Robert’s story struck a familiar tune as it started out. He was elderly, 72 years old. He had been homeless for eight months at the time we met him. He told us about how hard it was to find food every day and how much he hates the mosquitoes biting him him day and night. He told us about he sleeps under a bridge every night and seldom finds someone who will let him take a shower. I’ve heard about people going through similar experiences dozens of times. Robert told us his mother died when he was young and Robert’s father struggled to take care of Robert and his five siblings on his own.  When he became a teenager Robert began to work in a funeral home his godmother owned. He did this up until he enlisted in the Army at the age of 18. He was deployed to West Germany immediately after he was out of basic. The war in Vietnam was only escalating and the US felt it was fighting communism at every turn. Robert was thankful he wasn’t deployed to Vietnam. He served his time, and was honorably discharged at the age of 20. He came back home, went to mortician school, and began to work at the funeral home again. He told us the work started to wear on him psychologically, so after 15 years he took a break. He said he just drifted away and began to travel state to state. There was a big gap between this point in Robert’s life and the present day. I wasn’t very clear on how long he traveled, or if he went back to work at the funeral home when he finished his travels, or if he went on to do something else entirely. He told us he had a son and grand kids (who aren’t aware he’s homeless). Robert didn’t say much else about the time between the day he left his job, and the day he became homeless.

Veterans are much more likely to experience homelessness than civilians are. The statistics surrounding veteran homelessness can be overwhelming. Veterans make up about a quarter of the homeless population. Nearly half of homeless veterans are over the age of 45 and served during the Vietnam era. Over three fourths of homeless veterans suffer from alcohol abuse, substance abuse, or mental health issues. There are many reasons behind the much higher chance of a veteran becoming homeless.  Some see combat overseas and come home to battle with PTSD. Others may have become dependent on alcohol or other substances. For many though, it’s the isolation of reintegration into civilian life. So many veterans come home to a life of loneliness. It takes more than a job and mental stability to keep veterans off the street. They need friends and people to do life with. If you are passionate about helping out veterans, homeless or not, I urge you to contact your local VA facility, or other organizations serving vets in your community, to see how you can volunteer.  As for Robert, I’m sure he experienced loneliness as well when he came home. It also seems he found love, or at least companionship.

Around eight months prior to us meeting Robert, he told us he had been in a relationship with a woman. He didn’t speak much into the relationship, he just said things went wrong. The relationship ended for whatever reason. He told us that when it happened he had just wanted to disappear. So he did disappear. Sometimes we anchor ourselves to what we love, and when whatever it is has gone, we drift away.  We drift from those around us. We drift from ourselves. I wasn’t clear on whether or not Robert. had intentionally become homeless. I don’t know if he just walked out of his door one day and decided to sleep under a bridge, or if his withdrawal from life left him with no choice but economic impoverishment.

We humans long to be loved. We are desperate for community. Something within each of us aches and yearns for belonging. We need each other, but we often fail to fill those needs.  We let each other down. We abuse one another. We become victim and perpetrator. With each hurt and breach of trust our want for safety grows. Unfortunately, we almost always seek that safety in isolating ourselves. We build up walls and enter these lonely places. I think the feeling loneliness at some point in life is the one thing humans unanimously experience. Even as Jesus hung on the Cross He cried out to His Father asking why He had been forsaken. So when Robert said he had just wanted to disappear, I felt that. I feel myself wishing I could disappear more often than not. It’s ironic loneliness can form somewhat of a bond between two strangers. I don’t know if I have anything else in common with him, but I know we’ve both felt alone. I don’t know if I have anything else in common with you, but I know at some point or another, we’ve both felt alone.  I can’t help but wonder how honest he’d been with how he felt. If he told anyone he wanted to just disappear. If I’m honest, I don’t tell anyone either. I’ve not even wanted to face it myself. It’s hard to muster up the courage to tell your friends you’ve been dreaming of different cities. That the days have turned into a perpetual tumble of what feels like nothing more than wasted time. Sometimes you wish you could disappear. Sometimes you just want to melt into the shadows under the overpass.

Robert began to look like a mirror. The more I listened to his story, the more I saw myself.  I saw my frustrations and bitterness– my own anger and disappointments.. I saw my own wanting of a better life in his eyes. Maybe I’m looking too much into the chance encounter with a man who’s lived three times as many years as I have. I think Henri Nouwen was right when he said: “The mystery of one man is too immense and too profound to be explained by another man.” But I also believe the mysteries of another can help reveal some of the mystery we’ve found locked away within ourselves. It’s in those lonely places we often find another like us, and in another is often when we find some missing part of ourselves. In Robert I could see my own dreams. I saw my hopes of feeling wanted, my own searching, my own poverty. The walls he had around himself seemed all too familiar. I could hear the exhaustion in his breathing. I could see the ache in his bones as he walked.

Robert is sick. He has to take seven pills a day to function. His time is running out. He won’t last much longer on the streets. Robert went on to tell us he didn’t think he would die homeless. He said he had some friends that could help him out if he wanted– doctors, lawyers, family members– he said he’d be able to make it off the streets before it got cold out. I believe Robert will get off the streets, if he hasn’t already. I believe he’ll call his son again. I believe he’ll be present again. I believe the wanting his eyes will fade to fulfillment and belonging. I believe the same about myself.

Eric, as I found to be his name, is 63 years old. He is a Detroit native. He didn’t tell us how he ended up in Birmingham, but had been on the streets for a few years now. Eric told us he liked to sing and wasted no time before he began to sing “How Great Thou Art” with all he could muster. We asked Eric how he ended up homeless. He shared with us he had been in pharmacy school in his 20’s and somehow got hooked onto pills(I can't remember the reason he told us). The addiction took over his life. He also told us part of the reason he couldn’t get off the streets was he had been diagnosed with Bipolar disorder a few decades ago. While I'm not sure of Eric’s exact diagnosis, Bipolar disorder can make it extremely difficult to hold down a job and complete everyday tasks, especially if the symptoms aren't managed with the aid of professional help.

A good many (25%) of homeless men and women share Eric’s plight of mental illness. After Deinstitutionalization in the late 20th century, many people suffering from mental illness ended up homeless or in prison. Sadly, for people like Eric, one of the few ways they can receive mental health care on a somewhat regular basis is to be incarcerated. Organizations who provide mental healthcare for homeless people are not easy to come by, and are not always located near other resources for people suffering through homelessness. Someone like Eric might have to decide between getting a hot meal and getting care for their mental illness. Although Eric had some medications on hand to take at the time we met him, he might not always have access, and many people in his position do not have access at all. 

