Youngest in line last night... at just 8 months still too young for Jodi's cream of chicken... but dad came through for a plate and let me snap a couple of pictures. Don't know where they came from for our meal but it was obvious that the family spent all their money on raising up the little one. He had the best clothes, binky, little toys in hand, sleeper, stroller, blanket against the night air... the family had made sure he had all he needed. Dad was still hungry. Children, babies are always unusual in our line and treated with great respect- in fact most everyone seems to give them just a bit of distance. Men and women realize they found their own way to our line... whatever it was that happened in life that put them on the cutting edge of poverty in America today... but kids... babies... they don't get to pick where the family gets food and everyone was filled with respect for this dad and son. The hope is definitely that their needs our quickly met and they don't have to stand in our line even one more time. Praise God for ministries serving families fighting to make their way out of poverty on skidrow and around the world.

50 plus pound backpack weighing him down- smile radiating through the darkness -he wandered up and asked if it was ok for him to get a meal. He was fine when I asked to take a couple of pictures... but a whole lot less forthcoming when I tried to find out a bit of his story. Naming a number of countries he'd recently traveled in and turning most questions back on me- "Where do you come from?" "Do you do this every week?" "Are you affiliated with a church?" Easy questions to answer... but beyond a number of years on the road, being a missionary's kid, a first name... I didn't find out much more about this guy. Like the baby just ahead of him- he had all the best equipment -the kind of pack and travel gear one wants if they have to be on the road for months at a time... also the kind of gear that can get a person mugged on the streets of skidrow... it all looked like money. Everyone was nice to him- he took a meal, stopped for a break and was soon on his way... maybe he's a school teacher trekking across the country, a preacher on sabbatical, a student taking a break from grad work... a writer looking for a story... maybe just a traveler... they're out there, usually not so heavily equipped... people living on the road learn to live light. Whatever his story was/is, made me remember my months on the road, living out of a backpack, sleeping next to freeway off ramps, in train stations, caves, hill tops... always a little hungry... a little afraid... but taking hope that I could wander because I knew where home was. Hope this traveler knows where home is and finds his way back- and out of our line. Too many live and sleep on the streets out of poverty- not seeking adventure or the next chapter in their lives but just hoping to make it through the night... if they've got a backpack, a blanket, an extra jacket or shirt... it probably came from us. The streets- skidrow- has become home... but for some, it all started as an adventure. Pray this guy makes it safely back... that there is a safely back for him to go to. I made it home and I thank God most every day... it was so long ago. Looking at this guy, his gear, listening to his guarded conversation... felt like only yesterday.

Like a bright, mixed bouquet in the night, her presence, silent, yet colorful was like a beacon of momentary beauty in the darkness. Another shy one... uncertain of how the line worked... she held back. Shocked when I told her how beautiful she looked, she broke into a smile- and I asked to snap her photo... I like it. The guys around her laughed when I complimented her. She looked offended and so I asked what their problem was. The guy closest to me said: "Eric, you're a married man! We've met your wife. What are you doing flirting around?" Everyone laughed, including our new friend. Poverty... brutal sleep on the street poverty... don't know where your next meal's coming from poverty... wonder what tomorrow will bring kind of poverty... You hear about a line that hands out food, clothes and you finally give it a chance- end of the month -not too many other options... so you dress up... it's late at night so you put up your hair and put on something bright and go stand in line doing your best to hold your head high. Hard to imagine too many things more beautiful than that kind of spirit... my mom always called it "spunk!" As in: "She's really got spunk!" Hope Sunday night was just a one time visit to our line. That life starts to work out: a job, a good friend, a loving church, new hope... whatever it's going to take- my prayer today is that she, the wanderer, the father and child all find their way off skid row and into new and healing environments of blessing. It's happened in our lives. Everything's not perfect. Each of us have our own special heart breaks and burdens. But we've each been blessed as well and part of that blessing is sharing the joy and miracle that seems to spring forth from the heart of darkness when we come to serve each Sunday night. People open their arms and welcome us and we're blessed... God is too good. We're going again this Sunday night. It's a holiday weekend. If you've got Monday off, you're invited to celebrate America with us on the streets. We'll do our best to make room in the van... you're needed, now, more than ever... even if it's just for one night.

for changing lives,

Eric M. Denton