Bedbugs or Brutality?

I walked past Jim sleeping outside the convenience store on my way to the bank.  He was OK, probably tired from a late night.  The doorway of the building he was laying across was vacant, and he was ‘out of the way’ at least, from pedestrians and cars.  No danger.  No alarm.

This is Jim’s ‘area’, I guess you could say.  He would pan outside the supermarket, play his guitar for donations (or not), and generally was easy to get along with.  He knew how to do his ‘work’ and got by – as best a person could get by, homeless style.

I have wakened Jim on occasion to see if he was OK, or needed something, or if I had something for him.  Today everything looked good, so I let him sleep.

He comes to the office regularly, and we have gone out of the way to help him with recording some of his songs, created CD’s for him to market and so on.  He appreciates the help, but he is pretty entrenched in his lifestyle for any radical change – at least for now.  So, we do what we can, and wait for the day when he wants to make a change.

Back to the street.

On the way back from the bank, one of Ottawa’s finest has pulled the black and white over the curb just in front of Jim’s spot.  A young constable, mid twenties, has the task of ‘moving Jim “along”.  ( I have yet to discover where ‘along’ is.  For sure it’s not here and not now).

It doesn’t look pretty.  Jim is shaken up from his peaceful sleep, rushing to gather his things to the tune of “Hurry up.  You need to move – NOW!” and other such pleasantries.  Jim slips his foot out of his oversized running shoe and shows the peace officer his feet – black and blue and cut.  “I can’t move fast – look at my feet”, Jim shouts at the policeman, who by now is donning his black leather gloves. 

I stay and watch as a witness, in case something goes awry, but it gets cleared up.  “Cleared up”.  Sounds good, clean, and neat, but it’s far from anything even remotely connected with clean or clear.  It’s messy.

I am grieved whenever I see this happen, and it happens all the time. Some business owner, or not – maybe it’s just time for a ‘sweep’ of our streets from city hall – whatever… it’s dehumanizing, degrading, condescending and sometimes brutal.  It’s about the wielding of power and the power of injustice.

Jim has tried to get housing, but it’s not an easy option for him.  He had to leave his last place because of the bedbugs.  Lots of them – hungry too! 

At the very least, there aren’t any bedbugs on the streets – just the police.

What’s worse?

Modern Day Good Samaritian

Some have asked me to print a story that Brent Daley, one of my buddies at our drop in, has written.  Here it is, with only moderate editing.  Anybody need a ghost writer?

It was the spring of 1995 when I moved back home from Calgary. I was tired after spending 15 years as a mechanical engineering technologist at the University of Calgary, but if the truth be known I was burned out.

The normal three day drive would double because of the shape I was (wasn’t) in both physically and mentally.  My aging Honda Civic was packed full and the utility trailer I was hauling had more than double it’s capacity.  I had everything I owned with me.

 An early May morning on the north shore of Lake Superior showed God’s handiwork: deep blue sky, blue lake, paper white beaches, trees in bloom – it was a picture postcard.  Highway good, no traffic, my gas tank was ¾ full with 30 miles from the last town and 20 to the next. That is when the trouble began.

 My body tensed when I heard the loud crunch and grind behind me, and I was surprised to see my right hand trailer wheel come off, pass me, jump the gravel ditch and come to rest on the tree line.   Of course I immediately pulled over into the gravel and stopped. I went for a walk to retrieve the tire as I had no spare and took it back to the car. Upon further inspection I discovered that the complete wheel had pulled off the trailer, right over the wheel nuts. The bolt holes on the wheel had become enlarged to accomplish this. What to do?

 I sat on the trunk of the car to ponder my predicament. While I was having a smoke and a think, a car came along in the opposite direction. His brakes lights indicated he was stopping, and a quick U-turn confirmed his intention.  I was alone with a considerable amount of cash with me so I was a little leery of the situation. I noticed that there was a man driving and a woman in the passenger seat knitting. I felt a little more at ease. The man got out of his car and approached me asking what the problem was. I explained to him about the wheel and how it had come off. He asked me if I had tools, a jack for the trailer and some washers in the tool box which I assured him I did. He said “Come on and I will give you a hand to fix the problem.”

