It’s a Wonderful Life

“Strange, isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives.

When he isn’t around he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he?”

My favorite movie of all time has got to be It’s a Wonderful Life.  Last Saturday evening it was showing on TV and like every year at Christmas, it was on at my house.

When I was growing up I didn’t really enjoy the old black and white version, it just seemed so old and boring.  But when my college roommate dug the VHS tape out of his collection, we sat down and watched the whole thing from start to finish, and my love for the movie was born.  There were times where I would watch the movie multiple times in a week, feasting on chips and salsa, mesmerized by Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed.  On other occasions my roommate and I would have it playing in the background while we finished school work or folded laundry.

What was so enticing about George Bailey and Clarence his guardian angel?  Why did we revere the story then and why do I still enjoy it immensely now?

I believe the message of the movie is summed up by Clarence in the quote above.

George rescues his younger brother from drowning in a pond when they’re kids.  He saves his town on multiple occasions from being bought up by Mr. Potter, an ambitious entrepreneur.  He unknowingly touches the lives of everyone with whom he comes in contact.  George has had a bigger impact on his world than he ever dreamed and when Clarence uses his heavenly powers to remove George from the world, he finally realizes the truth.  He has made a difference in the world.  His life matters.

Personally, I’ve never directly saved anyone’s life (as far as I know!), but I am curious as to what kind of impact my life has had on the world around me.  Positive or negative, or some of both, the people I grew up with, those I encountered in college, and now in the working world and at the Mission, what has my life meant?  What difference have I made in the world?

Many of the homeless men we serve at the Kansas City Rescue Mission are transient, and we often don’t get to see how their stories end.  Some of our clients find work, get into housing, and are totally transformed.  Other men seem to return to the Mission every few months, back to their old habits and friends.  Many disappear and are never heard from again, moving on to a new life somewhere else, for good or ill.  The difference that we made and the changes that occurred are often difficult to see.

Sometimes I feel like George Bailey and wonder what the world would be like without me.  Unlike George, I think most of us are just going to have to wait until we get to heaven to see just what kind of impact we made.  Still, it’s so nice when a former client returns to the Mission, not for a bed or a meal, but just to say thanks or to give back.

One of our long-time clients, Art, has decided to give back.  He used to be a regular at the Mission, homeless and hungry.  Our case manager, Sarah, helped him find a steady source of income and housing in Kansas City, KS.  That was about three years ago.  Now, every Wednesday night, you can find Art down at KCRM.  He’s not here to eat or sleep.  He’s in the kitchen, preparing and serving the evening’s meal for our overnight guests.  He’s saying thanks and giving back.

Art’s story and others like it remind me of the impact we are having on these guys lives.  Change is possible and happens all the time.  And I’m a part of it.  You can be, too.  Our volunteer coordinator, Juliann Hansen, is always looking for ways to use volunteers in meaningful, impact-ful ways.  You can reach her at jhansen@kcrm.org or call (816)421-7643 and ask for Juliann.  Or you can give on our website.

In big ways and small ways, KCRM is making an impact in the world.  No question about it.  No need to check with Clarence!

24 Hour Run for the Homeless

From 6 p.m. on Friday October 29 to 6 p.m. Saturday October 30, 2010, “Barefoot Rick” Roeber will be running barefoot for the Kansas City Rescue Mission to benefit the homeless. The location for the event is Lee’s Summit North High School, 901 NE Douglas Street in Lee’s Summit, Missouri.

When asked why he would put his body through such torment, Rick responded with the following.

“Our Pastor shared one of my favorite stories yesterday. About the first Moravian missionaries that left Hamburg Germany in 1732. These two young men had sold themselves to a wealthy plantation owner in the Caribbean. This landowner swore that no missionary would ever come to his island. Well, these young men sold themselves into slavery so they could minister to those 3,000 souls on that plantation. When they were asked “why” would they do this, one shouted from the deck of the departing ship ‘May the Lamb that was slain receive the reward of His suffering.’
 
You may have heard that story, but I believe that the men at the mission are SO valuable. They have been dragged down by hell itself because the devil saw something in them of such intense value that he felt like he must throw all hell against them to keep them down. Jesus is worthy of these lives. We must reach them.”

