Joy was all over her face..

She wheeled the stroller into drop-in.  It was a bitterly cold day and the bundle inside the stroller was barely recognizable…But WE knew who it was!  Since we have known Gladys, she has been talking about gaining full custody of her granddaughter who was in the foster care system.  She and her husband are housed, receive a pension and were fighting hard to get three year old Amy back.  They had a lot of hoops to jump through, but they did it and as she walked into the drop-in a couple of weeks ago, Gladys could barely contain her joy.  Once she was freed from the confines of her snowsuit, Amy mirrored her grandma’s big smile and said that she got to live with grandma and grandpa ALL the time now!  She talked non-stop about how much she loved being with her grandparents and how happy she was.  This couple doesn’t live high-off-the-hog, but they have a lot of love to give this little girl and she has a lot of love to give back.  We count ourselves blessed to be a part of their support system!

Kim

Who gives more?

“Excuse me m’am…do you have any bus tickets?  I have to get to an appointment this afternoon.”  I was speaking with a couple of our friends at drop-in this week when a quiet and somewhat unsteady woman approached me and posed the question.  I answered that we only give out tickets from the office and that there was no one there right now.  I was just starting to tell her that I would double-check that when Corie, one of the friends in the group I was standing with, reached into his pocket and gave her 2 loonies.  He doesn’t have much himself.  Each week he gets a bag of groceries from our food-bank and I know that the ends don’t often meet in his budget.  To say that I was humbled would be an understatement, but we see examples of generosity in the street community all the time.  At the office the other day, one of our friends gave his gloves to another because he had a warm place to sleep and the other guy didn’t.  I think we’re often guilty of thinking that we have so much to teach our street friends…but maybe…it’s the other way around.

Thoughts from Jeff…a member of our Wednesday outreach team

If you look at me, and squint really hard, I look like God.

 

Whoa! Don’t be hasty! Unless you ask my little sister, I’m not that cocky. What I mean is, I’m made in God’s image. If you’d like to use a different metaphor, I have my Father’s eyes.

 

I bring this up because sometimes people ask me what I do when I volunteer with OIM. This is an easy one to answer! I do exactly what God has always intended I do in every single interaction I have with any human being (street engaged or not): I try my best to look like God. Polish up that blurry image so that it’s as clear a likeness as possible.

 

So whether I’m sharing a laugh in an after hours Laundromat, debating the best legal strategy for a court appearance, huddling in a doorway to discuss the impact of Winterlude on the street engaged population, or peering into the corners of a market parking garage, what I’m hoping for is that someone will see me, do a double-take, and then see God.

 

It’s only fair. Because it’s a pretty regular occurrence for me to turn a corner, see one of my street friends, and catch a strong glimpse of God.

 

And I usually don’t even have to squint.

What did your morning look like?

Going to work this morning, I came down the same hill at the same time and saw the same bus going up the other side.  I got on my usual bus with the same driver and saw the same people going about their routines too.  Before that, I got up, checked my email…watched the morning news as I had my coffee and said goodbye to my family as I do every morning.

 

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?

New blog coming soon!!

Just ‘doing their job’? You decide…

A few weeks ago, one of our street youth was found drowned in the Ottawa River.  I can tell you he came from a broken home, with all the accoutrements that you might imagine might accompany that.  He left home when he was 16 and was ‘on and off’ the streets.  We have been in relationship with him for the past three years.

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!

Deaf and Dumb, but WHO?

Big transition of our drop in this past week from Salvation Army Gladstone Street to Dominion Chalmers U/C on Lisgar.  For those who aren’t aware of this prestigous United Church, have a look at photos at http://www.dc-church.org/  A remarkable, extrememly well kept, renovated, bright, cheery place – exactly the kind of place that our street friends deserve to come into for a meal, refreshment and friendship.

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.

For us or for them?

I sat at the table with three guys at the drop in this week, just starting a hot game of euchre, when Rod asked if he could please ask a question.  Everybody looked.  “Sure,” I said. 

Rod looked at me intently.  We were in relationship for a while now, long enough for him to feel comfortable: “Why don’t you pray here at the drop in before meals?”

“Good question,” I replied and went on to explain that whereas we were a Christian agency, that we did pray before each drop in, that many times our volunteers prayed with people throughout the day, and that the servers prayed over the meal before serving, that we did not pray publically before meals because there would be a small percentage of our guests for whom that would be a problem.  Some of our folks have been abused by ‘religious’ people, whether at residential schools, or their home towns or somewhere along the story path of their lives. Any kind of prayer for some of our guests, would make them feel very uncomfortable. For the sake of the few, we decided to forgo this common practice.

We continued to talk and enjoyed a good conversation about prayer, people and respect.  The whole table became involved  in fact, and the other guys felt free sharing their opinions as well (it was the first time for one of the guys to open up and talk in front of me).

The boys had been having some conversations about how other agencies require them to ‘be a part’ of a worship experience for about 40 minutes, then listen to a sermon for another 30 minutes, and then they were allowed to eat.  They felt pretty strongly that there was something wrong with this system, and some definite lack of respect for people who were hungry and wanting something to eat.

I defended the particular agency to the guys, because we all know that there is just too much to be done in this world to help others, and people are doing what they think is best when they run a program.

There was talk then about how the worship/preaching/eating  group never asked them what they wanted.  You couldn’t play cards, and there was no time to visit or talk really, because the music was too loud during ‘worship’, or you couldn’t speak during the sermon time.  The food was really good and always fresh, and when you’re hungry, that means a lot.  The whole table agreed that the food was great.

I started to be at a loss for words right about then, but really came up with a big zero when Rod leaned across the table, and thoughtfully (and sincerely) asked me, “Do you think they are doing this for us or for them?” 

Are we doing this for us or for them? 

Million dollar question!  A question that deserves serious consideration, or meditation, or maybe even some prayer time.  Who are we doing this for?  Is it to make us feel better, less guilty, more ‘loving’? 

Or is it because ‘the love of God compels us’ to reach out to others?

Wisdom from the streets calls us to examine ourselves, our motives and our hearts.

Now everything has shifted: it’s not about the worship/preaching/eating group – it’s about me.

No Where to Go

We were eating lunch when about twelve taps at the door came, softly, rhythmically and then stopped. We looked at each other and guessed it was the one of our guys that always came when we were closed.  “Pete, for sure,” and we  agreed.

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.

BIG day at the Drop In

We receive many donations of clothing at the drop in and we invite folks to help themselves to whatever they need.  From time to time we are presented with genuine needs that go far beyond any donation.

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.”