CCO Shelters: Living Life for a Change

The Poem I Don't Have to Write

2011-11-14T05:56:00.001-08:00

I have come to hate politics. I hate the effect the propaganda of politics has on me. Well, that said, this is me being political.
I have been working on some kind of succinct wording for the plight of the poor among whom we live at Jesus People USA. In solidarity, we try to be poor ourselves but we don't really make it. It is an unlivable life.
Here is my feeble shot at the great American Political Kraken: "The American dream has become a diamond studded hand over the muted scream of the poor."
I changed it again just in the writing so it is not yet grown but closer.
But I don't have to try so hard any more since discovering Langston Hughes' poem,

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!

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Setting Prisoners Free: Visiting Our Rotating Sick and Incarcerated Friends!

2011-07-24T13:45:00.000-07:00

Setting Prisoners Free: Visiting Our Rotating Sick and Incarcerated Friends!

PRISON: the fields are white for harvest!

2006-03-11T12:26:00.000-08:00

We grew to love many guys through the 3 year duration of the men's shelter. Many arrived on our doorstep, paroled from various penitentiaries to our facility. Sadly, since it's closing, a high percentage have ended up back in the Joint. Some justly, some unjustly! But most are not in for violent crimes!

I set about to write letters and made visitations to Cook County Jail. A couple other guys also helped me. The Lord had laid upon my heart the importance to remember my brothers in prison (Hebrews 13:3). When we wrote, they responded, and when we visited, they were overjoyed.
So many were encouraged and blessed by my feeble attempts of letter writing.
Most do not receive letters during their stint.
Hardly any of these 50 men get visitors.

Prison life for these men brings them to their knees. In being caged, they lose their freedom, their dignity, their family and friends. In their cries of desparation and weakness they call out to the Lord; they recall the words they heard at Cornerstone, at Church, by Christians and other shelters and beg for the blessed Book. When everyone forgets them, Jesus remembers them and is there waiting for them with open arms. The fields are white for harvest!

The letters of many prisoners indicated a change of heart. Some frequenting Bible studies, others studying the Word in their cell and others going to chapel. They would send me literature! A couple had written how they given their lives utterly and completely to Jesus! The fields are white for harvest!

Before retreating to Aotearoa (NZ) over the winter I set about to write to the 50 prisoners I know througout Illinois. I typed out a letter, mailed and posted it to them all, encouraging them in the Lord and in making the most of an awful situation, by getting an education, learning a trade or doing whatever their facility offered.

When I came back from my travels, I received a letter from an individual serving time. He did not have a good reputation at CCO because, in an act of rage, he had actually punched one of my co-workers. He wrote about how in desparation he cried out to the Lord, how everything was lost and begged for God to speak to him. Not ten minutes later, the guards gave this man my letter. He went on to explain that he had given himself to Jesus , got his GED and is studying to become a minister. "I'm anew in Christ and the joy of his Merciful Grace is mine and he's alive in me" he writes. He thanks me and writes how the letter is his 'personal sword of endearment'. His letter brought tears to my eyes. He was sincere, he is a new creation, the old has gone, the new has come! Thank you Jesus.

In Need of a Little Encouragment

2005-09-16T09:56:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wonder if we really make a difference in what we do on a daily basis in our shelter programs. Endless needs and problems present themselves over and over every day. Do we really make an impact on our families? Better anyone’s life? I was going through one of these wonderings a few weeks ago. Everything seemed more chaotic than normal. Just as one problem was solved another pair would show up it its place.

People weren’t being successful like I wanted them to be, the place was not clean enough, and paperwork piled to the ceiling.

Within a two day span, my wondering was addressed by God. I was driving our “shelter” van which is usually driven by my husband and his buddy, Stewart. A chief errand performed in this van is the Cubs’ hotdog pickup after every game. This means people who live on the street, people who live at shelters, and the local half-way house people who are not able to get to the Cubs games or pay $5 a sandwich are able to eat the leftover hotdogs and hamburgers which are still warm! What a funny, off-beat ministry but my husband loves it and so do his many, increasing “Cubs fans.”

As I was parking the van, a half-way house resident approached me on the sidewalk and asked if my husband was getting the hot dogs. I didn’t know him but realized that he recognized the van. I assured him that whenever the Cubs finished the game, the hotdogs would not be long in arriving.