It’s a mind-boggling perspective.  What if the homeless we serve at KCRM and those we see on the streets of Kansas City are so cherished by God that the devil has decided to throw everything he has at them?  What if these are the ones who the devil has picked out to personally destroy because of how much God loves them?

As Rick put it, “Jesus is worthy of these lives.  We must reach them.”

Click the link to learn how you can support Rick and learn more information about the upcoming 24-hour run.

Through the Eyes

Through the Eyes of a Volunteer

I see the sprawl of guys waiting on the street as I turn the corner and approach the Kansas City Rescue Mission.  Forlorn looks, pleading eyes, distant gazes, challenging stares, numb faces . . . I see all of these and more as I steer my car through the gates.  Some of the men are dirty and disheveled, some are surprisingly neat and trim, some sit quietly and watch the others cautiously, some march around loudly parading for others to see and fear.

I park my car and head towards the Visitors Entrance.  A few men stand around outside the door smoking.  At first glance they seem a bit scary, but then one grabs the door for me and gruffly welcomes me to his home.  I mumble my thanks and continue inside.

The door closes behind me and I am greeted with near silence.  There is a front desk with men huddled around, apparently praying for the evening.  One of the men leads, asking God for safety and a smooth check-in process this evening.  With the final ‘Amen,’ the man behind the desk turns to me and says, “You here for the kitchen?”  I stammer affirmatively and he points around the corner.  One of the men graciously offers to guide me to the kitchen and I am grateful.

As we walk, the man introduces himself to me.  His name is Eric.  He’s been staying at the shelter for three months on the recovery program, C-Corps he calls it.  (Later I learn it is C-COR, the Christian Community of Recovery.)  I ask him how he came to be here and he eagerly tells me about his past life of drugs and women, losing his job and then his apartment — losing control.  Now, he says, everything has changed.  He’s a different man.  He’s studying the Bible, going to church, clean and sober for four months now, and looking forward to seeing his wife soon.  I thank him for the escort and story as he heads back to the front desk with a wave and a smile.

The dining room looks like it will seat around 100 come meal-time.  Tables and chairs fill the room, packing in as many seats as possible.  I am approached by a tall, thin African-American man wearing glasses and an apron.  “You my volunteer?” he asks eagerly.  When I nod, he tells me where I can get my own apron and plastic gloves.  He asks me my name and tells me his name is Michael; he’s the kitchen staff for the evening and, boy, is he grateful I’m here and … his enthusiasm is overwhelming and instantly contagious. 

Michael puts me to work preparing salads.  My job is to place a handful of salad in each bowl and spoon out a dollop of ranch dressing on each.  Another couple shows up and they begin putting bread in baskets.  We talk for a bit while we work and I learn they have been coming to volunteer at the Mission for just over three years.  I have never held a job for more than 18 months, so their level of commitment amazes me and I wonder what keeps bringing them back.  They tell me they enjoy coming down and serving these guys, many of whom they see month after month.  Sometimes, they explain, they even have the opportunity to sit down and chat with a guy, see where he’s coming from, what makes him tick, and offer some encouragement and understanding.  Sit down and talk with a homeless guy!?  That’s not something I’ve ever done.  Sure, I’ve passed out plenty of loose change and leftovers to guys on the streets, but having a legitimate conversation is definitely outside of my comfort zone.

As I begin placing the salads at each seat, the other couple finishes setting the bread out and begins to fill pitchers with water for each table.  A few more volunteers show up and begin setting out silverware and napkins.  Last on the to-do list is dessert.  I join a woman cutting and serving pieces of cake and pastries onto dessert plates. 

Soon about 30 “first-serving guys” file in and fill one side of the room.  Michael explains these men are part of the C-COR program and eat early so the Mission can welcome in as many overnight guests as possible for the second serving.  He asks for a volunteer to pray for the meal and one of the guys stands.  Hats come off, heads bow, and we all listen to the prayer for food, shelter, and safety.  ‘Amen’ is our signal to begin bringing the main courses, one in each hand, to the guys.  They graciously receive the delicious meal we prepared for them.  I hear many appreciative ‘thank yous’ throughout the process and in a very short time, all 30 men are digging in.