Of course like many systemic issues, a majority of the problem is rooted in individuals like you and I. We have to end the stigma around mental health. We have to end the stigma around poverty. We have to end the stigma around homelessness. People with mental illnesses are not broken. They are suffering from a condition, which many times can be managed through mental healthcare. They may have difficulties and disabilities, but they also have dreams and stories. People struggling through poverty are not always lazy, in fact, laziness is seldom the cause of poverty. There are systems set in place that simply do not work. Government assistance is set up to keep people poor instead of to help lift them up out poverty. Access to quality education favors those who have already “made it”. Just about every homeless person I know works or is looking for a job. Turns out it’s hard to get hired when you don’t have an address, or an ID, or reliable transportation, or access to simple things like a shower and a place to wash clothes.

These systems which keep people down or hidden away won’t change until we demand them to be changed. It’s going to take us caring. These people are not problems– they are people going through problems. There has to be more than just talk and opinions on these issues. There has to be action. We can’t sit here and say we care about a certain group of people then turn around and continue to exclude them from our lives. Until we welcome people struggling with mental illness and poverty as equals, as neighbors, as friends, as brothers, and as sisters– there won’t be change. Until we allow them to change us there will be no change. We have to create in our lives a place for them to belong.

There has to be room in our hearts to listen to the stories of people like my friend Reese, who lives in a tent off Ponce de Leon in Atlanta. He was diagnosed with PTSD at a young age after his sister blew her head off right in front of him with a shotgun. He said her blood and brains flew onto his face. He has since been diagnosed with Bipolar disorder as well, and sometimes sells his body for sex in order to have enough money to make the decision between being able to wash his clothes or getting something to eat. We have to listen to the stories of people like Eric, who may struggle with his illness, and doesn't have a place to lie his head at night, yet he still carries around a copy of the Bible and has memorized entire Psalms (which he recites to whoever will sit and listen). Acknowledging the humanity in others is part of what keeps us human.

Before we left, Eric asked us to pray with him. We put our hands on him and prayed. After we finished praying he told us we just made him rich. What he valued was the simple connection between God and his fellow man. What Eric wanted was presence of God found where two or more are gathered in His name.

The entire time we were with Eric it had been raining ever so slightly. As we turned to leave the rain began to pick up. We asked him where he was going to stay tonight. With a smile on his face he replied: “Right here in the rain.” He smiled and waved at us as we walked away. May we all commit to stay “right here in the rain” with one another.

Everything is louder than I am.

Everything except God.

In the midst of the noise He whispers. And because I can be louder than Him, I am. I know He could rise above the turbulence if He wanted to, but He doesn't. Maybe that's part of what love is. He could be louder than everything, yet He whispers.

My ears grow tired of the world I want to move away from it all.

I want to go be alone.

I want to ask God the questions that can only be asked on mountains and under trees. I want to hear the answers that can only be heard in the flow of a creek, and in the wind moving through the woods.

I want to move a little farther North, where the weather is a little cooler. Somewhere in Isolation, but is also close to books. I think I could live alone forever with books.

Even with all of the words they hold in them, books never talk. They listen. They never try to be louder than you. Your eyes graze upon the words like a cow slowly feasting on grass– sure to chew every bite. You whisper what is written back to the book so it knows what it is. It loves you for it. You love it the same. It is never difficult to find a friend in a book.

And with my books I imagine I'd live in a cabin. I would cut wood with an axe to stay warm during the winter. I would make friends among deer and squirrels; I would know the trees. Here I would not need to be louder than anything. Nothing would be louder than me.

I would hear God's whispers.

In the woods, everything whispers.

I would whisper back.

Written in stream of consciousness, lightly edited for grammar.

I don't go a day without hearing a conversation on political opinions. Which is understandable, considering our easy and constant accessibility to everyone else in the world. I've heard a lot of these conversations take place in person as well. I've seen people from different camps entirely have peaceful and respectful discourse on issues. I've also seen people on the same side of the fence show their family out the door over small disagreements on a particular. From cool and collected, to heated verbal conflict, I've seen it all.

It doesn't bother me. I think politics are part of who we are, and it would be ridiculous not to talk about it. My problem is when we start thinking we are right. When complementary projections take over and we find ourselves baffled realizing there are people who don't believe the same as we do. Our tribes are no longer just like minded friends we find community and acceptance in, they become war camps ready to bite and claw at the enemy's throat. We get it stuck in our heads we're right, and everyone else is wrong. Spend a little time reading up on world history and you'll quickly realize no one has ever got it right– and we probably never will. There isn't one right way to govern over large groups of people. There are always flaws, and compromises, and evils. But as individuals, we can try to make it right. We can still be good people. Sure we'll always make mistakes, but we could each be a little better.

We can seek to listen first. Listen to people and their stories. Why they think the way they do. Listen to what they've been through. We can aim to learn from each other. Learn from the different stories people have lived and are living. Learn from each other's mistakes and victories. Learn from each other's pain and joys. Above all we can make it our goal to love. When we have listened to the best of our ability, when we have learned to our capacity, love can make up the distance. Love can finish the race for us. When we can't find it in ourselves to agree, we can love. We can realize we're all just human. We can also realize we are dust and breath. We can take hold of the fact we are all made in the image of God, and we all have dreams and purpose. We can stand wherever we are, and we can love. 

As for you and me, I think the choice to love begins right now. I also think that choice begins with you loving yourself and me loving myself. I think for the most part, loving God is easy. He’s perfect. Not much not to love about Him. People on the other hand, they’re a little trickier. They mess up, and they sometimes do awful things. Sometimes they say things that do nothing but break and destroy. They hurt us sometimes– most times if we’re being honest. But we can work past all of this. We can find the good in them. We can forgive them. But the hardest person to love is ourselves. We each know every single one of the mistakes we’ve ever made. We’ve kept track of every word, every disappointment, and every failure. Somehow it’s impossibly difficult to forgive ourselves. We always should have known better. We shouldn’t have said this or that. We tell ourselves we should have gotten up earlier, or should have tried harder. We never cut ourselves enough slack. But we need to learn to give ourselves permission to be human. Everyone is a screw up in some form or fashion. Part of being human is being hurt and hurting others– even hurting ourselves. So we have to forgive others, accept the forgiveness of others, and forgive ourselves. Because if we don’t we’re not going to be able to love ourselves well. We’re not going to be able to love others well. We’re not going to be able to love God well. I don’t think you can truly love one of those well without loving them all. We must love the One who gave the breath of life, and also love each person He gave it to– including ourselves.

I believe there is someone out there whom I will spend the rest of whatever’s left of my life with. Someone I’ll laugh and cry with. Someone I can hike mountains with. Someone who’ll be down for 3 a.m. pancake excursions. Someone who will just sit and read books with me. Someone I can go to Disneyworld and act like a total kid with. Someone I can raise a family with. Someone who will be a partner in ministry with me. Someone I can be with without saying a word. Someone who’ll make life feel like a Ben Rector song. She’ll be smart, and strong, a leader, sweet, and caring. She’ll be one part dreamer and two parts doer. She won’t be afraid to speak her mind, but knows she doesn’t have to. She’ll love to read and write. She’ll have a heart for kids and adoption. He’ll love Jesus more than her ego and reputation. She probably won’t be exactly like that. But if I had to describe my idea of beauty in words, that’s how I’d do it. Because I believe she exists (please Jesus) I’m going to choose to go ahead and love her today. And I’m going to choose to love her tomorrow, and the next day, and every day until I meet her, and everyday after.

