A couple of minutes later, a Love Gang guy came to me and said, “I’m going out there. She just looked through the window with that ‘Rescue me’ look in her eye.”

They overheard a woman (who is also part of our Community) in distress. A man was in her tent, and she was shouting, “No. Stop! Get off me!”

The message is basically that we need not get frustrated when we are sitting under a tree and pigeon poop lands on our head. The pigeon is simply doing what pigeons do.

So . . . I did a thing. I got a tattoo. On my face.

There he was, lying unconscious in a pool of his own blood. I pushed my way through the gathered crowd, caught the eye of one of the cops, and announced, “I know this guy. I have all his information.”

One of the more frustrating elements of ministry at Joe’s is the complexity of the roots of problems. We daily encounter these plus the worldview and value system that is inherent to generational poverty. Add to these the ingredients of drug addiction and mental illness, and otherwise simple needs become recipes for extreme frustration.

The difference between this young man’s life and Drew Barrymore's in “50 First Dates,” is he has no supportive family to lovingly help him through each day. His father died years ago. His mother is an addict, who is suffering a long, slow, terminal illness.

They told him to load the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and to empty them when they finished washing. Chuck is a bit OCD, and it bothered him that sometimes dishes came out with cooked-on-crusties.

He’d stand on the front sidewalk and smoke a cigarette, and he’d talk. Not to other customers. To himself.

So . . . I did a thing. I got a tattoo. On my face.

There he was, lying unconscious in a pool of his own blood. I pushed my way through the gathered crowd, caught the eye of one of the cops, and announced, “I know this guy. I have all his information.”

I have a special affection for Toby, because somewhere in those early days of giving him free muffins he began to call me, “Mom.” This is one of the precious joys we have in the Joe’s Community.  Family relationships have developed all over the place.

The policeman stepped out of his car, and the young man who had called breathlessly rattled his complaint. “These guys are gonna beat me! They threatened to hit me! I didn’t do nothing to them, but they’re gonna kill me! Some of them are Juggalos and some of them are Crips. They’re gonna kill me!”

In my mind, I started yelling at God, “You can’t send me people like this, and then not give me some way to help them! What do I do?!”

Being “born again” means starting over and coming into the world as something new, something different. It’s a total overhaul, an extreme makeover that gives us a complet
ely new outlook on life. It means a revolution of values

The point of this piece is to convey a feeling of the ambiance and sense of community the owners, employees, and regulars of his establishment are creating in a geographic area which could very easily find itself caught in a web of depression and hopelessness.  The strip clubs that litter the landscape of this street may provide a few moments of arousal for their patrons, but these feelings are fleeting and are, in the end, detrimental to the overall health of the voyeur.  What Joe’s Addiction provides is warmth and hope without judgment.  They also provide one heck of a good cup of coffee.

“I’ve been living 50 years of my life entirely for myself. That’s a long time. I know how to do that. I am starting to live a different way now, not for myself, but for others. It’s new to me. It’s a way that I want to go. I think I’m going a new way. But I don’t want to start calling myself something, until I’m really sure that I am actually able to go this new direction.”

From day to day, I never know who will show up or how many. Some days it’s a dozen. Other days 25 people gather to eat and connect. We check in on each other, notice who we haven’t seen in a few days, offer encouragement, and eat yummy food.

(Excerpt from Beloved Chaos. “Chuck” died in his sleep on the back porch of Joe’s Addiction on May 24th, 2019. He died at home.)

A couple of minutes later, a Love Gang guy came to me and said, “I’m going out there. She just looked through the window with that ‘Rescue me’ look in her eye.”

He pulled up his sleeve and extended his arm toward me. Tracks marked the inside of his arm. He pulled up the other sleeve and swiped his fingers over the red places.

They overheard a woman (who is also part of our Community) in distress. A man was in her tent, and she was shouting, “No. Stop! Get off me!”

So . . . I did a thing. I got a tattoo. On my face.

It’s a very public space, and most everybody knows if you leave something, it’s kind of at your own risk. So the barista reminded her of that, to which she turned and said to everyone in the room, “This is my food. I’m coming back for it. Nobody eat it. K?”

The policeman stepped out of his car, and the young man who had called breathlessly rattled his complaint. “These guys are gonna beat me! They threatened to hit me! I didn’t do nothing to them, but they’re gonna kill me! Some of them are Juggalos and some of them are Crips. They’re gonna kill me!”

One of the more frustrating elements of ministry at Joe’s is the complexity of the roots of problems. We daily encounter these plus the worldview and value system that is inherent to generational poverty. Add to these the ingredients of drug addiction and mental illness, and otherwise simple needs become recipes for extreme frustration.