I feel a touch on my shoulder and a volunteer hands me a plate for myself.  “There’s plenty,” he says,”Here, join us.”  He is waving towards a half-empty table.  The other half is taken by three homeless men plowing through their meals.  I hesitantly sit down and begin eating my chicken, mashed potatoes and greens.  Uncomfortable at first, I quickly feel at ease as our conversation hops from weather to the Chiefs’ game to the latest disgraced celebrity.  One of the volunteers asks a C-COR member to share his story with me, as it’s my first time here, and he eagerly obliges. 

He tells me about his life before KCRM: how he was once a successful businessman, who spent time with his kids and his wife, and lived in his own house in the countryside.  Then he tells me how it all ended — how the alcohol he drank for fun became the alcohol he drank to escape and then became the undoing of his family, his house, his life.  He wound up on the streets of Kansas City and soon found Kansas City Rescue Mission.  It was a good place to find food and rest.  After a couple months of doing the homeless thing, he decided it was time for a change, so he signed up for C-COR.  Five months later, he is looking to graduate and begin searching for a job.

I thank him for his story as we clear our places and reset our silverware for the next serving.  ‘My pleasure,’ he says with a grin as he heads out of the dining room.

The “second serving guys” begin filing in through the narrow dining hall walkways.  After the last man takes his seat, I grab two plates and head for the first table.  Many of the guys are grateful, some will not look me in the eye, but I don’t mind.  One man calls for more water.  I take his pitcher and head back to the kitchen for a refill.  The evening is a little hectic, but not overwhelming.  Everything is orderly and the guys are well mannered towards us volunteers.

I learn men staying at the shelter for the night will clean up after the meal, so once everyone has been served, my job is over.  Michael guides the volunteers into an office, where we pray for the men and women served this evening, for their safety and health, and that they will come to know why it is we are serving them, because Jesus loves them and so do we.

Moments later as I pull away from the Mission I feel strangely refreshed.  I came to give love, but found myself on the receiving end instead.

soggy cheerios

My 10-month old son recently discovered the joy of Cheerios.  He can’t get enough of them.  He eats them with breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  He eats them in the car, he snacks on them between meals.  He eats them fresh, he eats them stale.  He eats them crunchy, he eats them soggy.  He eats them in his bowl, on his tray, from his lap, off the floor.  Would he, could he in a boat?  Would he, could he with a goat?  Yes, he’ll eat them here and there!  Say, he’ll eat them ANYWHERE!

It doesn’t matter if the Cheerio is broken or mangled, soggy or stale, dirty, dusty, dry . . . he loves them all.  He doesn’t care where the Cheerio has been in the past or what path it took to find him.  His joy at finding a Cheerio in the last corner of his tray is as exciting and overwhelming as his joy at picking up his first Cheerio of the day.

He loves Cheerios.

Cute, but what’s the point?  Well, I think we’re a lot like Cheerios.  Yes, I know it sounds silly.  But I think we really are.  Some of us are dirty.  Some of us are broken.  Some of us feel stale and dry, worn out, old.  Some of us are young, new, fresh out of the box – innocent, pure.  Some of us are soggy, saturated by the noises and voices of the world.  Some of us have lots of stuff, some of us have little or nothing.  Some of us live in big boxes, some of us live under the stars.  Some of us have traveled far, some of us have never gone outside our comfort zones.  Some of us are loud, some of us are silent. 

But in spite (and maybe even because) of our differences, we are all loved.  God sees beyond the differences.  He sees us as we truly are, and He loves us anyway.  God, who is holy, set apart, wholly other, loves us. 

Christian, Jew, Muslim, Buddhist, atheist, agnostic, midwesterner, New Englander, Californian, Michigander, Texan, New Orleans-ian, Bostonian, Canadian, British, Russian, South African, Guatemalan, Sudanese, Chinese, Columbian, Australian, Haitian, White, Black, Hispanic, tall, short, loud, fat, thin, rich, poor, Democrat, Republican, liberal, moderate, right-wing, left handed, famous, infamous, amateur, professional, student, white-collar, blue-collar, no collar . . . God loves us all.

Why do we have such a hard time loving each other? 

 “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’  But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven.  He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.  If you love those who love you, what reward will you get?  Are not even the tax collectors doing that?  And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others?  Do not even pagans do that?  Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” – Matthew 5:43-48

Me, I’m just a soggy Cheerio who is loved more than he deserves.

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(My wife: “So God is a big toddler sitting in the corner eating Cheerios?”

Hey, it’s not a perfect metaphor.)