I think some of the best ways I can love my future wife now are some of the same ways I can best love myself, others, and God as well. I can choose to learn everyday. I can work on making myself better. Solve problems around me. Help people. Do meaningful work. I think God wants us to be our best and do our best. I think doing those things bring Him glory. I think there are also ways to love my future wife, myself, others, and God right now that have to do with physical relations and sex. I think sex is a sacred act. I know this is not necessarily popular belief and everyone might not hold the same opinion. That’s completely okay. This is not me telling you how to live your life, or even me wishing how you’d live your life. This is me saying how I’m going to strive to live my life. Though I hope you still consider it and plumb for truth.

Sex is always something I’ve wanted to save for my wife. It’s not even a matter of right or wrong for me. Even before I was a Christian I held this belief that no one arrives at their deathbed wishing they had sex with more people. Social Psychologist Erich Fromm says when man and women are naked before each other they fully realize their separation from each other. They are able to see their differences. But with the realization of the separateness, if they have not already chosen to love each other, they will remain strangers.  Without love, this separation becomes a source of shame of shame and guilt. But to love someone means to care, and respect, and truly know them. You can’t just build and dissolve those kind of relationships without serious pain involved. It just isn’t worth the destruction. You might not agree, and I realize this probably isn’t the popular belief. But if I wanted to be popular I probably wouldn’t wear cargo shorts as often.

Sex is never the end goal of love anyways; it’s just a beautiful part of it. While by the grace of God I haven’t had sex, I’ve still done things that have caused damage. I’ve crossed boundaries. I’ve used people. I’ve probably taken people through emotional hell and conjured feelings of worthlessness. This is me saying I’m sorry to my future wife, and just as importantly, to everyone I’ve ever hurt I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please forgive me. I’m working on forgiving myself too.

Love isn’t something you can give or have. It’s something you do; something you become. People are not yours to claim ownership over. They may be “our” spouse, or boyfriend, girlfriend, fiancé, or friend– but they are not ours. People are not our to be had or taken, purchased or sold. Even God only calls those who come to Him His own. We are meant to be with people, and people are meant to be loved. Loving people means we can’t keep demonizing people. Not even the rapists, or murderers, or terrorists, or the people sitting on the other side of the political fence. We can’t demonize them; not anymore. Loving people means taking in the good and the bad. It means choosing them and choosing to fight for who God wants them to become.

The Bible sometimes uses “love” and “hate” idiomatically to demonstrate choice. God loved (chose) Isaac, but hated (didn’t choose; rejected) Esau (Malachi 1:2-3). God loved (chose) Rachel more than (instead of) Leah (Genesis 29:30). What if by loving people God also means we have to choose them? At its core the word “agape” means to prefer, or choose one as opposed to another. Choose your neighbor. Choose your enemy. Choose your friends and family. Choose your spouse, even if they aren’t in the picture yet. Be with them. Fight for them. Hold their needs above your own.

I think the way God has called us to love people rules out things like war and the death penalty as ways to solve our people problems. I don’t even think people are the problem to begin with. It’ll be dangerous to love people like this.  To forgive instead of removing them form the rest of society. To love our enemies instead of killing them. It’s radical and unsafe, but so is dying on a cross. Jesus knew from the beginning love would cost Him everything. For Him, to love was a death sentence. If love had a warning label it would read “Warning: may cause serious injury or death.” Love means acceptance, and forgiveness. Love means overlooking wrongs, and turning the other cheek. But as scary as love can be, for whatever reason, perfect love casts out fear. When we love, we are exactly where we’re supposed to be. Love doesn’t always mean us getting hurt. Love doesn’t mean staying in abusive or toxic relationships. Sometimes the best way to love is from a distance. We have to remember we are not the only person capable of loving of loving someone. If we have to keep our love at a distance, there will be someone who can keep their love close. But at the end of the day loving people means we will get hurt. Love is still something we’ll have to choose everyday. But love is worth it. It’s all there is. To love is our greatest purpose.

We’d just wrapped up filming Dave’s story (which you can read here). Before we finished, I asked him what he would tell God if He were standing right in front of him at this moment. Dave said he would tell God he wanted Him back in his life. That he wanted to be filled with the Holy Spirit and used for His glory. I told Dave if he was serious about what he just said, then he could go to church with me that night. Dave said he’d love to, and hopped in the car with me.

As we were pulling off I found myself thinking of all the reasons this was a bad idea. I’d only known this guy for a few hours. I had no idea if he had any weapons on him. I didn’t know if he was addicted to drugs, or if he had psychotic episodes, or anything. I started wondering if my family would even know where to begin looking for me if I didn’t come home because I was bleeding out behind some dumpster. Luckily mind can only go to so many dark places in the ten minutes it took to get to the church.

The moment we got out of the car my mind was leading my fears in a new direction. What if someone offended Dave? What if Dave offended someone? You never really know what you’re bargaining for when you bring a homeless person into the rest of society with you. They’ve often times lost the precious filter that keeps the rest of our mouths from saying whatever thoughts may land on our minds. I wondered what I’d do if someone said Dave couldn’t come in because he looked sketchy. I’m sure no one would have done that, but fear and anxiety love to rob us of the good things in life. They make the people we trust the most seem so capable of the darkest evils.

We sat down in a pew near the front. I joked with him about him being the oldest one there. No one sat by us. Some people hugged him for no apparent reason. Some people just looked– not with judgment, just curiosity. It was time for worship. We stood as the band began strumming the chords to “Lord I Need You”.

I was paying attention best I could, as I always do, to pitch, and melody, and rhythm. It was a familiar song I’ve sung many times before. Dave obviously didn’t know the melody, or when he should sing the words appearing on the screen; he paid no attention to pitch. He was also embarrassingly singing louder than anyone else in the room.

Before my cheeks even had time to flush with embarrassment, conviction struck my heart. His mind did not know the song, but his soul knew it well. His hands, his feet, every aching bone in his body, knew the truth, “without You I fall apart.” Everyday of his life for the past two years his heart had sung, “Lord, I need You, oh, I need You.
Every hour I need You.” Yet here I was, lying to the Lord, singing words I’d never meant as correctly as I could.

I’d never realized before then how little the songs I song on Sundays really mean to me. I’m not living any kind of life where I have to cry out the words to these songs as earnest prayers. I’m quite a stranger to suffering and pain. After the played “Lord I Need You” they played “King of My Heart”, and “Good Good Father”. It was the same with those songs as well. I’ve never needed the promise, “You’re never gonna let me down” as much as Dave did in that moment. I’ve never needed “You’re a good good Father, and I’m loved by You” to be true like Dave did.