Later that day I drove through McD on the way to work. Another person on the street waved his arms from a short way off as I pulled into the drive-thru. The man ran toward the van. I recognized him as a former resident of our men’s shelter. He didn’t ask about Cubs hotdogs, but again recognized the van. He stood at my window and told me about how he was doing well and was housed. He thanked me for how much the shelter staff had helped him and seemed like he wanted to assure me that it was not lost on him, he was doing well, and intended to stay that way. We said goodbye and I drove off.

I had literally driven about a half block to the next stop sign, when homeless Big Bill, waving his arms, yelled my name across the street where he was sitting on the sidewalk. “Are the Cubs hotdogs here yet?” “Not until the game is over,” I yelled and waved back, smiling as I thought I would not make it to work if I didn’t get out of that van.

Later in the day, I came out of my office at the shelter intending to get back into the van. Directly across the street came an older woman who I had seen around for years. She was slowly pulling a shopping cart having just come from our food bag program.

“You all do a wonderful work,” she stated matter-of-factly, without stopping, but slowly continuing to roll across the street to pass me by. “Thanks,” I responded. “This is a hard job,” came the next sentence, “But you all do it for the Lord,” she pronounced without stopping, just continuing to walk on by. I nodded my head in agreement. “Tell your staff I said that,” as she continued slowly down the street. “A gray haired prophetess with a shopping cart,” I thought to myself, slowly beginning to see the effect our ministry, our programs, our staff, have on people. I could not help but think that she was used by God at that moment to correct my weary thinking. (Two Bible stories come to mind here: the one where the angel visits Abraham in the middle of the day (under a tree?) and they eat together and the angel delivers a message?) The second is when Jonah got mad that no one was listening to him in Ninevah??? I don’t know if it relates.

The next day as I was walking from one of our shelter programs to the other, I ran into Honey. I was very familiar with her through the past few years. She had been a participant of our single women’s program on and off, and on and off. She lived a rough life; in fact the last time I saw her, she had a black eye. I would speak to her whenever I saw her, trying to convince her to get some help. She was one of those people I thought would die in the streets before she would get it together. And here she stood in front of me, housed, and very in her right mind. She said she had been stable for about two years and was involved in the Twelve Step program. She thanked me for the help we gave her when she was in our program. (I thought my words fell on drunken ears.) She spoke of mutual acquaintances we had, and carried on conversation that signified she was settled and serious about maintaining her stable life. I invited her to drop in at the shelter to say hi to the staff and we said goodbye.

The very next block I met Cookie, another former shelter participant. She had also come from one of the roughest backgrounds imaginable. My last few sightings of her on the street were not pretty. She, too, stood in front of me, both housed and holding a job which she was on her way to. Again, we spoke of mutual friends and staff people she knew. She referred back to her past and how far she had come from the person she was. We visited briefly and I encouraged her to keep in touch. She went to her job and I to mine, amazed at the change in both of these women.

I began to add up the encounters over the past two days and thanked the Lord (God) for raising up voices in the streets to confirm the work He is doing through our shelter programs.

Are the hot dogs here yet?

by Sandy Ramsey, CCO Director (posted by Jon Trott)

Guaranteed or Your Money Back

2005-09-16T09:52:00.000-07:00

Over the years in our shelter programs we have been called upon to do different tasks other than the norm of helping our families find jobs and locating housing. All of our services to help families take work. Sometimes, it’s one step forward and two steps backward before the intended goal is arrive at. Solutions to special needs take extra effort but oh the reward that comes with a success in one of these special areas.

A few years ago a former shelter resident approached me about obtaining her driver’s license. Sally had come along way with herself and her family. With the help of various mentors, counselors and social workers, she had overcome many past problems which included substance abuse. Her family had gone through a lot but now things were stabilizing. Our staff had helped her with housing, both temporary and permanent, helped her with job leads, and assisted her as she re-learned how to parent her six children. Many other agencies had helped her, none of which was lost on her. She continued to grow stronger and leave her past further behind.

