Lessons I Have Learned (2013)

Nothing great happens without sacrifice

Great relationships happen with patience and forgiveness (on both sides).  If you cut off the people who irritate you, you will be very lonely and miserable.

We all have a serious problem or addiction in our lives.  We need to recognize it as a problem and try to keep it from hurting others.

If you want to change the world, you will hurt those around you.  Really consider if the sacrifices you make them pay are worth it.

Generally, you aren’t important enough for others to talk about.  Don’t fret about what others say, they are probably saying nothing.

The more you want something, the more you strive for it.  The more you strive, the less likely you’ll get it.  Give it time.

You may not think you need balance in your life.  You do.  Listen to those who went your path before you who had to learn about balance the hard way.

The only people who don’t need balance are those who die young.

The more you practice something, the more natural it becomes.  Practice kindness now so you don’t become a nasty old person.

You’ll never accomplish anything unless you do something different than those around you.

Listen to Ms. Frizzle: "Take chances.  Make mistakes.  Get messy."

January 31 2016

I'm sorry if any of you feel I just write this diary to whine.  I am using this diary to process what I'm going through in trying to quit my adrenaline addiction into a life of balance, and there's a lot of negative stuff I might share.  I won't slam anybody else, if I can help it, but my frustrations will certainly come out.  Please be patient with me.

If you want me to be funny, go on my Facebook timeline.  I'm funny half the time there. :)

Today, my frustrations have to do with the kind of work I do.  I just want to help the homeless, to build community, to establish a safe place for them.  But there have been threats and complaints from every side.  The church we share the facility with want to keep animals and sleeping out of the church building so that the sanctuary can be kept "holy."  We let them know that "holiness" for us is loving and that welcoming those with dogs they can't put anywhere else and offering sleep for those in danger and having no place to sleep is how we practice holiness.  That doesn't matter to them.

Nor does it matter to the denomination who owns the property.  They want us to disallow sleeping and to disallow animals in the building, and I said that I cannot act as a police officer for arbitrary rules.  If someone is coming from the hospital and needs a place to sleep, I will give it to them.  If someone with a baby needs a place to sleep I will give it to them.  Even if it means that I lose use of the property.

That sounds pretty harsh of me, from one side.  Narrow minded, at least.  After all, I'm threatening the use of the building for hundreds for the sake of a few.  But from my perspective, they are forcing me to be the person who James and John said not to be.  They say that to display my faith, my love of God, I have to take what I have and offer it to the person who needs it.  Perhaps I don't own the property, but no one else is there.  Why shouldn't they sleep overnight in the warm instead of being sick or having their baby outside in the cold, where they are in danger of their lives?

Of course, there's the neighbor across the street who is constantly complaining to the city and the code department who threaten us with fines and the police department who blames me for all the poor in Gresham, or so I hear.

I see the managing of a building to be a great burden, perhaps one that I cannot bear.  Perhaps it is time for my church to give up use of the building as long as people are requiring that I follow rules that I should not follow.  Perhaps I should just find ways to support the poor otherwise.  Managing this building for the last five years has been great for the homeless community.  And it really has caused me to grow, as well as causing my health to fail.

But I am interested in following Jesus.  I am interested in obeying love, not rules.  If saving people's lives is against the law, against the rules of the church, then I will break those rules.  If helping the sick and an infant is against the law, then throw me in jail.  If the denomination wants to cast out three congregations from a place to worship, and hundreds of homeless from their home that they have slept on, worked on and grown food on, I don't see that as my responsibility.  I must follow the dictates of the Spirit who tells me to love.

Right?

Damn.  

January 22, 2016-- Relapse and Withdrawl

So for years I've been functioning on a combination of adrenaline and testosterone.  I accomplished things that normal human beings can't typically accomplish-- forming a community from the homeless, establishing eight churches, counselling thousands of people in severe trauma in their lives.  But I am just a normal human being, but I was able to tap into a deeper well of adrenaline than most people do to accomplish more difficult tasks.

This is commonly known as drug addiction.  Sure, it's a drug that my body creates itself (although I used testosterone to enhance it for a number of years), but its still a drug.  And my body uses it like a drug.

