The kids had a great week away at camp. With special activities, new counselors and all new food- not to mention a week away from Siempre- what's not to like? But little Abbey, Siempre's newest child and still struggling to adjust, cried each night. When I hear these reports, I can't help but wonder who she's crying for? A mom? Grandparent? Someone who was once kind to her? Or was she afraid that her time at Siempre was up and now- just as she was left at Siempre, she'd now be left at this camp with a whole new group of strangers? It's impossible for us to imagine how deep the insecurity of total abandonment must run... I'm guessing to the core of each of Siempre's children's being. This new start out of the tragedy of losing a family will never be forgotten. Some may rebuild connections with relatives in a distant future but most will build their lives on the hopes and dreams planted in their hearts while they live at Siempre. Our basic task is keeping the doors open, making sure everyone's warm, fed, safe, educated, loved... the big task is creating a future and a hope for each of Siempre's children, for Abbey, that they'll believe in and give their lives to discovering. God's trusted us to give these kids a second chance and these kids have trusted us to care for them when no one else would... and they've been a blessing. Can't imagine my life without Siempre in it. Don't know how anyone makes it through the week without sharing our Wednesday afternoons! God's been good to me. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday present.

Everyone says it when they meet her: "She looks just like a cabbage patch kid!" I believe them... it's been a few years since Julia was playing with her dolls. To me, Vanessa looks just like a miracle. One of the many little miracles that greet us each Wednesday afternoon at Siempre. She runs to the truck and hugs everyone. Always wants to help the bigger kids carry things in. Can be kind of a little "Tom Boy," not taking any flack from the boys but loves to sit down with Lupita, Daniella, Abbey, Bianca and the others and play "girl" games. I don't remember her crying much at all- dropped off in the middle of a dark, stormy night- covered in mud and dirt -she ate all night long as they scrubbed and scrubbed then cleaned her hair of lice... looking at that perfect smile, bright eyes, radiant face... it's hard to imagine she ever had a dark night in her life. The promise of Siempre Para Los Ninos changes children; heals broken hearts and wounded spirits, restores joy... My joy's restored every Wednesday afternoon just seeing so many happy kids, well cared for, loved, safe and secure. I don't know what Vanessa and Abbey think about their life at Siempre- about the loving workers who care for them 24/7 -about all of us... but I hope they think that this is what life's supposed to be about for them. That even when a family abandons a child- God doesn't -He sends people like you and me to build and keep the doors open at Siempre. Looking at Vanessa and Abbey I realize they're the tip of the iceberg... that millions of children- equally precious to God and equally deserving of the promise and warmth of Siempre are waiting... they're waiting for someone to rescue them... crying in the night- not at camp... not at Siempre where people love every precious freckle - they're crying alone... waiting. The doors of Siempre need to be opened so much wider... until then, we'll keep our promise to the children God's entrusted to us. It's a blessing you're invited to share. Thanks so much to each of you who've helped put a smile on little Vanessa's face. Pray that Abbey'll stop crying soon.

She couldn't choose where her mom went for dinner. 19 months old, Marabella rode the bus up 70 blocks from South Central Los Angeles with her mother to spend the day with her cousin who lives on skid row. Knowing dinner was served at 10pm, the family waited for Jackets for Jesus to arrive. Obviously loved... obviously from a family fighting poverty in our own country... little Marabella wanted me to hold her, to help take pictures with my phone, to talk on my phone... men and women in line smiled politely... I'm sure they were all thinking the same thing: "What's that child doing out here in the middle of the night?" Her mother and cousin were hungry and made it through line a couple of times each. When they'd sit on the stoop and try to feed Marabella, she'd throw the plate, rub her eyes and begin to cry. It'd been a long day and a long bus ride in the middle of the night still awaited them... or if they missed their bus, mom would have to walk the 5 or 6 miles while she slept in her flimsy stroller... or worse case scenario... they could try to spend the night on skid row and wait 'till morning. Holding her, watching her smile, even as her head nodded off, I couldn't help but wonder what she thought of her surroundings... the line... the dark night... the city... of us? How would these few moments together be written across her psyche and would she make it home safely? How many other children from skid row down to south central were out in the middle of the night hoping for something to eat? You don't have to go to Mexico to find poverty or to discover that not every child is spending too much time in front of a television. Some still wait for a walk through the store with their mom or dad to catch a glimpse of a ball game or cartoons. Not far away in a distant country with a strange language... right here in Southern California. Our line use to be primarily men. Women are now a growing part of our waiting ranks and sadly the number of children and young people grow as well. I took family shots of mom and daughter, cousin and mom, the entire group... people looked on... I whispered quiet prayers for their safety and for the day Jackets for Jesus is no longer needed in America. Don't know if Marabella and her mom made it home safely or not, but I know they left with full stomachs and the knowledge that they are loved. God is too good. Please keep them in your prayers. Being poor, hungry and longing to see family is not a sin or a crime.

Jodi and Beatrice... they're amazing! That's the two of them scrubbing pots and pans well past midnight. Bart's parking the trailer- reversing it into it's "secure" position where we hope no thieves will touch it while Karl stands and gives directions from behind... me? me... I'm waving goodnight and headed home praying to stay awake... our workers... I can't list them all here... each one of them are amazing and one of the really cool parts of Jackets for Jesus is that we all still enjoy being together each Sunday night. Some of us have lead roles to play, others are ready to serve wherever needed on any given Sunday, think I can safely speak for all of us when I say that we're blessed just to be part of what God continues to do on the streets of our city. This is our 20th year of work in the heart of LA, in the middle of the night. The other day, digging through some old notes, I found an old Jackets for Jesus letter dated March 6, 1990. It'd been an awful night on the streets. My car had been ransacked, we'd been caught in the middle of a knife fight, all while a crazy man hurled death threats at us. Our work had been surrounded by men standing around open fires burning on Main St. just blocks from city hall. It use to be like driving into a dark part of a drunks nightmare week in and week out. Praise God it's not that way anymore. That night, over 18 years ago, I committed not to return to the streets. I write about it in the letter, I say: "This is it Eric, no more. Let someone else come down here. You don't need this. You have a church to work in. A family to be with. No one deserves this." And then the man with the knife jumped in... The people who went with me that night were: Bob Pearson, Dale Pew, Tim Denton, Jamie Elsberry and Shawneen Shaff. We all made it home safely... in fact, according to the letter we hung out at a Denny's until an ungodly morning hour. Glad we don't do THAT anymore! Telling Jodi about the letter, my birthday being this week and all, I laughed saying that it had been 18 years ago... in our second year of work... now, if we keep going to the streets for 18 more years- I'll be 72! Definitely won't be helping Jodi and Beatrice with the pots and pans... except that Beatrice is already older than 72 and has been working with us for over a decade and my father in law Wil is in his late 70's and still working with us each Sunday night. Guess my consolation is that when I'm 72 on the streets they'll be in their 90's! We'll be a sight to see. But in 18 years, little Marabella still won't even be 20... someone's going to need to be there for her.