A next step in her life story included obtaining a driver’s license so she could more freely transport her large family where they needed to go. Staff from another agency she kept in touch with offered her a used car if she would obtain her license and the proper insurance. She came to us. This plan required driving lessons where I could fit them in to my busy schedule. I managed to get in a couple with her in empty parking lots and around the park areas, but found it difficult to do more. She did well with these lessons (she already knew the basics of driving) and we moved on to the next step. She had to obtain her temporary permit. We assisted her with this step and she kept us up with her progress. When it was time for the driving test, we needed to locate a car that would be test worthy (all parts working), which was a challenge for our staff as we’re used to driving around in old, reliable “junkers.” A suitable car was finally found. The next step was procuring the proper, available staff person who could go with Sally on the day of the driver’s test. This meant scheduling and re-arranging things in our hectic shelter schedule to provide both working, passable car and available staff with driver’s license. Finally that was done. Unfortunately, on the day of the test, Sally missed a small but important item and did not pass. This meant disappointment for Sally and another day of rescheduling car and driver for me. (One step forward, two steps backwards.)

Shortly thereafter, another test day was selected, another passable car secured, and after reshuffling the schedule again, another staff person to drive Sally get her license. On that day she succeeded and came to our office to show off her driver’s license. I rejoiced with her, looked at her new license, and thanked God that this task was successful for her sake and for ours. She left to work out details to obtain her new used car and I turned my attention to the ever-pressing needs in front of me.

Several days later, after a particularly long day of hectic social work and ministry, I walked out of my office into our large lobby. From across the room, I heard someone say slow and easy, “Anybody want a ride home?” I turned to see Sally standing at the front desk, smiling holding her car keys. I knew this meant she had gotten her car and I shared her pride in that moment. “Sure,” I said, and walked with her out the door. In front of me sat a beautiful, large, red car. I was thrilled that God had blessed her with such a nice vehicle, but the real thrill came when she opened the passenger door for me to get in and turned to walk to the driver’s side to take the wheel! As I slid my tired self into the spacious, red leather seat, I felt like I was getting into a large red delicious apple. The moment was delicious. Sally, who had needed us a lot over the years, was now starting the engine of her car and driving me home, I thanked God for every backward and forward movement we had walked with Sally, not just in getting the drivers’ license, but in her whole life.

by Sandy Ramsey CCO Director (posted by Jon Trott)

Volunteers and KATRINA Victims Update

2005-09-07T10:14:00.000-07:00

With the start of the new school year, we have volunteers from several local colleges. Moody Bible Institute, through their Practical Christian Ministry (PCM) program, is again sending students to work with our after-school tutoring program, to befriend and visit with the women of Naomi program, serve dinner, and work with Brothas and Sistas United, our teen program. Loyola University is also providing weekly after-school tutors. North Park University’s committee on Homelessness and Hunger is sending students each Friday to serve dinner to our residents and afterwards do an hour of activities with the children ranging from reading and games to arts and crafts.

The children of CCO started school today. Some of them walked to local schools, others were taken to their former schools by their parents. Bus service should start in just a few days. Each child was equipped with a brand new backpack and school supplies due to the generosity of Willow Creek Community Church, Tools for Schools, and Chicago Church of Christ. (Pictures will be posted once I figure out how to do it. I’m new at this.)

On September 1, CCO kicked off a new “Healthy Lifestyles Program” sponsored by the Kraft Employee Fund. To celebrate, we organized a “Jump Rope Jam.” Staff members along with many energetic volunteers measured participants for custom-sized jump ropes. Contests were held according to age groups in “Double Dutch” jumping, speed jumping, endurance, and trick jumping. Classic jump rope rhymes were recited by all and fondly remembered by some of us “older folk.”

The Chicago Church of Christ Choir performed a back-to-school concert on Sunday, September 4. The choir’s director, Emmanuel Barr, has been a regular CCO volunteer. The excitement and energy of this vocal group and band had everyone up clapping, singing and dancing. The church members also presented each child present with a folder with spiral notebooks, paper and pencils. Thanks!

ALERT!

As I was writing this update, I was informed that CCO was asked to open one of our empty floors to accommodate people who have been displaced by Hurricane Katrina and are being relocated to Chicago.

VOLUNTEERS NEEDED to help prepare this place. We need those willing to haul stuff from floor to another, organize and paint. Give me a call at 773-303-0119 to arrange a time to come and help.