 He and his wife had been vacationing in Toronto, now on route home to  Thunder Bay. He was a motor mechanic and his wife was a registered nurse. Within 20 minutes he had the wheel back on the trailer, using the washers to have the nuts hold the wheel in place. He made the wheel spin true and jacked the trailer down.  Ready to go. I put the tools and jack back in my trunk and went to shake his hand.

 “What do I owe you for your time and help?” I asked.

 “Well, let me tell you.  Last night I hit a patch of water on the highway near Barrie.  I lost control of the car and it jumped the ditch.  Both front tires were blown on impact.  A farmer came along and pulled me out of the ditch, went and got his pickup truck and took me into Barrie to purchase new tires. When we returned to the car the farmer helped me install the new wheels and I asked him that same question you just asked me.”

“He told me that I owed him nothing, but that if I was given the opportunity I should do a similar kindness for someone else. I have now done that and what you owe me is to pass it along”.

 I have often thought of that mechanic and the help he gave me out in the middle of the northern Ontario wilderness that fine morning in May. I have had opportunity to pass along the favor many times. It has always struck me that if everyone in the world treated each other the way he treated me this would be a much better place to live.

 Brent Daley, July, 2010

Word from the Drop In

Speaking with Brent at the drop in last week, I discoverd he had an aptitude and interest in writing.  I asked him to write about our Wednesday drop in and describe from the front lines, what it was like.  Without editing, here is his report:

One of the best kept secrets amounge people of limited income, who live in Ottawa, is the Ottawa Innercity Mission’s (OIM’s) Wednesday Drop-in. I have been a semi-regular at these drop-in’s since before they took up residence at their present location. I will try to explain here most of the reasons for my attendance at this particular function..

 The drop-in is held every Wednesday year round at their new location on Gladstone Ave. between Bank and Kent streets.in the Salvation Army Church building and easily accessible by several OC Transpo bus routes. It is free and open to everyone who cares to attend. I like to attend because of the relaxed atmosphere which is well organized, clean, well maintained and usually quite quiet and very well run. Although OIM is a Christian based organization, there is no lectures, chapel services or religious readings at these drop-ins. The people who attend maintain an atmosphere which is quite controlled, friendly and easy going. Staff members and volunteers mix freely with the patrons. There are several aspects to the program throughout the day which I will explain here.

 The door is open at at 10:00 am and the entire building is utilized. The first 25 people through the door are offered food bank tickets, which I will come to in a moment. On the lower level coffee, tea, milk and juice are available all day. At opening time there is a selection of breads, muffins, cookies and the like (breakfast) available. People gather in groups to talk, play cards or other games, read or just generally socialize. It is a great place to meet old friends or make new ones. At noon a hot meal is served at the tables and there is always enough food that seconds are regularly offered The volunteers serve up the food and everyone is encouraged to eat their fill. After lunch is served the volunteers and staff usually circulate throughout the room offering a selection of sandwiches and some type of desert. Promptly at 1:00pm one of the staff members begins to call numbers for the food bank offerings and groceries are distributed in an orderly fashion. Many people stay on to chat, socialize and play cards until 3:00 in the afternoon.

 On the second level there is a barber who, on a first come first served basis, will cut your hair for free. Rudy usually does between 12 and 15 haircuts throughout the day but he does take the summer months off. There is also a foot care clinic there where you can get your feet cleaned and once dried you will receive a new pair of socks. A chiropractic doctor is available afternoon for those who need his services.

 The third level of the building has a room which offers a selection of used clothing and footwear. This is quite popular first thing in the morning as that is when selection is best. If you can’t find what you want, come back again next week as there are always new offerings available.

 All in all OIM runs a great, fun, safe and much appreciated program. I would encourage everyone of limited means to come out and participate in a great weekly event. It is well worth the price of admission. 

 Hope this meets your needs.  I will get the other article bout the good samaritan written this afternoon or evening.  I am making preperations to get away for the weekend so am very busy.  Cheers.

Brent

 If you would like to read Brent’s article about the good samaritan, let me know by responding to this blog.  Cheers!

100% Success Rate at OIM!!