Probably half of the time I’ve been living has been spent not even believing in God. I didn’t begin believing in Him because I needed Him, but because for whatever reason He wanted me. And let me clarify something, of course I need God as we all need Him to forgive us of our sins. I needed Him in order to step from death to life. I’m not speaking of our universal need of the love of God. I’m speaking of the kind of need for God so many people have. The kind of need the people who are depending on God to come though every day have. Depending on Him for their daily bread, for clothing, and peace, and comfort, etc. The kind of need that made Karl Marx call religion “the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions.”

I don’t risk enough. I don’t give enough. I don’t live my life in a constant state of needing God to show up or else I’m not going to make it. I’m not sure what that looks like for me. I’m not sure what it looks like for you. I know I’m not there but I want to be there. I know it’ll probably hurt. I know I’ll have to suffer. But I want to actually need God.

He graduated from Douglas County high school and went into the Marine corp. He was in the Marines for 22 years (22 years of serving his country with blood, sweat, and tears, only to end up freezing under a bridge). He talked about how he likes to read and walk around to keep his mind off the elements, and the daily struggles of being homeless. As we were talking about the dangers of not knowing who would come up on you while sleeping on the streets, we approached the bridge he sleeps under.

He pointed to a patch of dirt under a column of the bridge and told me that’s where he sleeps. I asked him where his stuff was and he took me to some nearby bushes along a fence. There was nothing there. Everything Dave owned had been stolen. He didn’t seem too upset. He only mentioned how wrong it was for a homeless person to steal from another homeless person, and then we left. We walked back up the street to a parking lot so we could meet my friend Terence and film Dave’s story of how he became homeless.

"I came home from work one day, the couch was turned over, the tv was the house was a mess. I found my wife lying in blood on the kitchen floor with a hole in her head, blood still coming out. Somebody had broken in when I wasn't home. They shot her in the head. I picked her up and carried her to the hospital, but she died on the way there. Not long after my wife died, my rent started to go up. I told him I couldn't pay this much on my own. He said well you've got to go. They put all of my stuff out on the street. I went to Dahlonega for about six months. Then I went to Gainesville and lived in a tent city with about 30 other people. I started using drugs real heavy. Heroin, marijuana, meth. I started drinking alcohol too. A preacher told me if I didn't go to rehab I wasn't going to make it. So I told him if you know of a rehab I'll go. He said he knew of one in Waco Georgia, so I went."

You can’t fit the full despondency and despair of tragedy on a cardboard sign. You can’t get the full story in the shameful transfer of spare change. People’s stories are so important. We need to take the time to listen. We have to listen. These are real people with real pain out here on the streets. They aren’t always the victims of their own mistakes. How do you cope with finding the love of your life lying on the floor in blood with a hole in their head? How do you cope with them dying in your blood covered arms? Not only do you lose the one you love, but you’ve also lost their source of income. When the rent goes up, you can’t do it by yourself anymore. You end up on the streets with all of your stuff, nowhere to go. I know I personally would want to fill my body with every drug I could get my hands on. I’d want to become an alcoholic. I can’t even tell you how many friends in college who get blackout drunk every weekend just to escape the small trivialities college life may bring. So what position do we have to judge a person’s entire story based on an addiction? Our pain is important. How we get where we are is important. My story is important. Your story is important. The story of every person we see on the street is important. Dave told me he wished more people took the time to listen to his story.

“Sometimes I feel like I'm not wanted. No one cares. No one cares about Dave. After I lost my mom and my wife all I had was Dave. They look down on the homeless people. They think we've been out here so long that it's warped our minds warped and they don't know what they're doing. But that's not true. You've got some intelligent homeless people out here on the street. You don't really know me and know who I am until you sit down and talk to me and get to know me. I'm not really a bad guy. I'm a really nice guy. I like to help people if I can. If they'll let me.”

People like Dave don’t just need money. They need people too. We all need people. People to cheer us on and make us feel wanted. Begging for money on the side of the road can’t alleviate the begging of the heart for acceptance. In this way we are all beggars. We have all experienced the poverty of loneliness at one point in our lives or another. We’ve all felt the severe hopelessness of not being wanted. On top of their physical poverty, homeless people also have to struggle with their excommunication from society– the poverty of being alone and unwanted.

We asked Dave what the hardest part about being homeless is.

“The hardest thing about being homeless is you never know who you're gonna come up on. I've seen a lot living on the street. I've seen stabbings. I've seen shootings. I've seen a man get his throat cut from ear to ear. It doesn't feel too comfortable [living under a bridge]. You never know who's gonna come up on ya. You don't know if you're going to wake up or not. I've got to get out from under there.”

We have the power to change people’s stories. We can step in. We can help. We can alleviate some of the pain. Dave is old. Getting a job and making enough money to get off the streets probably won’t be an option for him. It is going to take people like you and I to get him, and people like him, off the streets. We can’t ignore them. We can’t ignore their stories. To ignore them is to ignore ourselves. It’s ignoring Jesus.

“If I don't do something I'll die out here. I want people to know we need to get people off the streets.”

If you’re wondering how to care for the poor, the widow, or the orphan– if you’re wondering how to love your neighbor– start with listening to their story.

Keith started doing drugs at the age of nine.

"I started smoking weed because I was stressed. I did it so I wouldn't hurt anybody."

He didn't really tell us what could stress out a nine year old to the point of violence and drug use. I can't imagine what kind of suffering would make a nine year old feel like his only escape is drugs. But I do know someone had to introduce him to this lifestyle. A nine year old's natural reaction to stress isn't drug abuse and violence– someone taught him this. Unfortunately, Keith's childhood isn't entirely uncommon for those who grow up in impoverished urban areas. As he got older Keith began using different drugs, and began using more heavily. He got involved in gangs, violent crime, robberies, and dealing drugs. Keith has spent his entire life in between homelessness and prison.

“I really don’t have a story. Been homeless all my life. Can’t change it. Can’t work because my knee’s gone out and I can’t stand for too long, so I hold up a sign and try to make a few dollars.”

Keith spends his days begging for money to eat, and if he can get enough, somewhere to lay his head for the night. When he can't scrape up enough money to get a room at a local motel, he spends his nights in different abandoned buildings. We asked him to take us to one of the places he stays at. He took us to some abandoned government housing. There were about a dozen rotting housing units sitting empty across the street from the local soccer field. We were only there about five minutes before a lady came up yelling at Keith, asking us what we were doing. Keith continued telling us his story as we overheard the woman calling the police on us.

"The hardest part about being homeless is trying to find somewhere safe to live. Without problems. Without people calling the police on you. It doesn’t concern them what goes on with someone's life. Instead of helping someone with nothing, they call the police on them. It makes the world better when you help someone, so why hurt someone? Doesn’t make sense. We have to struggle to find somewhere to stay. We have to struggle to find something to eat. We have to struggle. And people don't realize, it’s hard as hell out here on the streets."