An Evening with Bill Self

 

 

 

 

The Kansas City Rescue Mission is pleased to invite you to An Evening with Bill Self, October 6th at the College Basketball Experience.  If you’ve never been to CBE before, now’s your chance! 

Tickets include dinner, entrance to the College Basketball Hall of Fame and the interactive exhibits, a silent auction for sports memorabilia, and a heart-to-heart with Bill Self.

Tickets for this event are $100.  For more information contact Julie Larocco at jlarocco@kcrm.org or (816)421-7643 or visit our website at www.kcrm.org.

death stings

“But I found out everybody’s different – the same kind of different as me.  We’re all just regular folks walkin down the road God done set in front of us.  The truth about it is, whether we is rich or poor or somethin in between, this earth ain’t no final restin place.  So in a way, we is all homeless – just workin our way toward home.”

And with these words, Ron Hall and Denver Moore close out their book, Same Kind of Different As Me.  I’ve been wrestling with Denver’s final words since finishing the book earlier this week.  Is it true?  Are we all homeless?  Is each of us working our way home?

Death has become a reality for me on a number of levels recently: family members aging, friends coming down with horrific illnesses, young lives cut short by automobile accidents.  When we are faced with our own mortality and recognize how short our lives are the differences between us quickly disappear.  No matter our ethnicity, our socio-economic status; no matter what work we do or how we’ve impacted the world for good or ill, when death comes knocking, we all answer the door.

With these thoughts swirling through my head this week, I started rewatching The Lord of the Rings movies with my daughter.  We watched the first movie and I again sat through Frodo’s anguished lament at the course his life had taken: 

“I wish the ring had never come to me.  I wish none of this had happened.” 

To which wise, old Gandalf replies,

“So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide.

All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”

Even with all of our advanced science, our wrinkle-free creams, our elite exercise regimens and dietary supplements, our lives are limited to the duration of these failing physical bodies.  Each day that we have we should live with the awareness that death is just around the corner – not with an attitude of worry and fear, but with an attitude of anticipation for the days we have.  We need to understand each day is a gift that will never come again and we must use each one to its fullest potential.

In addition, we believe that death is not the end.  Sorrow wounds.  Sickness hurts.  Death stings.  But death is not the end.  Death is the door that leads us home, as Denver Moore puts it.  Home.  What home?  Some people believe that home is a plane of existence or a form of reincarnation or a vast nothing.  As followers of Jesus Christ, we believe home is eternity spent with God.  We believe home is a place of safety and rest and hope.  Home is our final resting place where we will be reunited with those we love and cherish.

While we are in its midst, death can be a horrible thing.  Let’s call it like it is.  Death is awful and terrible.  And inevitable for us all.  So what are we going to do about it?  Do we shirk away and do all we can to avoid death?  Do we scream in defiance, pull out our hair, and spit in the face of death?

When death comes early and uncalled for, when crippling sickness takes hold, when sadness and depression invade, what response do we have?

We live.

Works in Progress – September 3rd

September 3rd, Kansas City Rescue Mission joins the Crossroads Art District for First Fridays with our Works in Progress Art Show.  This event will include work from 15 different local artists, raffle drawings, live music from Light Walker and HymNuts, refreshments and off-street parking.

For the kids we will have face painting, a clay sculpting table, a leather working table, free art lessons, a moonwalk, a drawing table and caricature sketches.

The event will be held in KCRM’s courtyard at 1520 Cherry Street and will go from 6:00 to 9:00 p.m.  This is an alcohol-free event.

Come on out, have some fun and enjoy Kansas City’s First Fridays at the Crossroads!

Jesus, the homeless man

Listening to Rich Mullins’ The Jesus Record in my car earlier this week, I was inspired by his insightful lyrics yet again: “the hope of the whole world rests on the shoulders of a homeless man.”  The line comes from his song, “You Did Not Have a Home.” Mullins is referring to Jesus; specifically, Jesus, the homeless man.  That’s not something you hear preached from the pulpit most Sundays: Jesus was homeless.  He relied on the hospitality of others for food and shelter.  He wandered from place to place on foot (though admittedly, most people travelled by foot at that time).  He owned little more than the clothes on his back and the sandals on his feet.