 ‘So what kind of success rate do you have with people?’  I looked at this person while a whirlwind of thoughts raced around in my head, almost like the dog chasing his tail.

My friend was thinking there might be a 3%, or maybe 5% success rate – where a person who lives in abject poverty, on the streets, ‘recovers’ and breaks the cycle of poverty, gets a job, an apartment, a family and all the other trappings that accompany the ‘Canadian dream’.

My mind flashed to people that I knew on the streets: people that had been sexually abused for many years as children and who had articulated these abuses only after living with them in silence for over 20 years;  I thought of others who were trapped in the dark cycle of drug and alcohol addiction which started as self-medication to deal with the beatings received from father, mother, step-parent or whoever; then of the teenage girl who brought her new born baby to the drop in for help, looking for someone – anyone who might show her real love, because in her experience people had only used her as if she were a piece of meat, a commodity that could be sold, rented or used.

All this raced through my mind in just a few seconds, with my friend waiting for an answer to his probing question.

‘One hundred percent,’ I replied, ‘We have a 100% success rate.’

His mouth dropped open in disbelief.  ‘What??  How??’

‘Each time we hand out a sandwich, or sleeping bag, or pair of socks, we build relationship with people who have never had relationship before.  It brings someone a step closer to a time when a light will come on and they will make better decisions and life choices.’

Some agencies count their ‘success’ by the number of plates served at a shelter or drop in (not withstanding that many folks will have five helpings!), or the number of people who attend a chapel service in order to receive a meal ticket, or the number of youth who will participate in a ‘project’ so as to make them eligible to receive services.

We count the number of positive interactions we have with our street friends at our drop in services or on the street through outreach.  It’s all about relationship (and 100% success).

One of our Kids – at the art show

The first time I met Kaylin she was on street outreach two years ago. I noticed her sitting on the sidewalk on Bank Street with a torn up hat placed in front of her and holding a sign that said “Anything would help, even a smile”.

I noticed that Kaylin was crying. When I asked her what was wrong she said that I group of tourists came up and took out their camera to take a picture of her. She asked them not to take the picture, but they ignored her and snapped the shot anyway. Then, without a word, the tourists just turned and walked away.

Kaylin felt humiliated, as if she was not a real person, “…just part of the scenery”as she says.

 Since that day our relationship with Kaylin has grown much closer and last year she joined our youth art program. She really didn’t want to paint because in her words, “I stink at painting”. She decided to make jewelery instead. At our first youth art show people were astounded at her beautiful creations. Encouraged by these compliments Kaylin showed up for art group the next week and said “I think I want to try painting now.”

It’s been  5 months now, and Kaylin shows up faithfully every week and pours out her heart on the canvas.  In fact, she has painted more pictures than anyone else in the group.

She arrived early to help set up the tables and the paintings for our second youth art show just last week. As we were setting up one of our staff asked Kaylin if she was excited about the putting her art work in the show. She said that she was happy but also very nervous because she did not think that anyone would be interested in coming to see her work.

“It will probably only be my mom who comes and that’s it”.

When we opened the doors at six o clock there was already a group of about 15 people waiting to come in. Within the first 30 minutes the room was filled with people who were amazed at the creativity displayed by the youth in the program. 

I looked at Kaylin and she had a big smile on her face, “I guess it’s more than just my mom” she laughed. 

By the end of the night we had over one hundred people who attended. The highlight of the night for me was walking out to the garden area we had displayed some of the art work.

Kaylin was standing next to one of her paintings and she was surrounded by visitors. When I moved closer to hear what Kaylin was saying I realized that she was telling them her life story. She was telling them about how she had struggled with drugs, but that she was doing better now. She was sharing her thoughts about what was needed in order to help homeless youth.

 

As she explained the meaning behind her favourite painting, I looked at the faces of everyone standing around her. They were hanging on her every word, totally locked in and listening to everything she had to say. 

In that moment, I thought back to the first time that I met her. Just a piece of the scenery?

Not anymore.  Kaylin was the star of the show.

Jason Pino, Youth Outreach Worker

Youth Art Show

It was an amazing evening! Thirteen street-engaged youth presented their art work at Dominion Chalmers United Church, and over 110 guests came to see some fantastic works of art.  The hall was laid out to show the art, and overflowed into the adjacent garden.  Guests were amazed at the high quality of art, and the only disappointment was that the art was for viewing only (not for sale).

