Jodi served a beautiful meal of steaming turkey, gravy and vegetables over potatoes last night. Cold weather's returned so Bart and Karl were handing out jackets, shoes and a variety of other well needed items. This winter's been the best for the people we serve when it comes to clothing. A good friend of Jackets for Jesus was able to share a donation large enough to get us through the winter in style and warmth. It's like skid row has a corporate sponsor, as guys come through line wearing the same high end brand name, looking cooler than cool, feeling warmer than they have in years. A transition has taken place- maybe I'm just imagining it -but as we've gone from handing out used clothing to a season of new clothing, men and women are taking better care of it, dressing sharper and seeming to stand a little more straight. Something about wearing your own new clothes that puts a new spring in your step... that's happening. Our hope is that it's also generalizing out into the week as people look at the homeless in a new light and maybe consider giving them that job, a smile, the time of day. The guy in the photo wanted me to take his picture because I'd just taken a photo of his wife... both photos came out great... but his, showing the crowd in the background, the line at work, his comfortable gaze into the phone/camera... we can address the challenges of poverty in our community's when we take the time to get to know the people fighting for survival in the shadow of the world's success stories. This man has a name, a wife, a family, a desire to know and be known... a favorite food. We enjoyed a few minutes together last night and suddenly he ceased to be just another face in the crowd. Time together, sharing, brings light to dark places.

Women in poverty share the same needs as men: hunger, a place to sleep, work, how to connect with family... but they also live under the constant threat of sexual attack, the stereotypes put on them by those who "troll" skidrow in cars looking for drugs and prostitutes and so many of the women are mothers, some grandmothers who live with the constant concern of a parent, cut off from their family by poverty. It's easy to point a finger... a little more difficult to open our arms, without judgement, and serve. Listening to this husband and wife as they walked in line... learning they had children... thought about Mother's Day... wondered how her kids might find her. We have our cell phone for men and women living in poverty to call home on the holidays but don't have a clue how adult children, who have parents on the streets, find mom on Mother's Day. Our neighborhood is filled with homes posted with the same for sale sign- "bank owned." All those family's had to go somewhere... some of them will end up in our line... in line for help someplace... and Mother's Day will be overlooked. Talking with this mom, her husband, my silent prayer was that their family could be together, that peace could reign, that she might recover some of the joy that's been robbed by poverty. If "every girl's a princess" it's important to treat every woman like a queen... we do our best on Sunday nights... can't help but wonder if their condition... this families condition, isn't an indictment on our society as much as personal heartbreak for their family. Pray for us as we try to address the specific needs of women on the streets.

But very few secrets... we may not know where each of the men and women in our line sleep at night or how they survive the week but we're certain of one thing, every one of them, every one of us longs to love and be loved. Just a few stories from Sunday night: a friend told me he sleeps in the Los Angeles river bottom, not far from Union Station, but far from any other person. He walks the miles to our line for social time, for food, for comfort... than walks the couple of miles to spot on the concrete river floor and sleeps alone... doesn't think he could ever sleep near anyone again. Another friend told me he's nearly done with all his court required classes and only has 7 more AA meetings to be signed off and he's done with probation. Asking if he was clean, without blinking he said: "No. Still using crack." That's the cheap cocaine used on the streets mixed with God only knows what to make it stretch. Seeing my concern, he said, "Don't worry, I'm fine." Going to class, AA meetings, not making any changes... not much healing in his future. Not yet anyway. Smokey, another old friend stopped by to tell me he's still clean and sober, then quickly left. Skidrow's not an easy place to stay clean and sober. Dee, a man I've known on the streets for 19 years, was a little down this week. Told him that we'd been talking about him over lunch this week- about his wife Mary, who died on the streets ten years or so ago -we buried her here in Riverside. Dee's in his mid sixties and examining life. I told him I'd round my family up, we'd drive into LA and get him, bring him to Mary's grave, pay our respects, eat lunch and spend some time together... it seemed to lift his spirits a bit... lifted mine. Ed was back, it'd been awhile, he's certain he's found a cure for cancer with hallucinogenic drugs- he's a huge fan of psychedelics... mushrooms and other organics in particular... it's like talking to a walking remnant of the '60's. A true believer. He's watched a loved one battle cancer from across the great divide of poverty and it's ensuing heartbreak... he's grasping at straws. So many stories fill our Sunday nights. Talking about them- the one's filled with drugs -on the ride home, Bart looked at me and asked, "They just tell you this stuff?" They do. We talk like old friends and as different as our realities might be, we share honestly, no secrets, no need. Urban poverty and it's isolation in the middle of a crowd can rob us of that which might still draw us together: hope. Sleeping alone, beating probation, "curing" cancer... hope... we tell our stories and our hearts cry out for hope... or at least someone who'll listen. We don't want our life stories to be a secret- walk in any library and count the books- go to google and search the exploding number of personal blogs- cruise youtube and watch the stories of people's lives crying out to be heard... we're a lonely bunch of folks... all of us looking for hope. On Sunday nights, in the middle of craziness of it all, we discover hope in serving. Throughout the van the same words were spoken repeatedly on the drive home: "It was a good night." Not good that people are in poverty, alone, confused, using, . . good because hope was alive... was impossible to miss... touched each of our hearts. My prayer for you today is that hope is alive in your household. If not, or even if it overflows, you're invited to join us this Sunday night- there's a world of service waiting for you to discover- you're needed, now, more than ever.

for changing lives,

Eric M. Denton