How do we define homelessness today?  A person without a home.  A person without a job.  Someone who doesn’t know where his next meal will be coming from or where he’ll be sleeping tonight.  Someone who is dependent on others to meet his most basic needs: food, shelter and clothing.  Does this describe Jesus?

I suppose Jesus didn’t know where his next meal would come from most days, though I don’t imagine he was too concerned about it.  I can hear the disciples arguing over what they were going to do for dinner or where they were going to spend the night.  Somehow I don’t think Jesus worried too much about those basic needs.  It was like someone was watching out for him.  More to the point, he lived as if he knew it.

So what if Jesus, the homeless man, came into the Kansas City Rescue Mission?  Where would we find him?  What would he be doing?  Maybe Jesus would head straight up to the front of the chapel and start preaching and teaching.  He did a lot of teaching back in his day.  Maybe he’d slip in quietly, head to the kitchen, and start washing dishes or preparing salads.  He washed his disciples feet.  Maybe he’d kick in the front door and sweep the computer monitor off the front desk in anger and disgust over the way we’ve neglected the poor and suffering.  He overturned tables and whipped the sales people who’d moved into the temple.  Maybe he would enter accompanied by trumpets and choirs, hymns and choruses, a red carpet, cameras, the 5:00 news a la Palm Sunday.

I think if Jesus came into KCRM, he would probably walk quietly into the chapel.  He’d look around and figure out which guy in there was at his wits end, the guy who’d taken all he could, the guy who was suffering to the point of exhaustion.  I guess I don’t know how Jesus would choose.  He’d just know where His Father wanted him.  I think he’d sit down next to the guy, he’d put his arm around him, lean in close, and say, “I love you, brother.  Dad loves you, too.  You ready to get something to eat?”  Then he’d get in line for dinner, sit down with the least of these, say a blessing and dig in, delighting in those he loves most.

Oh, You did not have a home
There were places You visited frequently
You took off Your shoes and scratched Your feet
‘Cause you knew that the whole world belongs to the meek
But You did not have a home, no, You did not have a home

 And You did not take a wife
There were pretty maids all in a row
Who lined up to touch the hem of Your robe
But You had no place to take them,
So You did not take a wife, no, You did not take a wife

 
Birds have nests, foxes have dens
But the hope of the whole world rests
On the shoulders of a homeless man
You had the shoulders of a homeless man
No, You did not have a home

 
Well you had no stones to throw
You came without an ax to grind
You did not tow the party line
No wonder sight came to the blind
You had no stones to throw, You had no stones to throw

 
And You rode an ass’ foal
They spread their coats and cut down palms
For You and Your donkey to walk upon
But the world won’t find what it thinks it wants
On the back of an ass’ foal, so I guess You had to get sold
‘Cause the world can’t stand what it can’t own
And it can’t own You ‘Cause You did not have a home

 
Birds have nests, foxes have dens
But the hope of the whole world rests
On the shoulders of a homeless man
You had the shoulders of a homeless man
And the world can’t stand what it can’t own
And it can’t own You ’cause You did not have a home

- Rich Mullins, “You Did Not Have a Home”

The Hopeful Homeless

I’ve begun to see a three-stage pattern to homelessness among our clients at the Kansas City Rescue Mission.  This is by no means a scientific study, nor do I claim any special insight or wisdom, it is just something I’ve observed over the years.  It’s sort of a progression that most of our guys have to go through before they can emerge from the homeless trap.

The first stage is the “newly” homeless.  This is the guy who until recently was living in some sort of home, either with friends or family, in his own place, or with his lady friend.  Something occurs and he finds himself out of his home and with nowhere to turn.  This guy has the “I can’t believe this is happening to me” expression glued onto his face.  He wasn’t planning on being homeless, or on spending an evening in a dorm room with 61 other men, or on relying on someone else to meet his most basic needs: food, water, shelter.   During this first stage, he may speak as though this will all be over in a couple days, as though the predicament he is in is temporary and the solution within is within his grasp.  And for some it will be.  He’ll get the call from Mom to come back home or whatever the big misunderstanding is gets ironed out in record time or disability finally comes through along with two years of backpay; but for many this is only the first stage and there is a long road to travel before returning “home”.

