Cancer, I think we all hate it. Sadly, it hits the homeless, just like it everyone else. This friend is fighting thyroid cancer. He's been in and out of our line for at least 15 years. Last night he asked me for help. He didn't want money. There's not enough money to fix the battle he's facing. He wanted advice, he wanted to know what to do. Doctors at county hospital have told him that he has cancer and it's growing rapidly, that he needs to make decisions, and that much of work that should be done, if he had insurance, won't be done. He has to make decisions on his treatment and the county only covers so much- and it'll all be done while he's living on the street- walking back and forth to the hospital. Pulling me aside, telling me the story, he asked what any of us would ask, "What should I do?" We talked for a little while and then in the darkness, laying hands on his head and shoulders, we prayed. Calm moved through him. His spirit eased, thanking me, he headed back into the night. I'd prayed that God would heal him, give his doctors wisdom, surround him with a community of care givers to lift him up, that he would have wisdom and peace for the days to come. Silently, it was easy to see that God was already beginning a good work within him. Hugging each other, I realized how good it was to be home.

Beatrice is getting ready to celebrate her 70th birthday! I'd send her greetings, but she doesn't have email. She's a wife of over 50 years, a mom, a grandma, a great grandma- and every Sunday she works to serve the homeless of Los Angeles. She'll never be listed among the wealthiest of Forbes 500- she'll never meet anyone listed in the Forbes 500 -but she has a wealth they'd be hard pressed to match. She loves the people she works with. She loves her work. She never asks for the easy jobs, but just like in the picture, if there's a big job to do: from preparation with Jodi on Sunday afternoons to loading the trailer with Evelyn late at night on skid row, she does it with a smile that radiates joy and love. I don't know anyone who doesn't love Beatrice. She's a woman of few words and lot's of hard work- and worthy of our praise. I've worked with lots of great people over the years with Jackets for Jesus and the decade with Beatrice has been among the best. Happy Birthday friend! Her son Robert, who first invited his mom to join us in the work, asked me Sunday evening if I thought we'd still be working on the streets when we turned 70. I told him we'd still be at it and doing our best to keep up with his mom! God bless the people who inspire us to do and be more than we ever thought was possible. Beatrice is definitely one of them.

Unable to sleep, still adjusting to the 11 hour time change, I found myself cleaning old files on my hard drive in the middle of the night. Strolling through electric archives, like a walk down memory lane, I stumbled across two small 40 page booklets of my earliest writings from Jackets for Jesus. They're collections my secretary had assembled for publication back in 1991. Scanning these early tales of our work: the heart break and the horrors of skid row, I realized how little life has changed for those living in poverty at the heart of our city. This photo, taken last night as we left the streets, shows the remnants of one nights work. Empty fruit boxes, bags of garbage, a collection of refuse our workers picked up from the gutter, hoping we'd leave our corner cleaner than we found it. Before trash collection, men and women of the streets will scavenge all we leave behind. Boxes will become beds and shelter. Paper products and glass will be separated and carried out in bags to be sold for pennies at recycling centers. And old food, the last of Jodi's Mexican casserole, left on plates by those who took too much, will be reassembled and eaten by those who came too late and are still hungry, hurting, desperate for anything to eat, hoping not to be seen in the middle of the night. It will all happen in the heart of America's biggest, richest neighborhood, while the well fed and well heeled are sleeping. It was happening when Jackets for Jesus first came to the streets in 1989 and it happened again last night and into the early morning hours. Little wonder that my friends in Kenya, a nation where 57% of the population lives on less than one US dollar a day, are bewildered that in a nation as wealthy as ours that we don't know our neighbors. Little wonder that the story Jesus told of "the good Samaritan," told when He was asked, "Who is my neighbor?," still carries such weight today. We never get too rich or secure that we no longer have an obligation to know and be a good neighbor. So many have become too poor and too insecure to feel that they have much to offer our community and so they wait, Sunday nights, in our lines, hoping that a bit of the community that each of our hearts cry out for, will be restored. Pray that we can be good neighbors. Pray that God continues to give us heart and hope for the task. Know that my prayer is that someday you'll join us on the streets. There's a wealth in the community of workers that serve together every Sunday night. There's a joy in just knowing Beatrice. Sunday night is a big part of my neighborhood- at the risk of sounding too much like Mr. Rogers, you're invited this Sunday night, "Won't you be my neighbor?"

Blessings,
Eric

email: eric@centralcommunity.com

phone: 1-951-689-5806

web: http://www.centralcommunity.com