We May Never Pass This Way Again

I can see 31st Street in my mind's eye. From 71 Highway westward, long neglected buildings that introduce streets where neglected houses nestle, small warehouses--some seemingly empty, broken windows, cars and little car lots carved out of little patches of ground between ugly buildings wrapped in wire fences, dirty faced buildings--used tire shops with dirty clothed men sitting in front waiting for the customer. Oh, there are the barber shops, and M&M bakery. It doesn't look so great from the outside but the sandwiches and pastries are fabulous on the inside. I always say white folks will go anywhere if the product is good. There's Grady's Cleaners and another I haven't tried and across the Paseo, a shell of a building, the broken shell that was once Walt Disney's studio, where he most likely created Mickey Mouse. There is Father David's Egyptian Orthodox church and the neat Catholic Church and school where kids in neat brown paid uniforms recess on the fenced playground. Holy Family House is a few streets farther. Men and women, some with undiscovered reason and purpose idle away the hours on its porch, sleeping bags of the "guest" lay and sometimes the guest themselves lay over night. There is Kitty's Cafe--best hamburgers and True Light Family Resource Center and Church and Emancipation Station and of course people and buses coming and going.

Ann and Beverly were amongst those coming and going. One summer morning the doorbell rang at the small store front church called True Light. I hate to say store front but is was created out of a warehouse. My friend Linda Hollies said,"If its a store front make it grand." We tried. Anyway, two women stood and one said, "We heard we could come here and get something to eat. I nodded in consent as they stepped in. Beverly spotted the shower and asked if they could take a shower and then for clean clothes. They were excited! Once cleaned up they came into the "living room" and began to tell their story. They were staying in an abandoned building, huddled together at night for safety. There were others there--smoking crack and doing other things. That night they were awaken by a flashlight shinning in their faces--a big white man they thought might be a cop. They were scarred and decided they wanted to "come in".

We rustled up food and then began to talk about life. Beverly had been clean 6 or 7 years. She said one day she just got a "wild hair" and said "f... it." Ann was the more retiring, listening, always listening. She would sit at my feet and listen to scripture before going to Veronica's Voice--a ministry for prostitutes--that's how Ann and Beverly supported their addiction--no pimps, strong black women.

Ann and Beverly came to church from the shelter. Then Ann disappeared. On Sunday, she came back and showed me her breast area. She had been out there and a man grabbed her between buildings and started to cut her. " I was screaming and screaming and I was cutting him and he was screaming too." He let her go. I dropped her at the City Mission that late afternoon. She had a court appearance on Monday. She would come by the church after court.

Time passed, no Ann. Then, one Thursday she walked in during nutrition class, hungry and tired. Ann lie on the floor in a side room and slept until the late afternoon. I had to leave. There were no more Ann sightings until one mid August evening the news channel flashed a picture of a women whose body had been found at 35th and Prospect. I said, "I hope that's nobody I know." This woman was young and fresh and pretty. The next day, Beverly called to ask if I had seen the story--it was Ann.

Yesterday, Terry Blair, the serial killer was sentenced to life without parole. "The paper said, "Blair said his victims were "scum" and 'a disgrace' because they were prostitutes." Five women, maybe seven, some of whom passed my way.

"Speak up for the people who have no voice, for the rights of all the down-and outers. Speak out for justice! Stand up for the poor and destitute!" Proverbs 1 The Message Eugene H.Peterson

Two Sides To Every Story--at least

Wow, what a day or more accurately, last few days! Let's start with Wednesday and work backwards. Sorry, this day is just a blur--up at 5:45am to get a beautiful volunteer to out-patient surgery. She's okay! I'll remember to check on her before I turn in. It's raining and gray and I feel--well blue. I'm one of those people who come alive with sunshine although gray is comforting sometimes.

Yesterday was move, move, move--absolutely non-stop. I thought I had missed Gina. Gina's a single mom I've known since I came to 31st Street. She's come a long way in her sobriety--9 months tomorrow. That coincides with the birth of baby G. her lifeline. God is her anchor but baby G. changed Gina--focused her, gave her a reason for living clean. God keeps Gina grounded. Enough rambling, except I must say that Gina is intense and talented and nice looking. Gina lost her mother when she was just a teen. Maybe one day I'll ask if she will allow me to post the poem she wrote when mother was dying. Her road to sobriety is paved with hard knocks and obstacles and that's why I pick this single mom up from her server job once a week, take her to pick up baby G. and then to the northeast to the big pink trimmed house for her meeting. It takes guts! I was a single mom too.