Keith says lots of people look down on him because he's homeless. They treat him like he isn't human. Somehow, because someone doesn't look, or smell, or talk the way we want, we find it in ourselves to strip this person of their humanity. We ignore the fact this person is made in the image of God. Created in the likeness of the Creator; a shadow of the glory of God. These people get pushed out from society and left aside. Dealing with the injustices of a depraved society is a daily struggle for Keith and people like him. He is dehumanized a little more each day.

"I get cans thrown at me, beer bottles at me, all types of shit. People call me names, they call the police on me, all kinds of stuff. Being homeless is hard because people treat you like dirt. They ain’t gotta stop and help me. If you don’t want to see homeless people on the streets, then help them out. Give them somewhere to stay. Then you won’t see all these homeless people on the streets. Look at all of these empty buildings. We just need somewhere to stay. Don’t hate us, help us."

I think we give up more than we realize when we allow people to live like this. We trade being human for being wealthy. We trade empathy and sympathy for comfort. As long as we don't look at them, people like Keith aren't our problem. As long as we aren't living in poverty, poverty isn't our problem. But it is our problem. To ignore the image of God in others is to ignore the image of God in ourselves. To have much while others go without reveals an issue deep in our own hearts. Sodom's sins were pride, gluttony, and laziness, while the poor and needy suffered outside her door. We know the ending to the story of Sodom. I pray we put in the work and make this our problem. I pray we start treating people like Keith like we would treat anyone else– like image bearers of God.

“Instead of hurting homeless people help them instead.”

Keith says he might always be homeless. He says without the help of others, without a little push, there isn't much hope. So go be that push for someone today. Help instead of hurting. Listen to people's stories. Love people where they're at.

We met Michael behind a Family Dollar in Spartanburg, SC. Michael and his friend Kathy had come to see what all the commotion behind the Family Dollar was about. When we told them we were interviewing people struggling through poverty and homelessness they were both eager to share their stories.

Before Michael became homeless he had what many would consider a normal life. He had a wife and two daughters, a home of his own. He had actually moved to the area to start his own tree removal business. But in 2013 Michael was involved in a car accident and sustained injuries that made him unable to do hard labor. He became a stay at home dad, raising his two daughters while his wife worked. His life wasn’t what it was before the accident, but he loved it nonetheless. One day his wife left him. She took everything they owned, along with their two daughters, and moved to California. She had been cheating on him. His depression, along with the inability to do labor he was skilled at, drove him to the streets.

Michael has been homeless since December now. You wouldn’t know e was homeless if you saw him hanging out at the library or in line in front of you a the gas station. He was well spoken, confident, clean, and walked with an air of purpose and humility. Michael told us about how people still discriminate against him when they realize he’s homeless.

“I get discriminated against all the time. People ask me how many years I did in prison. I ain’t never been to no prison. Being homeless you get discriminated against. Just depends on how you look. People will pull into the QT and see you there and then drive around to the other end of the parking lot to park. They’re afraid that because I’m homeless, I’m gonna do something. Man I’ve got morals– I’ve got values. I’m not like that.”

This kind of discrimination is an everyday reality for people like Michael. Just because they can’t always find a place to shower, or shave, brush their teeth, or afford to wash their clothes, they get treated as subhuman. Nobody should have their worth determined by their looks. People are more than flesh and fabric. Michael and his friends just want to be treated as humans like the rest of us.

“Treat people the way you’d want to be treated. That sums it all up right there.”

Michaels says the worst type of discrimination, and in his opinion, the hardest part about being homeless, comes to trying to get some work.

“The hardest thing about being homeless is finding work actually. It isn’t finding something to eat or sleeping or finding a dry place. Nobody wants to work you cause you’re homeless. They think you’re a murderer or a thief or something. Most homeless people are actually good. Everybody just has a misconception on all of this. They think if you’re homeless you’re worthless. You ain’t worthless. It ain’t like that. There are a lot of people out here with skills and talents.”

We might not realize it, but honest work is one of the greatest sources of dignity you can find in the human experience. No one wants to beg for the rest of his or her lives. No one wants to have to depend on the mercy and generosity of others. It’s easy to look at people on the streets, begging and receiving government assistance, and see them as lazy. But that’s rarely the case. Laziness goes against human nature. It is rooted in hopelessness and fear. If a person is lazy it is because they have lost hope to ever be anything else. People like Michael need jobs to overcome both the physical and psychological poverty they are experiencing.

“To do nothing at all, is the most difficult thing in the world, the most difficult and the most intellectual.” –Oscar Wilde

Despite his Circumstances, Michael is still generous. In the short time we spent with him he never ceased to encourage his fellow homeless friends and was even helping Albert walk.

“I ain’t stingy, I ain’t greedy. I pay it forward. I share whatever I got. I’ve given people the clothes off my back before.”

The only thing that keeps Michael going is the thought he may one day be reunited with his two daughters.

“I ain’t give up totally yet. I’m not ready to give up, not yet.”

Albert first became homeless at the age of 13. He is now 65 and has spent 15 years of his life on the streets. Albert has been run over by cars four times in his life and is disabled. We had to help him sit down and stand up. He can barely walk on his own.

Before Albert was homeless he survived by working on migrant farm labor camps. Albert traveled from state to state working in these camps for food and lodging. Before too long, Albert became too old too work and was forced to live out on the streets.

 “The hardest part about homeless is sleeping under the bridge, no covers, nothing. Gets something to eat once a day at the soup kitchen. It's not a nice thing to be homeless. You can't eat when you want. You can't get a bath when you want.”

 He says people don’t usually treat him too bad. But no one wants him hanging around their stores. The only thing that keeps him going everyday is the friendships he’s made with other people on the streets.

Albert gets a disability check every few months, but it isn’t enough for him to afford a place to stay. The local soup kitchen provides one meal a day for him but besides that, whether he gets to eat more than once a day is up to the mercy of strangers.

Albert is hopeful he’ll get out of his situation one day. He wakes up dreaming that one day he may have a house or apartment of his own. But Albert is going to need help to be able to do that. Being 65, disabled, and unable to work doesn’t leave much hope for Albert. Without some sort of outside assistance he will sleep under a bridge until the day he dies.