The second stage is the “stuck” homeless.  After being newly homeless for a few weeks and months, a protective numbness begins to settle over many of our clients.  A sense of despair and hopelessness seeps into thoughts and actions and soon, nothing matters at all.  Being homeless becomes the beginning and end to life - just surviving, jumping through the hoops to get food, doing whatever it takes to scrape together some cash for some smokes.  Life beyond the streets and the shelters and the homeless services is a distant dream, a myth of how things used to be.  This stage is often characterized by blank expressions and uncaring attitudes.  Some of our clients try to cover up this stage using various masks: humor, a tough guy persona, an uncaring attitude, an untouchable front.  For the most part, these masks only serve to hide the truth – inside is a real, hurting human being.  Lonely, lost and confused, our clients in this stage don’t know where to turn for help or they may start to believe they are beyond help.  This stage can last for weeks, months, or even years in some cases.

Thankfully, there is a third stage.  I call this client the “hopeful” homeless.  He has spent considerable time in the first two stages when something finally changes.  It’s hard to nail down exactly what that something is.  It could be an external change in circumstances: a job opens up, a family member calls seeking reconciliation, a landlord decides to take a chance on a sketchy tenant.  Or sometimes something changes internally: rock bottom hurts more than expected, the idea that there is more to life than just scraping by finally starts making sense, a decision is reached.  Perspectives shift and attitudes alter.  This client is often seen talking excitedly about what God is doing in his life with staff, volunteers, and other clients.  A renewed sense of purpose and a drive to succeed mark the “hopeful” homeless.  He can see the light at the end of the tunnel, he can sense new beginnings on the horizon.  He hopes.  He believes.

day in the life

5:00 am    “Rise and shine.”  I wake to the smell of cigarettes and rotting teeth.  The face I see looking at me smiles, “Rise and shine.  Time to get up.”  I sit up in bed.  I am in a top bunk at the Kansas City Rescue Mission.  I am exhausted.  I stumble out of the bunkbed and make my way to the bathroom line.  Clean up a bit and head into the dining room for breakfast.  If we’re lucky it’ll be eggs and toast, if not, cold cereal.

6:00 am    Exit kcrm.  Walk on over to the drop-in center for a second chance at a hot breakfast.  Hey, you take what you can get, when you can get it.  It’s crowded.  The TV’s on too loud.  Get a bite and head out.

7:30 am    Walk down to the job center.  Wait for my turn on a computer.  After about 45 minutes, one opens up.  I get on and check my e-mail.  One new message in junk mail from a dating site.  Delete.  No new messages.  Look at job listings.  Nothing in construction.  Nothing new.  Nothing.

9:30 am    Walk across town to the library.  Hide my backpack in the bushes outside since they’ll kick me out if I bring it in.  I find a nice cubicle in a dark corner, put my head in my arms and instantly fall asleep.  Moments later my snoring alerts the security guard who promptly escorts me from the building.  I almost panic when I can’t find my backpack, but after a couple minutes of searching, it is there.  My most prized possessions are in that backpack.  My favorite book, my ID, a photo of my wife.  Haven’t seen her in years.

11:00 am    Head down to the church on the corner for lunch.  No need to hurry, there will be a line.  Lunch is pretty much the same ever day – a couple sandwiches, chips, cookies, and water. Sometimes they have tea.  I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong.  It just gets old after a while.  I stick around and help with the clean-up afterwards.  It helps pass the time, and the people there are real nice.  They give me an extra baggie of cookies on my way out.  I pocket them for later when I know I’ll be hungry.

1:30 pm    Walk back to the library.  The new security guard doesn’t know me.  I hide my bag and head inside.  I find a couple magazines and head to my favorite corner.  This time I am able to get almost an hour of sleep before I wake up to a commotion in the courtyard.  Leaving the magazines, I head out the door and retrieve my backback.  I need to be back at kcrm soon.

3:00 pm    Along the way I stop in at a local diner.  I ask about a job.  The woman behind the counter tells me they’re accepting applications but not hiring at this time.  It’s the same story everywhere.  I move on.

3:30 pm    Arrive at the kansas city rescue mission.  Sign up for a bed.  It’s a lottery system with tickets, so hopefully I’ll get a bed.  I find a spot in the shade and sit down on the sidewalk to wait.  Those cookies I saved take the edge off my growing hunger.

5:00 pm    A couple staff members walk out of the building.  Names are called and tickets given out.  I’m one of the lucky ones.  I get a good ticket.  A couple guys walk away grumbling while others try to talk the staff members into letting them stay anyway.