Well, I'm sitting in the car at the bus stop waiting for Gina to come out of the nursery with baby G. I'm watching with interest what I think is a drug deal--maybe a dozen blocks from 31st. Two young men--one a school boy in uniform and a SUV the older sticks his head in for a few seconds and the SUV pulls up and parks. The school boy gets in and suddenly this kid on a bike comes whizzing through the intersection and thump--the bike lands thirty feet down the street and the kid in the middle of the street and people coming from nowhere. I jump out of the car and tell this woman to get the kid down on the pavement and another to call 911. Instinctively, kneeling, I begin to pray for the kid. I feel his heart beating fast and then begin to slow. I believe he will be alright. The emergency crews arrive and police take reports. I wonder if I should say I saw the accident--the driver is shaken. Gina says maybe I should, maybe I was there for such a time so I can tell the police I saw what happened. When finished, the officer says, "Everybody else says the driver sped up when he saw the kid. You're the only one who has a different story and I believe you." Gina says we never know why but I know that there are usually two sides or more to every and that truth lies, most likely, somewhere in the middle. I hope the kid is okay--I believe he is.

Expect Change

April 18-- Expect change-- Yesterday it was suppose to be dry and partly sunny after noon. It remained gray and overcast and suddenly roared with thunder and heavy downpour. The doorbell rang at the Center and Leroy, the self-titled mayor of 31st Street stood there. "Hey, Pastor when are you going to have something for the men? The women get breakfast and lunch and all of the nice things..." Leroy was soaked, pants wet and clinging.

Margaret called for food from the pantry. Her sister had dumped seven kids on her and she had no transportation. I felt for her and agreed to bring food on my way home. It was pouring. My nice jacket and decent pants soaked--bad hair day made worse by the pouring rain. I sat a mom.ent (maybe there is such a thing) in front of her house. Seven kids, surely one can run out here to get these bags. She was much younger than expected--seven kids--trying to keep them together. Wow!

Veronica's Voice called. Do we have ladies underwear, socks, and bras. Their client was going back to Iowa to turn herself in. "Tired!" We didn't--not new and white and in unopened packages acceptable to the jail. "I'm going back." "Death is getting closer." Stretching arms to demonstrate, "It used to be I heard of someone I knew dying, now its all the time. Death used to be this far, now its this close."

"Mama used to tell daddy, "I'm going to bury you at midnight so nobody comes." "I'm coming back when I finish my time. Can I help you?"

I got a letter in the mail today--only a last name and return address--no note. There were two money orders. I only saw one at first. It was for 100 dollars. Thank God! We need money so badly! Then I noticed there was another underneath--500 dollars. My God! We need money so badly! Who could have sent it? Check the files. Only two with that last name. Writing looks the same--he has no address, no phone listed. Homeless. Now he has an address and 600 dollars to give. Thank God! We really need the money. I can't remember the person nor the service but I know that things change.

--2 Lesson: You can't judge a book my its cover. It was late--almost 5:00p.m. at the Emancipation Station. Seven of the homeless women from the shelter were preparing to leave. I said to the ladies, we ought to do a video and send it to Harpo Studio, that maybe it would get into Ophra's(probably spelled wrong) hand. We'd say that we needed a place to house women from 6 months to a year to allow women to get a hand up. As we began to plan the house, women began to talk about what they could do--form a coalition to try raising funds, design the layout, do floral arranging to sell and on and on. Needless to say my day on 31st Street stretched out longer than anticipated, but I saw homeless women come together in hope, love, respect, dignity. They said, "People think that just because we are in a shelter that we don't have no sense. We are not dumb, just down. We need a hand up, not a hand out." This was evident in how they gathered to make beef stew today--peeling potatoes and carrots, chopping onions, and humming as if to say. we can. Don't count us out.

Hello...My First Post

Here I am, gathering my thoughts together before committing them to "paper"....
1 of 31 Everything that happens is preparation for the next leg of the journey. Everything is life is about the journey.

Today was a sunny, beautiful day. It was not until the end of the work day that I remembered the day was incredibly quiet on 31st--n0 sirens! As I drove down 31st Street this morning nothing seemed different. I wondered what lessons lie ahead for me. It was only upon entering the place we call Emancipation Station that the lesson began to unfold: The nutrition class was filled beyond capacity with women and men, some with children who came for the food that stretches their food dollar. Later, a speaker who does HIV prevention seemed to bring clarity to me when she said most of us are 30 days away from transitioning from one economic status to another.

Some of the women at Emancipation Station have gotten lost. We were encouraged to ask ourselves, "Where am I now, where am I trying to get to." We were encouraged to take time, change patterns, and change the stinking thinking. And, remember there is power in the spoken word. We need to circle ourselves with positive people. We are here for a reason! Enjoy the journey.