The youth had the idea of setting up a large table area for guests to be creative with pastels and paint.  It was a hit!  The youth supervised the table and gave helps and hints to guests that were only beginning to discover their own talents. Seven or eight guests at a time, and it worked well.

One of the youth came into the hall from the garden.  She found some flower petals that had fallen from the plant, some strands of grass and wisps of dried grass, and she made a ‘natural’ creation on canvas with the pieces.  “Look, it’s from the garden!” she said as she bounced across the hall to show her friends.

That’s one difference with street artists: they can find use in what is usually discarded.  Most of us would see these items in our own gardens and think, “Time to rake and compost.” This young girl saw something different: she saw something that was redeemable, useful and beautiful.

It’s a microcosm of what is happening with our kids in the art program.  What some consider ‘discards’ or ‘societal throw-aways’ are really diamonds in the rough -kids who have neither had a chance in life nor any positive reinforcement.

Sometimes we can speak words of hope and sometimes we can see hope being birthed.

This is what is happening with these kids.  It’s truly beautiful.

I sat beside the ‘garden artist’, and encouraged her creativity and talent.  She was quiet when I spoke these words of hope into her life, but seemed to be listening intently.

Later on in the evening she approached me and proudly displayed her ‘real flower on canvases.  It was finished and she thought I would be interested.  I mentioned that the way she had finished the centre of the flowers was very appropriate (it really was genius), and her smile beamed brightly.

It the kind of thing that just might change a life!

The Power of Volunteers

 As we work among people experiencing poverty and homelessness, we have discovered an unusually powerful component that has become one of the foundations of our outreach – volunteers.

It never ceases to amaze me how people will leave the warmth and comfort of their homes and families and brave all elements to ensure that the relationships they have established with their friends on the streets or at one of our drop in programs, are maintained and strengthened.  Truly amazing.

Our street friends notice!  They are students of human behavior.  They watch people all day, and can quickly tell the difference between an imitation and the real thing.  Volunteers are in this latter category.  If there were such a thing, our street friends would each qualify for an honorary Ph.D. degree in the study of human behavior.  They know when someone is ‘out to help’ for selfish, personal reasons or because they genuinely care.  This is the power of a volunteer.

We have our Urban Intervention Training program three times a year, and a volunteer social typically occurs at the conclusion of these training sessions.  It gives the new volunteers an opportunity to meet with people who are experienced in the area, and it also provides increased opportunities to meet new people with similar interests.

Tonight was great.  Our BBQ social was a great success.  People were talking and laughing while meeting new friends and hearing our stories.  The food was great, but the friendships – ah- that’s the thing.

We model genuine transparent relationships with each other and then take it to the streets.  Seasoned volunteers, new graduates, staff and work skills participants all pulling together to move this mountain called ‘homelessness’, and making a difference – one person at a time.

Ever wanted to be a part of a group that together was doing something so much bigger than any of us could do alone?  Come and join our team of volunteers.  You can make a difference!

Hanging by a Thread

Working with people who are poor or homeless can be a challenge: there is great satisfaction and fulfillment, but it can be hard when we see how our friends often struggle to survive.  We have no right to complain, because we will leave the downtown core and head back to our own homes, lives and ‘other’ responsibilities.

It is a much larger challenge to continue to live on the streets.  That’s why, I think, people who call the streets their home have so much to offer.  They are often examples to me in many ways: in generosity, community, loyalty and even faith – in many respects they leave me at the starting blocks by comparison.

Their lives and our ministry are similar: both are hanging by a thread. 

Not just a ‘thread’, but a thread that is frayed and seemingly ready to give way at any moment.  Any major catastrophe or even small breath of wind would bring everything to a standstill in a second.

 I marvel at the tenacity and perseverance and strength of character that enable our friends to survive.  I wonder at the strength of the human will that at the last possible moment, when all seems black and lost and abandoned, rises up and — and makes a last ditch recovery.

 The ministry is something like that too, in some ways.