FUTHER UPDATE [Friday, September 16]:

The folks dealing with Katrina victims have decided NOT to send them to shelters but instead are trying to get them into homes. So we won't be sheltering Katrina victims at present after all. We're glad they will have actual homes to live in!

by Lyda Jackson (posted by Jon Trott)

Shelters Full as Poor, Black Families Hardest Hit by Katrina

2005-08-31T06:48:00.000-07:00

The below news item basically spells out why and how the poor took the brunt of Katrina. I found myself watching news coverage of New Orleans, and initially feeling angry at the people looting stores. Angry until I realized a couple things.... One, there's no water anywhere, or food. Most of the stores aren't manned (or womaned) so there's no one to buy from. Two, how many of these people feel like they are truly a part of the "American Dream?" Most of them have little stake in it. The social fabric has unraveled in the wake of the storm, and as it unravels, we see at its heart the dangerous weakness that has always been there: the neglect of the poor.

---

MOBILE, Ala., Aug. 30, 2005 [ABCNews.com] — Hurricane Katrina ravaged much of the Gulf Coast, but it was especially cruel to the poor.

In New Orleans, a third of the residents live below the poverty line. The very poorest live on the lowest land, south of Lake Pontchartrain, where the floodwater is now up to their rooftops.

"It's just a thing that always happens," said resident Joanne Murphy. "The ones that has the least, get hit the most."

Rebuilding will be challenging since most of the families don't have any insurance.

"If nobody gets me any kind of assistance," said Timothy Andrews, who lost his home, "I'm just going to have to do it piece by piece, wood by wood, paycheck by paycheck."

No Money or Means to Evacuate

More than 700,000 people in the region live in mobile homes. Unlike wealthier residents who lost boats and beach houses, one in six has no car and no way out of town. They are mostly black, and have since filled the Superdome and every available shelter from New Orleans to Pensacola, Fla.

"This means they are vulnerable in lots of ways," said Louis Kincannon, director of the U.S. Census Bureau. "They live in substandard housing that is not as resistant to damage."

In housing projects in Mobile where there is no power and little money for generators, some residents used a car radio to keep up with developments.

"I used to live with my mother years ago," said resident Vera-Jean Jordan, "and we never did have no generator and no lights, so we just have to deal with it."

Mobile home resident Jalonna Long sought refuge in a hotel with spotty electricity. She has a 7-month-old baby, born premature, who needs a heart monitor and an oxygen machine.

"They are all running on batteries now, but batteries don't last that long," she said.

Tribute to an Eccentric Loving Woman of God

2005-08-27T21:03:00.000-07:00

This is dedicated to a wonderful, yet eccentric loving lady, known only as Pattie.

Pattie volunteered at CCO many times and graced us and the homeless folk with her magical smile and her open worship of her King.

While singing praises to her LORD, Pattie passed away in August 2005.

Bright pink sweater
A brilliant red skirt
Fluorescent green socks
White tennis shoes
Her frantic and
determined strut
Combined with her
compelling grin

This colorful woman
Yelled “Jesus”
“It’s ALL about Jesus”
Finger pointing
To her King
Arms raised high
A magnetic smile
Jesus, Jesus, JESUS
It’s all ABOUT Jesus
Jumping
Stomping
Laughing
Shrieking
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Jesus
Jesus
JESUS.

Volunteering
Scooping the mashed potatoes
While excitedly
Giving each person
A scoop of Jesus
A finger pointed high
A shrieking laugh

Uptown streets
Were blessed by her
Proclamations
Her stomping
Her high pitched
Glorification of her Lord
And Savior

Without kin
No family
A little single room
Without hatred
No hostility
A loving caring lady
Loved by All
Yet,
Loved most
By the MAN
The MAN she promoted
The MAN stuck to her vocal cords
The MAN who never departed
The MAN who is LOVE

Music playing
Surrounded
Dancing
Arms raised
Jesus, Jesus, JESUS
It’s all about JESUS
She collapses into His arms
The MAN’S loving strong arms
FOREVER

Dejected, BUT Not Forgotten!