I wanted to change the world. I wanted to do something with my life. So I got up and left. I’ve slept in different hotel rooms and Walmart parking lots every night. I haven’t seen my family in 24 days. I spend my hours with books and people who have no homes but their stories and the streets. And I listen to their stories. They’re often better than the books, but harder because they’re real. You can read something terrible in a book then turn the page and it’s gone. You can’t do that with people. They pour their heart out, share their darkest stories, and then they’re still there. Breathing, tears streaming down their face, still standing in front of you. And that’s why I left, because there are people out there with no one to tell their stories to. No one will take the time to listen. And I left because when someone says to me “So how’s life lately?” I can have an answer besides the same old stuff. Not that it matters really. How we answer questions about life doesn’t matter as much as how well we live out our answers. And maybe answering the same old things just means I’ve been faithful with something. Maybe it means I’ve found beauty in the mundane and purpose in nothing more than breathing and pleading the will of God be done in my life. When it comes down to it, I’d rather be faithful anyways. I don’t need anything new. I don’t need big and exciting plans for my life. I don’t need any more purpose than being obedient to God. I don’t want to pursue anything more than to be devoted to my Savior. I just want to live in a way worthy of the calling, to which I have been called, for God’s gifts and His call is irrevocable. For now, I think, he has called to me to share stories. To be a voice for those who cannot speak for themselves, and those who are not heard when they do. Because that’s who I feel I was before Jesus changed me. I was never loud or what one would consider a leader. I was always small and easy to be left in the background. So it doesn’t make sense God would use me to do any of the things I’m doing. But God uses foolish things to shame the wisdom of this world. He uses that which is nothing to bring to nothing the things viewed as something. So whatever I do I cannot claim it is from my own strength or even my own will. It is purely the grace of God that I have been given some piece of purpose outside of myself. It is why I pray every night that I will do justice, love what is good, and walk humbly. This is life lately.

We pulled into the parking lot of a Family Dollar and let Monk and his girlfriend begin cleaning the bus. We also gave Monk a haircut and told him about how we were walking from Atlanta to D.C. to raise awareness about poverty and to tell the stories of people experiencing homelessness and poverty. Monk said he and his girlfriend would like to tell their stories for the documentary. 

After we finished with Monk he went to get his girlfriend. Monk came back with an elderly woman and told us his girlfriend was camera shy, but he had brought us Granny instead. And that is how we met Lena "Granny" Jaynes.

Granny is one of those people who just looks tough. If remember correctly, she said she is 52 years old. Her age showed in her slow step and worn face, but Granny poured her heart out on homelessness in the back of that Family General Parking lot.

"Nobody should ever have to go through the hell I went through. 15 years of hell, but by the grace of God I made it."

Granny became homeless after moving from North Carolina to South Carolina to take care of her dying mother. After her mother passed, her step dad kicked her out onto the streets.

"I was alone. I had nobody. I had nobody but God. I've slept under bushes, I've been on the streets, I've even gotten food out of trash cans before." 

We asked Granny what she thought the hardest part about being homeless was. 

"The hardest part about being homeless is taking a bath. Cleanliness is close to godliness. If you don't get a bath you go around stinking." 

She told us with tears in her eyes about how people would look down on her because of her appearance. 

"There's some cruel, cruel people. They say things like 'You stink , get away from me.' and 'Your breath stinks. Don't you have toothpaste?' Yea I have toothpaste, but I ain't got no water."

Granny told us she was an alcoholic. We asked her when and why she started drinking.  

"I became an alcoholic at the age of 21. I had a nervous disorder thing. Because my daddy was a bad alcoholic. Daddy would beat the hell out of me. So did my step mom. I took 18 years of beating.  I used alcohol to take away the pain and now I'm addicted."

We asked Granny how people like us could help people who are living in homelessness and poverty. 

"God does not make no accidents. Pray for those people. Give them a hand I'd you can. You ain't hurtin no one. They ain't either. Just give somebody a helping hand if you can. Take them to the grocery store and buy them a sandwich. Don't let these people get in the dumpster and eat. Look, there are people out here who have to sleep with rats,  roaches, all kind of bugs. No one, no human deserves to live like that. It doesn't matter what color you are. No one deserves to have to live like a dog, cause God didn't make no trash." 

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Granny now has a place to stay and has overcome homelessness, but not poverty. She is living off social security checks and food stamps. She says the only thing that got her through homelessness was God. 

Granny doesn't think anyone deserves to go through what she went through. She says God doesn't make mistakes. So we should stop treating people like mess ups and start treating them like humans.  

He told me this is the second time he's been homeless. The first time he was homeless for about six months, and living in the woods behind a Bi-Lo in Seneca, SC. He struggled with alcoholism and decided to check himself into rehab. After he overcame his addiction, and got out of rehab, he met a girl. He began dating her and moved into her apartment. 

CR had cleaned up his life. He overcame alcoholism, had a place to stay, a driver's license, a car, and enough work to pay the rent. Things were looking up for him. Then one day his girlfriend was arrested for a mix up on child support. She went to jail, and because CR wasn't on the lease to her apartment, he was thrown onto the streets. 

CR returned to the woods behind the Bi-Lo.  He occasionally finds an abandoned house to sleep in but typically spends his nights sleeping on the trash in an alley behind the Bi-Lo or in the ground in the woods. This has been his life for the past four weeks. 

"The hardest part about being homeless is when I look at you, and you look at me, I feel ashamed of myself. I haven't showered in days, so I might stink. I haven't changed clothes in six days, so I know I stink. I usually just try to avoid people. People don't realize. People look at me and say 'oh well uh you ain't got no teeth' and 'you this and that'. But it don't matter. I'm still a human being. I've got feelings. I'm a human being and I love people. I'll sit down and wash your feet in a bucket of water, if that's what you require. Being homeless is not a good thing. People need to go easier on us. Don't judge me for how you see me right this minute. Cause I'm not a bad person. I'm just having a bad time. Everybody has bad times in life. Look inside yourself and look inside me because there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Don't judge me for being homeless, because I'm capable of doing anything."

CR cares deeply for people. In fact, he sends almost every penny he makes to his girlfriend in prison.  

"Out here I have options. I can dumpster dive or something. In there she doesn't have a choice."

I don't know many people who would do something like that. Someone who would dumpster dive for food so they could take care of a loved one in prison. CR says his faith in God keeps him going.  And music. He says music helps him worship God. It let's him know God is still with him and he is able to carry on. CR loves people and he loves God. 

CR also shared some of the difficulties someone in his position faces in getting a job.  

"It's difficult to get a job because I don't have an address. I'm dirty. I stink. My hair's not washed. But being homeless has made me a harder worker and tougher person."

CR makes money doing odd jobs and keeping a sign out when he's on the street letting people know he's "accepting donations". He doesn't ask for anything. He just waits for people to give out of the goodness of their hearts. CR has been waiting to get a job at the local Salvation Army thrift store with no luck. He says they never have applications for him.  

CR is a better man than most I've met. He's honest and willing to make sacrifices for fellow humans. He doesn't want anything more than to be accepted back into society. He wants a way to provide for himself and his loved ones. He wants a place to lay his head down without worrying about getting robbed, injured, or treated like trash. He wants his dignity back.

CR wants to be human like you and I.