 Hanging by a thread.  Both give a distinct impression and appearance of immanent disaster, a perception that even the slightest breeze will break the thread and all will be lost.

But the appearance of the thread is quite different that the reality.  While it appears frayed and weak, broken and disintegrating, in the core of the thread is a titanium wire that is capable of withstanding the worst of storms.

 That centre is faith in God, the power of love, the strength of justice and the spirit of a man/ woman/ ministry that refuses to give in, give up or die.

 Where there is life there is hope. 

 Never quit.  Never give up.  Never.

Downtown Ottawa

“Urban Intervention Training” is the name of our volunteer training program which we host three times a year.  It’s a full Saturday, followed by a weeknight session for each of four weeks.  The last evening consists of a walk in downtown Ottawa, where experienced staff/outreach workers take our new volunteers and show them the sights of the city.  It’s not an interactive evening with our street friends, but rather an education for volunteers to help them understand a little of the culture of our city.

Parts of our walk are not too pretty.  Groups of people milling about outside shelters, the drug deals going down, the pushers and the takers, many ‘faceless’ homeless that someday might be new friends to our volunteers.  It’s about light penetrating darkness, caring for humanity, justice and advocacy and a host of other issues swirling all around and calling out for attention.

Last night I lead a group of new volunteers in a walk downtown.

Here’s a look at the streets of the Nation’s Capital from the perspective of some people who have already spent considerable time in a fast track to learn about poverty and homelessness.  Here’s how they responded:

Q: What were your observations?

  • It was really enlightening.  As a person with a disability, I wouldn’t have a chance on the streets.
  • It was a nice night – I can’t imagine what it would be like if it were raining or snowing.
  • A lot of bridges have fences around them.  They are inaccessible.

Q:  How would you survive?

  • If I had to do it on an on-going basis it would be physically and mentally draining.
  • I saw the fences, the restrictions, and the attitudes reflected by that message.  I was torn between thinking, ‘It’s too bad to have fences,’ and ‘Why are they there in the first place?’
  • I felt very unwelcome and scared.  I spent the whole time trying to figure out where am I going to sleep?  Where will I be safe?  Where could I find peace and quiet? I was caught between those thoughts – especially because I am a woman.
  • I don’t know.  It was very unwelcoming: Don’t stop here. Don’t come here.  Bars and fences everywhere saying, not you, not here.

It is a dark and unwelcoming world, but one that needs to first be seen and then be addressed.   The final question, “How can we help?” was succinctly answered by one of our new volunteers:  “It’s not about fixing anything. It’s about caring.  It’s about coming alongside, it’s just to ‘be’.”

In many respects we are very limited in what we can do.  On the other hand, we can make a significant difference in people’s lives through our caring, our touch and our ‘walking alongside’.  It’s all about people and all about relationships, dignity and respect, and caring enough to go beyond our own comfort zone.

Ready?  Let’s go?

A Changed Life

Sam was always going to go to detox in Thunder Bay  – some day.  His mother would send money and Sam would spend it on booze.  His mother would send more money for a bus ticket, but the temptation was too great.  Once he even made it to the bus station, but ran.

 He failed to follow through – we don’t know how many times. Many years worth, at least.  He’d tell his ‘failure’ story over and over again.  He wanted to change, but couldn’t.

We would see him on a weekly basis, often several times a week.  One favourite haunt was the coin laundry downstairs.  He would come with Stacey and Milo, hang around for a while and off to the next stop.  Our words of encouragement seemed to fall on deaf ears.  It was disheartening and discouraging.

Then last fall he disappeared completely.  Gone.

When someone disappears it might mean several things: death, jail or the hospital are the ‘big three’.  No  one had heard from him – not even Stacey and Milo.

Three months later he shows up, clean and sober.  His mother sent him some money, he finally made a decision, and followed through.

Remarkable!

Ten months of sobriety now, and counting – his life has changed.

If you’re interested in another perspective on this story, check out http://bit.ly/cSmznf

It takes a community to change a life, and for whatever part we had to play in this story, we are grateful and thankful.

It’s a pretty good reminder: You never know when something you say, or some random gift of kindness, or prayer for help will make the difference in someone’s life. 

It’s also a good lesson on life: Never give up.  Never.