2005-08-27T20:16:00.000-07:00

Heads hang as the news echoes through the ears of dozens of the Macon men, it filters into the Uptown’s homeless community. “We’re closing…..can’t be true…..can it?......why us?......we can’t believe it!” The reality of our men’s programs closing left many, if not all of them, despondent and feeling dejected. Grown proud street toughened fellows breaking down in tears, others gazing with blank stares triggered by fear and, as the news sinks in, anger begins to slowly erupt.

Already despised, snarled upon and rejected from nearly every facet of society, this news was another brutal kick to a man already down. The “powers that be” had listened and heard the relentless pleas from a fearful and merciless exclusive club. Propaganda served as a powerful tool. No more funding!

They came, picked them up and transported over half of these tired men to another shelter just around the corner. Some were housed, some were left in transient locations and a small minority ended up lying under Chicago’s hazy stars or roughing many nights on the “red line” train. Most, though the promises were great, were still without a place to call home. Cornerstone’s normally noisy, chaotic and hectic cafeteria, (that nightly housed a hundred plus men), was hit with a ghastly screaming silence.

The words of emotionally charged individuals summed up the tension and fears that resounded through them all: “We guys are already the rejected, the dejected, the hated and despised. We are feared. We are the bottom of the barrel. People fear us, but they don’t know us, they don’t talk to us, see us as human beings, as husbands, fathers, sons and grandfathers. You gave us that. You spoke to us as human beings. As a friend who loves us. You gave us hope. Hope in God, hope in Jesus, hope in love, in community, in friendship and in family. You helped us believe we can do and be something – get a job, live drug-free and find stable housing. Man – we need you guys and you’re all some of us have.”

The words, fear and the emotion seen in these men added to the voice echoing in my head. “YOU WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN!” God will never forget or forsake these men, and neither must we! Jesus gave me a mission to keep in contact, uplift, encourage, share my love and be a voice for the voiceless.

Bringing Home the Macon started as Scott and I left the lonely cafeteria one day and wandered the busy streets of Uptown to start fulfilling this mission. We visited them on street corners, in various shelters, in their homes whether permanent or transient, under the trees, in the hospitals, libraries and wherever we could find them. We found nearly all of these men and were greeted by an overflow of hugs, handshakes and the gentle friendly exchange of fist to fist. They loved seeing our faces. We began offering these men glimpses of light in this world of darkness.

The bitter reality of incarceration was ever-present since the conception of the men’s programs. Parolee after parolee was being released to our doorstep; though they were being set free, they were now being forced to live in a homeless existence. We accepted them, but when we closed, a hot meal, a roof, a mattress and grey blankets became not even an option. It was the worst for our high proportion of parolees; they generally ended up being helped out less because of their records. When Bringing Home the Macon began it’s follow-up and outreach we discovered that through our constant searching and listening ears a high proportion of gentlemen (and ladies) were continually winding up back behind bars.

A felon’s imprisonment isn’t the only time they have been taken captive. “We’ve served our time and have been set free to live as a productive member of society” is an utterly false statement. Once a person is greeted into the cold angry cells of shame, that person’s rights are vanquished and they become a lifelong slave to societal fears, hypocrisy and prejudice. Guilty for life has been labeled upon the backs of ex-offenders. The first strike law of public housing, mandatory minimum sentences, parole, the internet and the easily available criminal background checks have placed huge X’s on every felon’s back, making the basic need of housing and employment virtually impossible. Thus, an endless cycle of grief and recidivism begins and the message of love, justice and hope is desperately needed to be preached to those hurting.

The countless number of individuals we know incarcerated, on probation, on parole and with felonies is astounding. Bringing Home the Macon has recently added a new dimension, knowing and feeling God’s leading, we have dedicated ourselves to writing and visiting prisoners we specifically know. We are going to many various meetings and seminars that address the multitude of issues felons face, working toward bringing about much needed reform in and out of prison and at looking at the various directions that the Lord would want us to go. So much reform and effort is needed to help these men and women rehabilitate and become a functioning productive member of society, they want to work, live in their own place and be a good husband or wife and raise their own children, but the crippling stigma needs to be erased. God forgives them, so must we!

The letters Darrell and I have written have blessed these men beyond comparison. We want to provide more for these guys as the needs arise, like books for them to read and study, but financially we’re not capable of doing that presently.

