Tears welled in the beady eyes of the tiny bald homeless man who had just burst into the kitchen in the basement of the church where I was cooking. Turning from the sausage gravy I was making for the hundred or so homeless people who were waiting for breakfast, he went to speak but only a sob came out.
"It's ... it's ...," he tried to say but couldn't so he grabbed my hand pulling me up the stars and out into the street. Dragging me along we went half-a-block and he stopped pointing at the open door of a two story shotgun house. No one lived downstairs save the homeless men who drank and slept there.
Upstairs was occupied by Florence, an old tiny mean woman who called me "Mr. Mike" in a sweet little girl's voice when she wanted something and most everything else when she didn't. She let the homeless men live there so anyone wanting her would have to get through them first.
The little man covered his mouth with his hands and tears flowed freely down his weather beaten face. Walking passed the trash and empty bottles to the stairs I climbed up and her door was open. I called but no one answered so I went in and there she was, laying on the bed, arms up over her face but feet still on the floor. She must have died as soon as she sat down.
Back outside, I grabbed Sonny and drug him back to the church. After calling the Police, I sat down with him, focusing on the living rather than the dead.
"Hey Sonny," I said with my hands on his knees. "You're going to be OK. Me and the boys are going to stick with you."
And we did. My core homeless friends and I adopted Sonny, making him one of our own. By the time I left Louisville, he was no longer homeless, worked at the Church and at a Bar down the street, dying several years later clean and sober.
Working in Savannah, I got the call that Christine's 17 year old son had taken his own life. Immediately I drove to her house in the islands where she sat on the sofa, staring into space and paying no attention to those offering comfort. Her eyes locked mine when I opened the door and her pain erupted as I held her.
I was the minister at his funeral and his classmates spoke and laughed of the wonderful times they'd had with him trying to celebrate a life rather than face a death. Christine sat without moving, staring straight ahead, crossing her thumbs over and over, completely oblivious to the things taking place around her.
Afterwards, we had long talks together. She had lots of questions though I didn't have many answers so we'd sit silently. Eventually she returned to work, giving twice the love to her remaining son.
I've known and still watch lots of people living in desperate situations ... trapped in a marriage they don't want ... a job that takes their life away while they're still alive ... acting as caregivers for parents, spouses or children who can't care for themselves ... hiding their pain rather than working through it ... longing for a different life but with no real hope it'll ever happen.
Too many lose hope. You can't have faith without hope and without faith, life has no assurance and little if any conviction.
When people lose hope they become lonely, regardless of how many people they're around.
Throughout my life, I've worked to help folks rediscover their hope which is best done in groups. I've watched the homeless be raised from the dead to achieve wonderful lives, people dying with AIDS live happily and fulfilled, abandoned people form communities and the unlovely be loved.
I know, with absolute conviction, with everything within me, that pain can be worked through, hope can be recovered, Chains ... self-shackled or otherwise ... can be broken and everyone can live how and where they want!
That's why I've decided to offer
group hope opportunities. It's what I've always done and have a track record of helping people hope again, which leads to a conviction which leads to living again! Especially living the way you've always wanted to live!
