Our donations come from some pretty random places... and while cash is always king... it's pretty cool the people who've taken the time to make sure that some of our needs are met on a regular basis. We've got a friend with great connections in the local marketplace. Weekends she'll stop by the kitchen and drop off a car load of whatever she may have picked up: bread, pies, bagels... you name it... and we hand it out on the streets. It's all quality and it's all fresh- or just on the borderline of the use by date -and everyone in line gets a kick out of the "bonus" food each week. Every market in your neighborhood fills dumpsters with food on a daily basis to be hauled to landfills. It's one of the not so well kept secrets in our local economies. Normally, all it takes is one person to talk to a store manager- who after all are people also and hate to see so much waste -and offer to pick up bakery goods or other items. The second half of the equation is that the pick up person has to be trusted to pick it up on a regular basis then to give it away to a good cause. We have friends like that and the homeless are being blessed. Try it in your neighborhood. Even if the food never makes it to Jackets for Jesus it could help out a senior center, an after school program... you get the drift. We're so thankful for the good people who constantly think of Jackets for Jesus. Their willingness to serve continues to feed those who feel forgotten on skid row.

We needed a crowd on the streets Sunday night. 17 of us joined together to share the work- a larger group than usual -and a number of our regular workers are sick or had to miss the evening. We had 7 first time workers... driving to the streets, assuming we'd have a small, middle of the month crowd, we were wondering what everyone would do. As it turned out we needed every single worker and there was plenty for everyone to do from the minute we pulled up til the time we pulled away: God provides. The first timers are all college students, some entering the city for the first time. At the end of the night, after our final prayer, one of them looked at me and asked: "Where's skid row from here?" Had to kind of laugh to myself- we were standing in skid row. Los Angeles has worked so hard to clean up the most poverty stricken areas at the heart of the city that they don't look anything like they looked just 5 years ago. It's almost disconcerting sometimes. We use to grab people and offer help if they looked like they'd accidentally stumbled into the "wrong" part of town. This week, movie crews drove by, a group of tourists from Romania- about 25 of them -wandered towards 5th street -one came over and in broken English introduced himself and snapped photos of our line... something that would have cost him his camera, wallet and possibly his life not so long ago. God provides... and He continues to provide us the opportunity to serve and help bring health to the heart of poverty in our nations largest population of homeless. He's too good. Thanks so much for your part in all we do.

The homeless have taken on many labels over the years: hobos, drifters, bums... and a collection of labels that allow "normal" society to continue without taking note. Sunday nights we do our best to lose the labels. Hearing stories each week, I wonder how anyone survives poverty. Asking one friend in line where he'd been, he shared that the psychiatrist who visits his building had missed several weeks, leaving him without his bi- polar meds. He looked like and said it had been a nightmare, slipping back into his uncontrolled problem. Back on his medication, exhausted, but happy to be in line, getting a meal, touching base... my heart broke as I heard his story and considered the prospect that our line in the darkness was a highlight for him to look forward to. Two other friends fought in line- one, in his early 70's, took a swing at, in fact hit the other, a friend in his late 50's... two grown men... old enough to be members of AARP, fighting on the streets. I happened to be standing next to them when it started: the first swing, the younger man laughed and turned away, the second punch landed... he turned, and let the older guy know he'd better get his house in order quickly. Laughing out loud, I stepped between them and called them what they were, a couple of crazy old men... holding their shoulders... at first the younger guy, just a few years older than me... told me to back off. I turned his face toward the offender... lifting up the obvious disparity in risk... I then grabbed my older friend and asked him to apologize... he wasn't happy about it, but he eventually did. They managed to stand next to each other in line through shoes, sandwiches and a meal... later that night I saw them sitting next to each other- the younger guy, almost always a gentle spirit, reaching into his bag to share with the older man. Hobos, bums, drifters, homeless... finding a place to belong, a place to share, a place for reconciliation in the darkness in the heart of the city.... no longer just a label but now friends. Poverty: it hits the elderly, the sick, no one plans for it... no one dreams of being a drifter. Jesus said: "Whatever you did for the least of these- you were doing for me." Good Friday, Easter... the least in our community will fight for survival on the streets. Jesus said: "Whatever you didn't do for the least of these- you didn't do for me." So many are waiting for someone, anyone, to reach out in love. Easter Sunday nights we serve communion on the streets- we become the church for so many who feel like the church has left them out. Drifting: I've discovered you don't have to be broke to fit the description... I meet people all the time who share their hearts, their problems and I realize they're drifting. If you need a place to serve- you're invited to join us for Easter on the streets -you're needed, now, more than ever.

for changing lives,

Eric M. Denton