5:30 pm    They start calling numbers.  I walk forward when my number is called.  I step inside and am told to spread my arms wide.  I do so and am patted down for weapons.  I am told to turn in my belongings, and I do.  I blow into a breathalizer.  Even though I did not drink today and I know I will pass, my heart still races until the man waves me on.  I give my name and they enter me into the computer.   I am given my bed number for the night. 15 – towards the front – that’s good; there’s less noise up there. Then I am ushered into a small chapel.  I find a seat toward the back where I can see and not be seen.  I hunker down to wait.

6:45 pm    Music begins playing at the front of the chapel.  A man in nice clothes begins singing songs I’ve never heard before.  He waves and sings and tries to get me to sing, too.  I don’t want to sing.   Singing makes me remember.  Singing makes me sad.  A speaker gets up and tells me I don’t need to be sad.  He says I can have joy.  I wish that were true.  He asks me to come up to him at the end, but I don’t.  I’m hungry.

7:30 pm    I exit the chapel and head into the dining room for dinner.  Baked chicken and greens, salad and cake.  I bet it would be delicious if I could taste it.  I eat so fast and so much of it I hardly notice the flavor.  Oh, well.

8:00 pm    Walk back to the linens line.  Get my sheet, blanket, pillow and pillow case.  Step inside the dorm and find my bed.  Top bunk, again.  I lay the sheets on my bed, climb up and pull the blanket over me.  The lights go out at 9:00, but I am awake well into the night, lying on my back with my eyes open, listening to the sounds around me: tossing, turning, groaning, snoring.  I listen.  I wait.  I try not to think about where I am or how I got here.  I listen.  I wait. Maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe tomorrow something will change. Maybe.

No one should be homeless

I came across this video today in which Erica Skuta, a high school senior from Minnesota, explains why she became passionate about ending homelessness.  Erica and another student, Dan Wells, have written a guide for students who want to get involved in ending homelessness but don’t know where to start.  A Student’s Guide to Ending Homelessness reflects on Erica and Dan’s personal experiences before giving helpful advice and instructions on what students can do to help end homelessness.  Many of the locales and directives are specific to Minnesota’s community, but this guide could easily be applied across the country.

Thank you, Erica and Dan, for opening doors and paving the way for students across America.  Thank you for reminding us that no one should be homeless.

Something?

“I have no idea how to help millions of homeless Americans.

I have no idea how to help millions of homeless.

I have no idea how to help millions.

I have no idea how to help.

I have no idea how.

I have no idea.

I have.”

I found this poem yesterday as I was roaming the internet.  It was posted on Patti Dickinson’s blog.  It pretty much speaks for itself.  As little as we have and as helpless as we feel, shouldn’t we do something?

Works in Progress coming soon

This is an article and video published by The Pitch from our  Works in Progress Art Show last September.  Hope you can join us for the next one coming up  on  June 4th from 6:30pm – 9:30pm down at the mission.

Works in Progress: the art of the homeless from casey lyons on Vimeo.

Works in Progress Art Show

June 4, KCRM joins the Crossroads Arts District for First Fridays with our Works in Progress Art Show. This event will include:
Work from 12 different areas artists and artisans
Raffle drawings every half hour
Live blues music from JOSH AND HEATHER PARKS
Refreshments and free off-street parking

But we’re most excited about our TP Tower and 80-foot-long garden mural!

From 6:30-9:30 p.m., we’ll accept donations of packaged toilet paper and add it to a growing tower we hope will reach 24 feet tall. It will take 10,500 rolls of toilet paper to pull this off, the amount needed to supply KCRM for a full year. The tower will save the Mission $6,500 — money we can put back into food and shelter for the homeless.
Attendees can also help fill in an enormous “paint-by-numbers” outdoor garden mural created by sidewalk artist Keith Alexander. Residents in our Christian Community of Recovery and Transitional Living Program will help attendees with the painting.
We hope to see you at Works in Progress, Friday, June 4!

All aboard!

Welcome to the Kansas City Rescue Mission’s first blog post!  Here at the mission, we’re pretty excited about the opportunity to communicate better with our supporters and community.  We recognize that communication is a two-way street.  We have lots to share with and say to you and you have lots to share with and say to us.  Let’s get the conversation started!

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship!”