The lives these guys lead is a difficult and frustrating one, fill of hardship, addictions, obstacles and endless struggles. The most important thing we can do is: We present them with Jesus, with His love, forgiveness and hope. Nearly all acknowledge that true justice, true love and truth can only come through Him. We desire to keep them focused in their heavenward destination, by straining to be as Jesus to them. They are the least of these, and Jesus cherishes each and every one of them.

Conviction and Repentance!

2005-08-24T15:10:00.000-07:00

I had been working with "Gina" (not her real name) for two weeks when I asked her to come by the office to discuss her savings. This is part of our overall strategy to empower the women in our CCO Shelters.

Gina seemed preoccupied as she took her seat beside me. I began our conversation by asking if she had received her cash benefits for this month. She told me she hadn’t. I asked her if she knew of any reason why she had not. She told me she had no idea. Then she told me she tried calling her government-assigned case manager to find out what was going on and could never get through to him.

As she was telling me this I remembered she had not given me the manager's phone number when we did her intake. I asked her if she could give me the number now so I could try calling him to find out what had happened. She said she would have to get the number for me because she did not know it by heart. I told her that was fine and I would wait to finish our meeting while she ran upstairs to bring me the number. Then I went on telling her how important it was for her to receive this money to put towards savings so her family could get housing. I told her I was sorry that this obstacle had come her way and I would do my best to promptly rectify the situation then thanked her in advance for getting me the number. She told me she would do her best to find it but she couldn’t promise me anything.

I let her know if worse came to worse I would just look up the main office number on line and try to reach the case manager from there. She stood up slowly and turned to walk towards the door. In mid step she stopped and pointed to a small devotional I had lying on my desk and asked me if that was an Our Daily Bread? I smiled and told her it was. She told me that when she was in prison the chaplain would bring them to her and reading them is what got her through that long painful period in her life! Then she asked if I had any extra.

I told her I did not but she could have mine. She thanked me as I handed it to her then left to find me the number. It had been a good half an hour to 45 minutes when she returned and asked to speak with me in privacy. So we went next door.

I asked her what it was that she needed to tell me. She looked at the ground and asked me If she could lose her place in our program for what she was about to say. I told her I could only answer that question if I allready knew what she was going to confess. Then I encouraged her to just tell me what was on her mind so we could work through it together. After that she looked straight into my face and told me she had lied to me about the money and the phone number. She said she had received it and had spent every penny of it on a cell phone.

Earlier that week, when we sat down to work through her budget, I had told her a cell phone was not a necessity. She had agreed with me, saying "You are right, housing is more important."

She now looked at me sheeplishly and explained that she knew if I called her case manager I would find out the truth. So she felt she had to lie to me about not knowing his number!

Gina apologized and told me that when I said I would do my best to help her get the money as quickly as possible, she saw how concerned I was. "I realized you really are trying to help me, that you really care." She continued by saying how she wanted to tell me the truth right then and there, but she was too proud and afraid of the consequence. So instead she had planned to go upstairs pretend to look for the number she allready knew by memory then come back and tell me she had misplaced it.

At this piont I interrupted Gina to ask what made her change her mind? Looking down at the ground again with a slight smile she told me. "It was that devotional of the day in the 'Our Daily Bread' you just gave me." She explained that when she'd gone upstairs she needed something to occupy her time so I would believe she had actually looked for the number. She opened up the devotional for the day and the title read something like this: “ Conviction and True Repentance”! After this was said she looked up at me and we both began to chuckle.When I was able to regain my composure I told her what I'd hope someone would say to me. "You are forgiven, Gina. But! This cannot happen again." Then I commended her for coming back and owning up to what she had done.

As we both got up to leave, I said “ One last thing Gina." She turned toward me. "There’s nothing like the Lord to bring us back to repentance and their’s nothing like true repentance that brings us back to the Lord!”

She responded with great enthusiasm. “Amen!”

~ Ami A. Moss [posted by Jon Trott]

One "Daily Bread" dealing with Repentance and Conviction:
Repenting and Rejoicing

Why Volunteers at CCO Bless Us All... Part 1st of Many

2005-08-23T20:13:00.000-07:00

A Mime Team offers the smell of the grease paint, while CCO Shelter Residents (behind camera!) offer the roar of the crowd!