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"I've been homeless for six months. I didn't used to understand how people became homeless and stay homeless. Now that I've gotten out here in this, I see how some of them get stuck."

Kenneth is 41 years old. Before he was homeless he was working 17 hour days as a maintenance manager at a rock quarry, and doing manual labor such as roofing and painting. Years of hard physical work took a toll on his back. His vertebrae had begun to shift out of place. A jet ski accident forced him to get back surgery and he was unable to walk for six months. Six months later he got a blood infection and his kidneys shut down. These health issues forced Kenneth out to survive on the streets of Gainesville, GA.

Kenneth had it rough early in life. He was born in Auburn, GA but moved to Gainesville at the age of 11. His dad wasn't really in his life. Kenneth said his dad was only there when he could somehow benefit from it. Kenneth got into drugs when he was young. He eventually got clean but alienated himself from the rest of his family as a result of his drug use. He says he talks to them maybe once or twice a year. We asked him why he didn't reach out to his family to help him get off the streets. He said he didn't feel like it was their responsibility to look after him. He got himself into this situation and he was going to get himself out. He also has been married twice and has three kids.

Kenneth shared with us how he had lost his ID and the struggle it was to acquire them as a homeless person. He also shared how difficult it is to get a job without proper ID.

"When you've got no ID no one wants to give you any work because you're homeless. You can go out and pan handle all day but it'll just get you enough money to eat. But at the end of the day, there isn't enough money for you to get your IDs."

We asked Kenneth about his thoughts on the local homeless community.

"There are some people who have been living under the Queen City pkwy. bridge for 18-20 years. You can't help those people. There are people in homelessness who want out. Focus on those people. Help those people. Give them jobs. But then there are some who like being homeless. You can't help them."

A local halfway home for women and children pays under the table Kenneth to do odd jobs and paint throughout the week. We noticed his toe was very swollen and asked why he still walked miles every day to go work.

"Yea it's broken. And it'll probably get infected and I'll lose it if I keep walking on it. But I've got to. I never want to miss a day of work. You can sit around in the hot ass sun with nothing to eat or drink, or you can walk. You gotta do what you gotta do."

Kenneth is working to get himself off the streets.

"I'm going to buy shitty little trailer as soon as I can and work up from there. I plan on getting my IDs and a real job by next week."

I believe poverty is a systemic issue, but is perpetuated and fueled by the individual– individuals like you and me. You see poverty isn't just about a lack of money and resources. It's also a lack of dignity and humanity. When you're broke, you just need a job that can pay the bills. When you're living in poverty, you need more than just a job. You need to be accepted into society– you need to be treated as human. 

People struggling with poverty are often looked down upon, and are forced to live in constant shame. People avoid eye contact with the homeless man begging on the corner at red lights. The middle-class mother looks at the poor single mother with disgust as she pulls out her EBT card to pay for groceries at the local Walmart. Living in poverty means being avoided at all costs by the rest of society. It means second rate education, housing, jobs, and status as humans. 

For many people, poverty is inescapable. Their born into it and they die in it. It becomes a cycle, mother to daughter, father to son. For others, it's a string of bad decisions that get them there. Sometimes just one or two decisions, sometimes it's hundreds. I've met children, elderly, and mentally and/or physically disabled people living on the streets. But no matter how you came into living in poverty, you're still human. 

A lot of the time, those of us who are lucky enough to be living in the middle or upper class forget these people living in poverty are human. We sometimes look at them as parasites. Like they're lazy bums living off the government with no desire to work. Let me tell you from firsthand experience, the is very seldom the case. I've never met anyone more hardworking than the poor. I've never met a homeless man, or woman, who doesn't want a job to provide for themselves and their families. Being poor is 24/7 job in itself. It takes extreme effort and discipline to survive in poverty.

Unfortunately for some people work isn't even an option. I once met a homeless man named Reese who witnessed his sister blow her head off with a shotgun when he was eight years old.

"Blood and pieces of brain and bone went all over my face, all over the wall and shit."

As a result of this traumatic experience, Reese suffers from PTSD and multiple personality disorders. He his unable to keep a job and is forced to live on the streets. I met another homeless man in downtown Atlanta a few days ago. His name is Anthony, but he goes by Tony. He's 62 years old and was severely burned while saving his friend from a house fire. It also sounded like he suffers from epilepsy.

"I walk for about 20-30 minutes and I start getting dizzy. I look for a soft place to fall before I pass out. "

Tony is unable to hold a steady job and has been waiting for over two years to be approved for disability. In the meantime, he struggles to survive on the streets of downtown Atlanta. 

There isn't a lot of grace or margin for error for the homeless and impoverished. They don't have many allies or people fighting for them. Like I said, I think poverty is a systemic issue perpetuated by people like me and you. I don't think we will see poverty disappear until we as individuals stop seeing the people struggling with poverty as the issue. It will continue until we as individuals see them as individuals. And once we see and treat them as individuals governments will begin to see and treat them as individuals. 

One of our goals on this trip is to shoot a documentary about poverty, specifically in the south, which focuses more on stories than stats. We hope this film will help the American people see the poor and homeless not only as fellow Americans, but as fellow humans. We hope to help end the stigma around being poor and homeless.  

But what can you do to help? You might not be able to march with us (but if you can you can click here to contact me and we can make that happen), but there are things you can do at home. Next time you see someone on the street begging for money, instead of trying to avoid eye contact while your guilty conscience urges you to hand them your spare change, go share a meal with them. Listen to their story. Instead of judging the single mother buying groceries for her family with an EBT card, maybe offer to carry her groceries for her. Ask her if there's anything around the house you could help her with. Provide childcare for her so she can look for/work a job, or even just take a day to herself. Listen to her story. Get creative with this. Get creative with the way you show love. Think like Jesus and treat people like Jesus. 

Remember, no one wants to be poor or homeless. No one dreams of living on the streets. They don't want to feel helpless or have to beg for the rest of their lives. These are human beings who have hopes, and dreams, and struggles just like you and I. Love them as you'd want to be loved if it were you and your family living in these circumstances. And ask yourself, how much of our own humanity do we have to lose to ignore this? What do we have to become to allow people to remain homeless and living in poverty? 

To ignore the poor is not only to ignore our own humanity, it is also to ignore Jesus. 

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I’m finding myself selfishly asking God to harden my heart.

My head constantly feels like a three-way conference call between me, myself, and God. It’s mostly just me talking to myself, but every now and then God likes to chime in¬¬– He’s more silent on some subjects than others. But we’re all typically talking about things that hurt. Like the homeless man with the broken arm and bad leg I met last week. Or the mama in Haiti who can afford to put a diaper on her baby. Or the families living on a mountain in Nicaragua without clean water. Or all of the children orphaned, forced into slavery, starving, turned into soldiers, molested, displaced by war, or dying from disease I read about on the Internet. And everything in me wants to do something to fix all of these things, but it feels like I’m trying to build an island by throwing sand off the beach into the ocean.