So the last couple months have been a tremendous amount of work.  I needed to establish a new system of support for the overnight shelters, and fast, for wind, ice and snow hit our region early.  I both opened up more day shelters, which I usually ran myself, and pulled in people to organize night shelters, because in my undrugged state, I couldn't do it anymore.

Then I visited a new homeless camp, where about fifty people were going to be thrown out in the middle of the worst weather of the year.  At that moment, I reached into my deeper well of adrenaline and found greater reserves in order to help these folks.  I helped them create an organization, I worked with the mayors office and now they have a new camp, organized and settled peacefully.

I spent two months in this higher adrenaline state. Then I got sick.

 

It was just a cold, but my immune system was down from my drugged state and from spending a lot of time in the cold and wet (being outside a lot and because one of my house heat source was broken).  The cold turned into bronchitis, and I got really sick.  

So I had to slow down and rest.  This caused my adrenaline to reduce.  Which caused my body to go through withdrawals.

I'm a drug addict, and like any drug addict, I have to recognize that going back on my drug has consequences.  I feel good about the work I accomplished.  But now, I'm sick with headaches and coughing (for a month) and exhaustion.  It's the cost of doing too much, of going back on the adrenaline.  I'm okay with that, although the people around me may not be.

Again, the goal is balance.  The last two months I had no balance.  I need to return to the old pattern.  I'll get there. Winters working with the homeless are always going to be hard, though.  I will have a hard time not to go back to using adrenaline in order to save lives.  Frankly, the temporary cost to my body is worth the work I did.

December 21, 2015: The Darkest Day of the Year

This is the season for depression.  Darkness reigns, people's expectations for family often fail them, needs are high, weather is more difficult, everyone's stress is high.  It is a difficult time to live, and people want to make changes, they want to strip away their commitments, seek peace in a different way.

I am no different.  My body doesn't know the difference between night and day, so I wake earlier, this morning at 3:30 AM. My thoughts of leaving this ministry have returned, especially as I am getting more pressure from the city, from my co-church, from my denomination to disrespect and further ostracize the homeless.  They don't know they are disrespecting the poor, but when I point it out, they don't seem to care either.  My co-pastor told me this week that he's gone.  He'll be leaving the end of this week.  He's been my faithful sidekick for the past... decade?  Something like that.  I knew he was going to go, but I didn't know it would be so abruptly. He said that he can't handle the pressure from these various forces.  He also recommended that I call a lawyer.

Despite my desperate need to change, I started working with another homeless group this week.  A camp that has been rejected by another camp, and they needed organization and help.  The leader, Wes, just wanted to make sure that everyone was fed. And so he was thrown out of the original camp for feeding the "outsider" and anyone who stood by him was similarly ostracized.  So I've been helping him organize and contact the city in the hopes of being able to settle in a new spot.  My co-pastor said that I'm too controlling and involved in too much.  He's probably right.  But with the floods and desperate people, it is not time to have everyone thrown out of the camp, roughed up by police.  I need to do something.

I guess that's my mantra: I need to do something.  I've got skills and I need to give them to people who are desperate.  Yes, it will wear me down.  But I can't do nothing.

I have learned something about my rest, however.  I am a type "A" personality, for the most part.  I push myself and others to work, to accomplish something, to create some good.  And this is fine, despite the high risk of heart attack.  Some of us need to work so that others might rest.

But I need rest as well.  But I'm realizing that getting away from people isn't enough.  I also need to get away from my ambitions, my drive to act, to produce.  To really rest, I need both silence and surrender.  I must become a type "B" personality, for a while.  I must not only get free from the incessant talking and drama, I must be free from my own accomplishing.

This means that working on writing isn't the only rest I need.  I need to rest from all, to rely on God, to give Him the space to create peace in my heart.  Only then will I be ready to love.

Let the night come.

December 8, 2015

It's been a bit since my last journal entry because I've been busy writing my first novel, and then because winter hit Portland, forcing me to keep busy giving shelter to those who have none.

After September and October, I was feeling great.  I've achieved the balance I desired and I began losing weight. The rest and spiritual renewal was life transforming, and I've been doing great.

Until I'm not.