Smiling faces from Kraft Foods serve dinner to our CCO Shelter Residents.

More entertainment at CCO, a complete orchestra! Wow...

THANK you, Volunteers. You are the lifeblood that allows us to keep doing what we do.

Two Days

2005-08-23T19:53:00.000-07:00

You know how it is, the daily grind, you hate it but somehow you kind of depend on it, you grow comfortable in it, the grind is good. But God’s ways are not our ways, His thoughts are not the same as ours and He has a perfect plan for our life.

Day One

I received a subpoena to appear at juvenile court as a witness in an abuse case on a former client. The juvenile court in Chicago is to me one of the most depressing places I’ve ever been, it’s huge and there are so many children in the system that it boggles the mind and breaks the heart. I dreaded that appearance and wished that somehow it would just go away, knowing all along that my appearance was needed to help that child to have the opportunity to grow up in a safer, happier environment.

It wasn’t as bad as imagined. The assistant district attorney was kind and helpful and my statements though true and factual weren’t too incendiary and the defendant even smiled at me. I’d done the responsible thing, I left the comfort zone and made my way into someone else’s “grind” and made it through.

Day Two

When you’re in your “grind” you don’t even want to leave it for good things. The very next day after my court appearance I was expected to attend a graduation for one of our participants who had completed a computer skills class. She had come a long way and worked hard I was amazed at her self-confidence and the articulate speech she gave at the ceremony, she’d grown so much. ( Had I been so deep into the “grind” that I hadn’t noticed?) The event was so peaceful and fulfilling I can’t understand why I didn’t want to get out of the “you know what” to attend this.

Well, that just goes to show you, God has a better plan for us, He gets us out of that zone that we come to know as comfortable, but is it really? Most of us work in places where there is a lot of tension and stress (how comfortable is that?) but to leave that work place is dread to us. Walking in someone else’s shoes or even through their hallways once in a while is the zone we need to work toward.

CCO Staffer, Marguerite Brown (posted by Jon Trott)

One More Joining in the Fray...

2005-08-23T17:14:00.000-07:00

Here I am, joining in this merry band. More later, but I am now part of CCOLife online as well as in person!

Dorothy Day and Love

2005-08-23T13:19:00.000-07:00

Dorothy Day (1897-1980), founder of the Catholic Worker movement and communities, was a doer more than a theorist, a pray-er rather than a theologian. She lived with the homeless, housed them, and learned from them.

A moving book about a moving woman, Dorothy Day: Portraits by Those Who Knew Her offers this story, which I suppose moved me even a litte more in light of Jezza's August 20 post on Nick's life, relationship with us at CCO, and tragic death:

At [Dorothy Day's] wake, you saw... all these famous people. And then a street person would come and stand by the casket and weep. A raggedy, pitiful man. One of them kept saying over and over, 'She loved us, she listened to us, she loved us.' Then he bent over to kiss her.

There are many legacies a person can leave on this earth. Artistic brilliance, acts of political power or statesman-like skill, beauty and wit that becomes legend....

But how many of us will have one of the "least of these" lean over us and say, "she loved, she listened, she loved...."? Listening, surrounded by love before and love after.

It seems to me that the greatest work of art, the most statesman-like moment, the most beautiful thing one can possible do, is to grant another the gift of one's own time, hands, ears, attentive heart. Love. That is the only gift worth receiving... and the only one which will truly be remembered having been given.

N I C K

2005-08-20T00:40:00.000-07:00

The men filed through one by one printing their names, writing their ages and signing their autographs. Different demeanors, temperaments, smells and personalities would grace us as we checked the men in and assigned each man with his mattress and two grey woolly blankets.

One can discover a lot about a man through this simple procedure. One man waits patiently for his turn, another tries to push in, another manipulates his way up the line. A drunken sleepy man stooped in posture, an energetic twitching man grins talking to an imaginary friend and four friends joke, talk and laugh loudly with each other.

One gentleman who would grace us frequently at Macon Overnight Ministries during its whole 3 year existence was an Italian Polish 53 year old simply called Nick; he would stand quietly in line and keep to himself and suddenly splutter into a coughing fit dispersing the crowd around him with loud accusations of rampant TB. Ironically Nick never had Tuberculosis. Nick would jump in anger to his own defense, and we assured the crowd that he was not contagious.