I can help a homeless person out with rent or a meal, but then there are still the rest of the homeless in my city who still have need. And if I do find a way to help them all? Drive 20 minutes east and you’re in the heart of Atlanta– a city with 6,664 homeless people on the average night (2013 headcount).

I can provide diapers for a child in Haiti. It’s not expensive– around $30 will cover a child it’s whole life in diapers. But that’s just one child. It’s just one child in a village of children, in a country of villages, in a world of countries. I can’t handle all of that.

I can take water filters to the families on the mountain, but what about the other mountain? What about when the water is clean but the maternal mortality rate is still high?

I’m jealous of the people who can say: “Well at least I could help one person.”

I can’t do that.

I keep telling myself I have to help the next and the next. The more I help the more it hurts. It’s the reason why I’ve slept six hours in the past three days. It’s why I’m up at 4 am wishing I could close my eyes, not just so I can sleep, but to the all of the pain in the world. I want to be able to watch the news without feeling anything. I want to be able to go to the city and by an expensive meal without thinking about it. I want to buy plane tickets to Hawaii and Europe, not third world countries. But I can’t– I’ve already been ruined.

I can’t help but wonder what God feels when He looks at the world. What did He feel when Eve bit into the apple? The Heart that sends Itself to die must be a broken one.

When you love it’s going to hurt at one point or another. To love is to feel pain. Compassion means to suffer.

The only way I’ve made any sense out of it is a dialogue from the movie G.I. Jane between two characters:

Master Chief John Urgayle: Pain is your friend, your ally, it will tell you when you are seriously injured, it will keep you awake and angry, and remind you to finish the job and get the hell home. But you know the best thing about pain?

Lt. Jordan O'Neil: Don't know!

Master Chief John Urgayle: It lets you know you're not dead yet

If it didn’t hurt I wouldn’t care. The pain keeps me awake and angry. It keeps me moving. It reminds me that I have a purpose here on earth. It reminds me this is not my home– it’s my battlefield. Home is place where pain will cease to exist; the more I feel hurt the more I realize earth will never be home.

But like Master Chief John Urgayle said: The best part about pain is it

lets you know you’re not dead yet.

Pain is a sign of life.

Where we hurt is where we live, and why we hurt is why we live. God is breaking our hearts for things because He’s living in and through us. The pain He lets us go through is the greatest sign we have He’s given us life. Psalm 34:18 says God is near to the broken hearted. When Jesus said we would have to die to find life He was implying pain– but  pain implies life.

It’s now 4:57 am and I say bring it.

Comfort is for the dead.

I don’t think anything scares me more than the fact I might not be anyone or do anything great. Everyday I see people living ordinary lives. They’re all just trying to make it by, thinking they can save life for a time where things are easier. They think they need to wait until they have more money, or more friends, or worst of all, more time. But they never make enough money or find enough friends. And while they are waiting until they have enough time for life they let life and time slip through their fingers. What a terrible way to spend what we are so graciously given. But even more terrible is being aware of it. Being sick isn’t so bad until you realize you could be well. That is when we start to become consumed with what we’re not. I remember having speech problems when I was little. I had no idea I was saying some words wrong, but when someone finally told me I started going to therapy to correct it. I wanted to change. I wanted to talk how I was supposed to talk. I wanted to be who I was made to be. At the core of everyone on this earth is the desire to become who they are meant to be. But moving from where we are to where we’re supposed to be is hard, and I don’t think anyone likes doing hard things. I don’t like to be uncomfortable or stretched, but I know these things are going to be necessary. It’s so much easier to put off becoming what we’re meant to be for another day. We are more comfortable burying our potential with pursuit of the things that keep us comfortable. 

Once again the day started bright and early.

We ate breakfast (which was French toast and sausage) and then got on the bus, ready for our second day in Little Africa. I slept the whole way there because I stayed up late the night before writing. Once again everyone was very happy to see us when we arrived.

We split up in to our groups to do VBS with the kids.

Our teams would rotate zones everyday, so since we were in zone 2 the day before, today we got to go to zone 3. Since zone 3 was quite a walk all of the kids met us at the church in zone 2 and we did VBS there. We had a good bit less kids than we had the previous day but it worked out better that way– since we had less seating. We started things off with a few songs and then we jumped into story time. Our group has told the story of Noah for VBS. It’s kind of funny how when we ask the kids what kind of animals they think were on the Ark they say things like goats and sheep and horses. It’s also kind of sad– because those are the only animals they know of.

After the Bible story was over we did some crafts.

Our crafts consisted of a sheet of construction paper and a few Noah themed stickers. The kids had never seen or used stickers before so it took them a few minutes to understand the concept of peeling sticky pictures of one piece of paper and placing them on another. But they all eventually caught on and became sticker professionals. One girl in particular caught on pretty quickly despite the fact she only had one hand to peel of the stickers with. Her hand had been crushed and mangled up– completely useless– but she didn’t let that stop her.

After we finished with the crafts we gave out some beanie babies that had been collected for the kids in Little Africa. While this was going on Janie and me noticed a little boy standing behind the church all alone. Naturally we wanted to find out why this kid wasn’t hanging out with everybody else and taking part in the fun. We walked over and waved at him, and then I tried to give him a high-five. I held my hand out in front of him in high-five position, then I high-fived my own hand to show him, I even tried to demonstrate a high-five with Janie but the boy did nothing. He just stood there totally ignoring us. The whole time this was going on some few teenagers were watching us and laughing. One of them finally came over and told us the little boy was blind. He wasn’t ignoring us– he just had no idea what we were doing. Of course Janie and me both felt terrible– not only because of the fact he couldn’t see, but also that we just spent five minutes trying to give him a high-five. I can only imagine how much more difficult being blind makes life in a place like Little Africa– but I trust that God has a plan for this child.

After we finished VBS we loaded up on the bus and went back to the church.

We had the rest of the day to just hangout and build relationships with people. Some of us played soccer with kids, some of us played other games with them, and some of us just sat down with them and talked. One boy came up to me and started talking to me– the only thing was, I don’t speak Creole and had no idea what he was saying. After a minute or two he realized this and grabbed my hand and started walking. Sometimes I feel like that’s how my relationship with God is. He’ll start speaking to me and saying things but I’ll have no idea what they mean– so He just takes my hand and walks. Sometimes He walks so He can show me something; sometimes He walks so He can take me somewhere. Sometimes God walks just so He can be with me– but whenever I don’t understand, we walk.

The team split up into three groups once more.

Some of us went to check and see if the people were correctly using the water filters we gave them back in January. Others went to hand out Special reusable diapers that our team member, Allie, had designed. The rest of us hung out at the church on our property with the kids until it was time to leave. And like the day before, the time to leave came all too soon.

We left Little Africa and went home to New Life for our usually evening routine: dinner, devotion, and then bedtime.