  After some further conversation, he hesitantly admitted, well, he might be able to use some 52” waist trousers given that his other pair of pants were shorts (and he had been wearing them this winter!!)  He was too shy to come with me, but if I went to the box store, he would need 52” a (not 50”) waist.  I asked if we should do a measurement just in case, but we couldn’t find a measuring tape.

Final words, “Fifty-two.”

“No problem”, I replied, “You wait right here.”

South on Bank Street, and my two BIG questions (nice pun!) at the box store, “Do you have 52” waist pants and size 15 warm winter boots?” was answered in the affirmative.  Back to the drop in.

I discretely passed Bill the inside out bag with two pairs of pants and suspenders, and encouraged him to go try them on for size.  “Are they 52?” he asked. 

“Yes, they are.” 

“Then they will be fine, thank you very much.   Fifty-two’s will be just fine.  Thank you very much.”

“It might be good to try them, just in case.  Sometimes store measurements can be a bit off,” I proposed, and, after receiving a somewhat hesitant affirmation, I went off to find Jimmy.  Word got out that I had been looking for him, and he was waiting when I returned.  Before I told him about the new boots he mentioned that his feet were wet and cold from the snow, and size 15 were not common.  I told him that was just what I wanted to talk to him about.  He welcomed the news and we went to the car, and he tried on the boots right there. 

“Are these size 14?” he asked.

“No, these are size 15 – hey, here’s the tag,” and showed him the big ‘15’ on the box.

“Hmmm, nice.”

I passed him one of the boots and he asked for the other.  “My left foot is bigger,” he explained.

Long story short, the left foot was a bit tight, but the right fit perfectly.  He was very pleased and thanked me profusely.

Back downstairs to see how Bill made out. When I was only just in sight, he yelled, “Good one Ken!  Thanks to Lord too,” and explained how the pants did not fit properly – maybe an inch and a half too short of buttoning up. 

“Maybe get a 54 or 55 would be good.  Don’t be shy.  Sorry for the trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” I replied, “Better to find out now and make the exchange.”

South on Bank Street, and now just one BIG question, “Do you have 54” and Matt promptly searched for the right numbers.  “Do you have 55?” I inquired, “that might be better.” 

“If it’s just 1 ½ inch, then a 54 will fit just fine.”

Back again to the drop in – it was almost deserted by this time – and no Bill.  Anybody seen Bill?  He was upstairs getting his hair cut, so all was well.

“Got the 54’s,” I said, “No problem at all.”

“That will be great,” he replied.  “Thanks so much.  I am so sorry for your trouble.  Thank you.”

“Maybe you should just try these on to be sure,” I offered, confident that I had achieved my goal.

“As soon as I’m done.”

Twenty minutes later he came out of the washroom with a concerned look on his face.  “Ken, they only just fit.  Will they shrink?  What if I just hung them to dry?  What if the woman that sometimes helps with my laundry forgets, and puts them in the dryer?  They just barely fit now. And they’re 54’s (sigh).”

“That’s not so bad.  One of our volunteers has a cousin that takes a 60.”  He raised his eyebrows.  I’ll take them back and get the next size up.  Come to the office at noon tomorrow, and we’ll get the right size.”

“I’m so sorry about all this,” he said sadly, ”It is so much trouble.”

“Tomorrow you will have pants that fit properly. You will enjoy them for a long time to come.  It’s worth it to do this right. “

“Around noon then.  Thank you Ken.  Thank you.”

In addition to the beautiful day, some of our folks were only just receiving their cheques from December (some glitch in the matrix of ODSP/OW) on this day, so it was doubly beautiful (maybe more).

Our numbers are down a bit because of the cheque thing (a typical first of the month pattern), but we have given up trying to estimate our effectiveness through the number of people served a meal.  Instead we count the number of positive interactions our volunteers have with our street friends – more than ‘the Big three’ of news, weather and sports. 

Downstairs, there’s a couple of euchre games on the go, people visiting with each other, relaxed, informal – a nice place to hang out. 

Let’s ‘drop in’ on a few of my encounters with our friends:

I met Bill who is 19 years old and his sister Chaucery (or so I thought, until Bill told me it was his mom), and we chatted.  Two years ago he ran from a fight only to have a severe stab wound in the skull: “See the mark?” he says as he points to the top of his head.  We talked of a few things, but he told me he didn’t want to talk about his father, one time Chaucery’s partner.  Then, after about twenty minutes,   he brought up the topic of his father, and how he had been so severely mistreated.  Usually, among people who have been mistreated as children it is their fathers who have been the primary causes of abuse.  He didn’t want to talk about it, but then he did.  He had been diagnosed with some condition of mental illness (before the knife wound and somehow associated with his father), he explained, and lives with his mom.  Their hydro had been cut off, and it was a good thing I wasn’t part of the blanket-blank agency, or they would have some choice words for me.  They were going to make it, the mom said, because hydro was not their heat source, and their landlord had allowed them to have an extension cord running to a power outlet in the hall.  “We have lots to be thankful for,” Bill reminded his mom.

On the way to the coffee urn, Wayne came in and asked if he could have a hamper to take home with him (before the appointed time for hampers) because the service technician was coming to his new place to hook up a phone that afternoon.  Wayne has undergone a remarkable recovery from alcohol, drugs and the street scene.  He has been clean for over a year now, and has every intention of continuing to improve his life.  After many, many attempts to obtain housing, he now has a place of his own.  I marvel at what he has accomplished against overwhelming odds, as well at his determination to keep on the ‘straight and narrow’.

 Jelica, our managing director, put together a few groceries, while Wayne showed us pictures of his two daughters and grandchildren.  “Wow”, I said, admiring the photographs and smiling, “You don’t look it, but you truly are a rich man.”  He quickly nodded assent and told a condensed version of the powerful reconciliation he recently had with one of his daughters – after being estranged from her for many, many years.

“Thank you so very much for the food,” he said, and put the pictures carefully in the front part of his knapsack, and the groceries in the back.  “I’m off to catch the 12:10 bus.”

As he climbed the stairs out of the building, my eyes met Jelicas’, and there was a simultaneous sigh of gratitude and wonder at this example of a transformed life.  More than words are needed to grasp the deep significance of what was happening all around us. 

It’s all a gift from God, and gifts of God.

These kinds of encounters happen all the time, each one purposefully and intrinsically orchestrated by our Heavenly Father:  each one a display of His splendor .  Mother Theresa coined it well when she said, “We see Jesus in the distressing disguise of the poor.”

You should find out how you could be a part of this somehow.  Happy New Years!