Nick shuffled to the sign-in sheet and murmurs “hi Jeremy” and with snail-like swiftness awkwardly writes N I C K with his face several inches from the paper. No last name, no age and no signature. He often scribbled his name in the place he was not supposed to write on, hardly ever keeping his 4 letters between the 2 lines.

Nick lived with a horrific disability rarely seen or admitted on the shores of America. He was illiterate. He could not read or write a single lick, except for those 4 magic letters – N I C K. Until one witnesses such a man struggling through life, it is hard to put oneself in such a man’s shoes. Illiteracy affects every aspect of their lives.

Nick’s struggles did not end there. He had some horrible asthmatic and bronchial problems, issues dealing with excessive weight and mental illness and a host of medications; thus, we ended up calling 911 for him more than any other man. After a few nights in a hospital he would arrive again on our doorstep needing another night’s rest. Nick always wanted to offer something; he picked up a broom or mop and proceeded to clean, often resulting in rapid panting and the need to sit. We told him repeatedly that he did not need to help, but he insisted and would grab the broom. Nick had a heart of gold.

Penniless. Unemployed. Homeless. He did not fulfill society’s perception of homeless men; Nick was not a drug addict, an alcoholic, a criminal or a gang-banger. His curse was simply, he was unable to read or write. He was unable to breathe like the rest of us. But as with all of us, Nick was a human being searching for his God given purpose, eternal life free of suffering and for love. Nick experienced glimpses of that at Cornerstone.

We loved Nick. Nick loved us. He erupted with outbursts of emotion from time to time, but Nick was part of the Cornerstone family. We never knew of any family he had. A new guy would come in, ridicule, provoke and taunt this poor man, and many a CCO veteran would jump to his defense. Nick had found a family at CCO, and we proudly accepted him. We needed Nick! Nick needed us!

After months of encouraging Nick to join Harper House (our day time supportive service program), he enrolled, and we were able to help him more thoroughly. We spoke with the doctors who monitored his health and prescribed his medication from the local free clinic. We helped him take the right dosage. We helped him eat the right foods. He was losing weight, looking healthier and had gentler deposition.

Every night “The Word” was spoken to the men as they lay on their mattresses. For 20 – 30 minutes we expounded truth from the Word of God. It was Nick’s highlight in his long days. He waited in anticipation. As he sat up gazing at the speaker, he was angered when another made a noise and was frustrated when the wrong person delivered the message. He would burst out with a question as he tried to understand. He longed for “the Word”.

Out of the blue, the MOM and Harper House programs lost funding and they had to close. My thoughts and prayers went out to all the men; I knew some guys would take advantage of the situation, a lot would find their struggle harder and some would resort back to the life they had been fighting to defeat. The stories are immense! But, my heart went out to Nick; the question was how he would or could survive a brutal winter in Chicago. He did not end up in another shelter, in a transient hotel or a nursing home. His disability sadly caused Nick to disappear and sleep under any viaduct or tree. He was hard to find.

Three and half months later I heard on the streets, Nick had passed away, in mid December 2004, in a Chicago hospital. Through a little investigation I discovered he had pneumonia and an infection. The cold Chicago winter had captured his life.

I believe we were able to offer this lonesome warrior a little concern, a little love and Jesus. The “least of these” stood in our midst. Jesus loved Nick. Nick loved Jesus. I believe this lonely man passed into His loving eternal arms, where there will be no crying, no pain, no suffering and no injustice.

Let's respond with vigor

2005-08-18T09:44:00.000-07:00

Jon, we are really excited about your idea. I want to urge everyone in CCO to use this site as a kind of daily journal. There are stories we run across every day that could be of interest. To us our lives seem kind of dull but up in Wisconsin where I used to live, our lives would be the stuff of high excitement and adventure - ecpecially as we minister to the homeless and the poor in Chicago.
I just had a tremendous group of young volunteers help me move a whole room of library books. For me it would have been a three day job with considerable danger to my aging heart. They did it in 20 minutes. Bless their God-loving hearts.
Curt Mortimer