Another of our homeless men, grabbed my shoulder and said, “Jamie, Valley Brook does not belong to them. It belongs to God.” I cried again.
Some days I cry. Some days I get mad. Zach is one of so many we know who fall through the cracks. There is no place for him.
The “problem” as they laid it out is that I have welcomed what they called “stray cats.” They said that when you feed stray cats, of course they will want to stay around, and they said, “We don’t want them to stay around. We don’t want them in our neighborhood.”
Madame Mayor, members of the Council, thank you for allowing me to speak to you this evening... We have appealed to you repeatedly for meetings, for phone calls, for conversation to try to work out our differences—to seek solutions to your concerns about Joe’s. Not a one of you has called me.
A lady in our Joe’s Community created an opportunity for our regulars to share how Joe’s has been a “helping hand” to them. Here are some of the hands that now cover the front window.
I am writing to address the concerns that some have brought before the City Council regarding the business that I own and operate called Joe’s Addiction, and to ask you to consider not taking action to terminate our business license. If we are doing something illegal, please tell me and we will stop. If we can work together better with the city in some way, we want to do so.
Samantha has been off and on homeless for the past few months, sometimes living in a tent, sometimes living with a guy that she is sort of dating. As is the case with so many of our folks, Samantha has some mental health problems. She is often loud—extremely emotional.
The day finally came when I had to push past my fear. A girl (who had come out of that scene) went with me. We opened the door, showed our ID’s, walked across the smoky, dark, loud room and sat down at the bar.
I felt myself take a physical step backward. The thing she held in her hand—the Bible, meant to be the beautiful story of a God who so loves His creation that he has come to free us from oppression—took the form of a weapon. A hidden sword, pulled to slay . . . something . . . to slay what? Me? A doctrine? An ideology? Who or what is the enemy here?
A thin, fragile-looking women lay on each one. A volunteer sat next to one bed, holding a nebulizer to a woman’s nose and mouth, helping her to breathe. Another volunteer massaged the hands and arms of a woman who lay completely still. Another combed the tangled hair of a frail and tiny lady.
We rode the train past mountains of garbage, the waste of millions that for the “least of these” is home. We visited Sonagachi, the Red Light District of Kolkata, where over 10,000 women live as prostitutes
Tommy is a beautiful man. Long, flowing blond hair. Tanned skin that covers tight muscles. He rides a motorcycle, so he has on black leather chaps. Yes, the ladies of the neighborhood call him Fabio. Some of them even hire him to mow their yards, so they can peak out the curtains and watch!
When the time came to open the Free Toy Store, William said, “I want to help.” We told him, “Everything is taken care of. It’s okay. You don’t need to do anything but sit and rest.” Gruffly, he said, “No. I have to do this.”
Then a toothless, crazy lady who sits on the front row and is usually on some other planet suddenly raised her hand and yelled over the din of voices. “Are we talking about turkeys? I can bring a turkey?!”—And I lost it! Everything was out of my control—the Thanksgiving Dinner AND my emotions.
He resists my scoldings when he requests sugary sweet masala chai and tells me that “He’ll eat whatever the hell he wants to. He’s a grown man, and “ain’t nobody gonna tell him what he can and can’t eat.”
I have watched brother turn against brother in this season, Christians saying all manner of evil against one another, using the extreme soundbites of “heretic” and “apostate” to identify who is “in” and who is “out” due to their political leanings. The claim in both camps being that “God is on our side.”
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 next piece of information that got back to me on the community grapevine was: THEY ALL TOOK TURNS SLEEPING WITH HER THAT NIGHT!!!
The Food Pantry at Joe’s is an amazing experience every week. As we give out the groceries, we often get to hear people’s stories, sometimes weep with them, and many times pray with them. Volunteers serve in all these ways, and then carry the groceries out to a car, stroller or shopping cart—whatever means of transport they have.
I turned to little Jewel (who is nine) and told her she had to stay in the car. Her eyes were wide and full of tears.