BY RYAN MIFFLIN
During our November 21st Homeless Outreach, one of our homeless brothers named Will – who’s a new grandfather, by the way – told me his buddy Jimmy needed me. We’ve known Jimmy for several weeks. He’s a very lively young man with a great smile and warm attitude.
But as I approached him, it wasn’t the same Jimmy as I knew before.
I pulled Will aside and asked what was up. Jimmy’s mom had died a few nights before and Jimmy was in bad shape. He’d been crying since she died and a little before we showed up, he started talking to his friends about “doing something crazy, so the cops will have to shoot me”.
My wife used to be a substance abuse counselor and worked in crisis situations. I knew that when someone had a plan it was more serious than just when someone said “I’d like to kill myself”.
I didn’t know if Jimmy’s statements constituted a “plan”, but they constituted enough that I wasn’t going to leave him until I had talked to someone who knew way more than me.
We prayed with Jimmy for a while, and I asked some of our college volunteers to hang with him while I found help. I walked with another volunteer to a nearby church that also doubled as a “drop-in center” for homeless folks. They were closed on Saturday, but we found a few people around the building. They were aware of Jimmy’s situation and even though they weren’t open, they heated up some food and sent one of their hospitality volunteers back with me. They took Jimmy in and hung out with him for the day.
I was touched at how supportive Jimmy’s friends were. They came to get us to pray for him. When the volunteer came back, he didn’t want to go, but his buddies encouraged him to. He did go with them.
I’m not sure how the situation ended. I’ve seen Jimmy’s friends briefly on subsequent trips, but I haven’t seen him. Which isn’t really unusual, so I’m not alarmed by it. And I’m sure Will would tell me if anything exceptional had happened, be it good or bad.
What I do know about the situation is that Jimmy’s mom was not homeless. And they didn’t have the best of relationships. No one offered much specific, but I’m inclined to think he lived on the streets by choice and she didn’t approve. Will told me he didn’t think Jimmy was able to make amends with mom before she passed.
There was a lot of talking about Jimmy needing to go home and be with family, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.
This, again, brings up the extremely complicated issues that accompany homelessness. Yes, some folks are homeless 100% by choice. And no, not all who choose to be homeless are drug addicts or alcoholics or crazy. Only they know why they choose it.
Please keep Jimmy in your prayers.
After we left Jimmy with the hospitality volunteer from church and said our goodbyes to his friends, Alisha (a college volunteer) and I headed back to the library. She, to study and me to find the rest of our group. A homeless man asked Alisha to have lunch with him on the library steps. She agreed. Not comfortable leaving Alisha alone with someone I didn’t know, I asked if I could join.
The man’s name was Mojo. Which is maybe the coolest name ever. And he was white. Which isn’t a big deal, but you gotta admit – a brotha could carry off the name better than a while guy could :-)
So we hung out with Mojo and had lunch. We talked about technology and how it’s making the world smaller. I’m still not sure why, but my conversation with Mojo remains one of my favorite encounters I’ve had on a Homeless Outreach trip.
One thing I do specifically remember is that he asked about the Dirty Roots Revolution. I told him the mission of the organization – to empower individuals with the knowledge that one person CAN make a difference – and that all pooled our resources, talents, time, etc., to make big things happen. He noted that college students were a big part of it. And he said I was “truly a professor and a student of life”.
That’s one of the best compliments anyone has ever given me. And I’m not sharing it to be prideful. I’m sharing it because I feel like it’s a challenge now. now that I’ve heard that phrase, I need to live up to it.
It’s my job as a father, a husband, a Sunday School teacher, a revolution leader, etc., to be a professor of life.
At the same time, it’s also my job to never, ever stop being a student of life, no matter what.
My homeless brothers and sisters generally serve as professors for me in this endeavor and help me continue to learn.
After we said our goodbyes with Mojo (whom I have unfortunately never met again), I encountered one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed with my two eyes.
Lucas Park is on the north side of the library – that’s where we’re not allowed to hand out our care packs, etc., so the residents in the loft apartments don’t have to see homeless folks in groups. They can not, however, legally stop us from gathering in the park and visiting with our friends.
So, that has become custom. Hand out packs on the south side…then head to the north side for visiting.
Since the south side was clear, I figured our group must be in the park.
As I walked around the library, my breath was taken away. I’m not being dramatic – it was actually staggering to me.
Lucas Park is a “depressed section” of land, meaning it’s lower than the sidewalk. So, I was looking down into it.
It was a beautiful, warm day that Saturday and the sun was shining bright.
As I looked into the park, I saw probably 12 different groups of folks. Each group had at least one college student in it. (Our volunteers that day consisted 100% of college students).
Two guys had brought guitars and were playing for one group. One group was standing in a circle, praying, holding hands. One group was reading the Bible. Many groups were just visiting.
I remember consciously thinking to myself, “Stay and watch this. Get a good look. You’re not going to see it again, and this is a BIG deal”. I burned that image into my memory. I don’t ever want to forget what that looked like. It was just that beautiful.
We stayed a long time that day. Eventually, the groups merged into one bigger group and everyone who wanted to listened to music. Some sang. A few even shared songs they’d written – performed for the first time with musical accompaniment. How beautiful do you think it would feel to write a song for your own enjoyment and then teach it to a college student who has a guitar, so you can sing your song with music?
