A hot dinner. It's the big draw week in and week out. This week when I asked Jodi what they had prepared she said "Sunday Night Surprise." Asking what that meant, she explained it was a hamburger stew being served over seasoned potatoes. She could have called it "concrete grief" and the line wouldn't have cared. Everyone loved it. One guy, standing in line, hoping for seconds while still eating quickly to finish his first serving, when asked what he liked about it the most replied simply, "It's hot. I've been so cold and this taste so good- and it's hot." Smiling and chatting, as he continued to woof down the rest of the food on his plate, I again realized how many hot meals I'd taken for granted in my life time. Thanks Jodi, Evelyn, Beatrice and to each of you that insures that the people who wait never go unrewarded but always receive a blessing from Jackets for Jesus late Sunday night.

Hanging Out Together. After waiting in line, getting a bag, a sandwich, a jacket, most of the people we serve take a minute to sit down eat in peace. Living in poverty isn't easy at any level. They guys who have small rooms in skid row hotels enjoy some time together with other people. Men and women still sleeping on the streets are able to enjoy a few unmolested moments. No one telling them to move on, pack up their meager belongings and find someplace else to rest. No one threatening them. Just a few minutes of normalcy in the middle of their madness. The corner the city assigned us to is a perfect setting. Some of the last and oldest trees in the city spread out of large planters where men and women can put their things down, lean their bikes against a tree, sit on a step in the comfort of the night and rest. It also gives us the opportunity to talk with friends. As each of our responsibilities comes to an end: we're out of oranges, bags handed out, jackets gone, etc, we have a few minutes to wander. Sunday night, I watched as one of our regulars, a guy who sleeps on the street, picked up a cardboard box and began to pick up the mess left behind by men who had simply dumped their trash on the streets. I smiled, pride in Jackets for Jesus, his small part in who we are, a since of belonging. We have a tendency to get overwhelmed with our responsibilities but in so many ways they reflect the best of who we are and without them we'd be lost. This man, in picking up trash, was reaching out for restoration. A new since of responsibility. It's a first step towards reconnecting with all that can be right in his life. Smiling, shooting the breeze with other homeless guys as he picked up their trash, chastising no one, you'd have thought he came with us. Maybe someday he will.

Our line is not the end of the line for the men and women we serve each week. We're a beginning. A turning point. A decision to start taking small steps away from the poverty and depravity that inhabit skid row and begin to make the positive changes and build the right relationships to find a way home. Admittedly, most of us can't imagine hitting bottom any harder than if we suddenly found ourselves standing in line needing Jackets for Jesus. But no child ever imagines they'll end up on the streets. Life happens hard. Some of us have been surrounded by loving and supportive family that have helped us live out our dreams as well as survive our nightmares without ever ending up on the street. It could have been me in that line. It just as easily could have been you. Maybe worse yet, it has been me, sleeping in the warmth and comfort of my wealth, fully aware of the pain of poverty and doing nothing about it. Maybe that's been you as well. "To see the good that we ought to do and fail to do it, this, is sin." Every Sunday night is an invitation. An invitation to serve and be served. The end of the line's not in our hands.

Bart likes to give all of us nick names. Mine's been "the guy with the glasses" for months, since my last trip to Kenya and someone in line didn't know my name but was curious as to where I was. Sunday night, as we walked down the street to meet the van, I was following the group 30-40 yards back, just enjoying the end of my day, when a guy came out of a little restaurant and said to the group up ahead, "Hey! Where's the founder?" They stopped, "Pardon me?" "Where's the founder? You know, the guy who started the line when you use to feed down in the old spot?" By this time, I walked up and was not just greeted warmly, but an old friend from the line, threw his arms around me and gave me a huge hug. He looked great. Still wearing a backpack from years past. Now, instead of eating from us, waiting for a meal he'd paid for. He said he's working in Reseda, life's been going well for him, everything on the steady upswing. I hugged him back and thanked him for remembering me. He said something sweet. Made my day, at the end of the day. "How could I forget you?" Looking at the workers he said, "I could never forget you guys." We shared some old memories. He thanked us again. Then slipped inside to eat. A jacket, a sandwich, a meal, something warm to drink, a conversation - a life changed. God is better than we deserve. I can't help but wonder how many men and women who've walked through our line over the years this one man represents. Your prayers, your financial support, your kind words of encouragement, your work throughout the week and each Sunday are building bridges for men and women out of poverty and back into lives of respect and responsibility. Jackets for Jesus is not the end of the line, it's just a beginning- and we need it, now, more than ever. for changing lives, Eric

email: eric@centralcommunity.com

phone: 1-951-689-5806

web: http://www.centralcommunity.com