I started winding down in November, and my spiritual director and I scratched our head over it until we realized that my exhaustion came back just as I was spending time writing almost 2000 words a day on a novel.  Yeah, that exhausts a person.

In the midst of this, I had a terrible meeting with church leadership, wanting to cut back on our ministry with the homeless, without discussing anything from the homeless point of view.

Right on the heels of me finishing my 50,000 words (not quite done with the first draft of my novel), a cold snap and an ice storm came in, forcing us to be open during the day for a full week and one overnight opening.

Then the city of Gresham gave us a fine for 350 dollars for "unlawful camping", which they could fine us every day.

And I got word that a police representative is going around to neighborhood meetings telling them that he is holding me responsible for everything that the homeless do in our area.

Good feeling gone.

I mean, I get it.  This is real life.  This is the job I chose.  This is the difficulties of ministring to a group of the outcast, the rejected, the desperately needy.

But I am back in that torn place of needing to help those who are desperate, to defend them, but not having the energy to do so.

People want to have meetings, but I just want some space, some quiet, some time to be left by myself.  People want me to lead, to take charge, to fight the good fight and I just want to hide.

It's not so bad right now.  I'm just tired.  But I know where this is heading.  I've been there before.

October 29, 2015

I'm sorry I'm so depressing.  It must be tough to read these journal entries.  But, here we go again.

I posted this on Facebook yesterday:

Sunshine was sleeping in her tent in Gresham. The night before, someone had tried to steal her and her camp-mates possessions to get them to move. Two days ago they decided to light her tent on fire.

Sunshine is now in the he hospital with severe burns.

I just met Sunshine last month.  Nice, happy gal, like her name.  She's probably okay.  She got into a hospital with one of the best burn centers in the country.  It's possible, but not likely, that a social worker at the hospital will go to bat for her and get her housing, or at least some help.  

The response to this post was pretty strong.  People were just shocked, stunned that this could happen to anyone.  But the more the outrage grew, the more depressed I became.

Honestly, this is everyday stuff.

Every time we hear about a "homeless sweep" what that means is that a government agency steals the homeless folks possessions, and takes them to an undisclosed location, unavailable to get to by bus.  To get their possessions back, the homeless person has to show their ID, which was probably taken with the rest of their possessions, so their items are gone.  Now they have to somehow get a sleeping bag, a tent and a tarp or else they will be cold and wet that night. In threat of dying, because hypothermia can set in at 40 degrees. And you can't get into a hospital due to threat of hypothermia.

I don't know why I'm depressed.  I mean, we are getting some kind of response, right?

Maybe I'm depressed because I've been carrying this horror upon a whole group of our society for so long, and just now people are waking up to it.

Maybe I'm depressed because I asked for money to help us get tarps and tents and sleeping bags, and just a very little trickled in.  Sunshine will need a tent.  And those who shared her tent.  But so does Amber and Chuck and Jay and so many others.  It's pouring down rain and getting colder every day.

Maybe I'm depressed because its so hard to watch my friends come to me, shaking in fear or in fury because of the injustices they have to face daily, from the police officer that gives an exclusion from his city to a disabled elderly woman and her son who assists her, to the neighbor who shouts threats at homeless people every day.

Maybe I'm depressed because the more than 20 years have come full circle.  One of the earliest homeless men we met was Toby, who slept on a couch in a nearby park.  

One day some kids got into an argument with him because he stopped them from participating in something illegal in the park. So they came that night and while he was asleep, set his couch on fire. He ended up so severely burned that he is permanently in adult foster care. When I visited him, he couldn't walk, could barely speak, he couldn't feed himself.  Setting homeless people on fire seems like the worst insult, the gravest sign of dehumanization.  What happened to Sunshine reminds me of this.

But probably the real reason I'm depressed is because the response to the attack on Sunshine's camp is pretty weak.  Lots of sympathy, lots of responses of horror.  Some anger at the government or the police, although they had nothing to do with it.  Some money so Sunshine can get herself another tent.  

But the real response should be to meet a group of homeless people, find one you can relate to and feel safe around and move them into your house.  This is the only way to prevent such tragedies, such horrors. The homeless are the most vulnerable population.  African Americans are vulnerable, but African American homeless have it worse.  The mentally ill are vulnerable, but the mentally ill on the street are a hundred percent more so.  Transsexual folks are extremely vulnerable, but so much more on the street. 

If the government actually helps, it will be a small amount and after a long time, and only if a new administration doesn't take the help away.  We need to stop sucking the tit of a mother who isn't interested in giving.   The only way to stop these daily tragedies is to take it in our hands to welcome one person into our homes, and help them out.  It only takes some of us.  Why can't it be us?

I know the issues: "We have a family.  I'm a single woman and I don't feel safe."  Then why don't you bring in a small family, or a single woman into your house whom you feel safe with?  These excuses are simply the prejudices against the homeless coming out, the assumption that they all use drugs, that they are violent, that they are scary.

You know what's really scary?  Sleeping in a thin tent to protect yourself from the rain, knowing that there is a policeman or a neighbor who hates you-- hates!-- and will do almost anything to get rid of you.  This is the reality for millions tonight.  You don't have to help millions.  Just one.  

October 22, 2015

I'm trying to adjust to my new schedule, trying to limit myself and not get caught up being "busy" like I was before, but still try to maintain the minimum necessary to keep Anawim going.  This week I visited the monastery again, which I plan to do on a regular basis, about every other week.  It felt so good, just being in silence, focusing on God and listening.  It is a right choice to do that more regularly.

After a month of feeling actual "rest", I have returned to a regular working schedule and I am all worn out again.  Didn't take long.  This isn't a surprise.  I'm 90 percent sure that all of my symptoms and difficulties are a result of adrenal fatigue.  I've got pretty much all the symptoms.  And this doesn't just go away easily.  It takes years of a balanced life.  Well, then I've got some time to go.

But I've been feeling so angry.  This isn't unusual for me, but my anger was usually associated with me feeling overwhelmed.  Now I'm angry for the homeless, for the unfair abuses they suffer and for the injustice they endure under the state.  I just watched a video of a camp sweep, and a person was told that he couldn't get his bicycle and clothes and ID because they "already inventoried it".  It's all sitting there, in bags, but he doesn't get his possessions.  And he will never get them, because to prove who he is, he would have to have his ID.

In the area of town we are in, Gresham, there seems to be a new attitude toward the homeless.  Citizens are asking for more help for them, and realizing that they aren't the problem children of the community.  But nothing is being done anyway.  And I want to advocate, get more involved, but I'm so tired.  And I don't want to break.

So I write and write and post and write some more.  I guide and suggest resources and get my friends involved.  But I feel out of the loop.  Maybe that's a good thing.

October 11, 2015

It was a strange night last night on the SE 188th Max platform.

I guess every night there is kinda strange, because I was there a few nights ago and there were a dozen police officers and four fare inspectors standing on the platform, both sides. When my Max train got there, they all got on the train, checked everyone’s (all six of us) tickets three times and then exited the train to stand and chat on the platform again. Anyway…

As Diane and I approached the platform last night, we were immediately accosted by a young man who insisted that we take some of his mint gum, at no cost. “It’s for the environment,” he claims. Diane takes some because it’s difficult for him to take a “no.”

Diane sits on a bench and there’s 18 minutes till the train. A minute later a couple approaches us, and it’s new people from Anawim, and the gal says, “Look, someone we know!” and she plops herself down next to Diane and tells her that she’s from a small town and she’d kinda freaked by Portland.

A minute later a large stranger comes up to us and tells us a long story about how he lost his cell phone that morning. Everyone was very friendly last night.

Then an older woman came by our impromptu party. She tried unsuccessfully to pass by the “environmental gum” guy, and he insisted that she take some of his gum. She tried to refuse, but he continued to offer his wares and finally she turned to him in front of us all and said, “Leave me alone! I’m a Christian!”

Which prompted the guy talking to me and I to laugh and wonder what kind of Christian she was who wouldn’t take gum.

This reminds me of another time, many years ago, when I was in Bangladesh and I was taking a baby taxi from one location to another in the very busy city of Dakka. As the taxi was stopped at a light, a man came by and accosted me, “You want a girl? I can get you a girl.”

I shook my head, but he insisted. So I said, “No, I don’t. I’m a Christian.”
Unfazed, he said, “You want a Christian girl? I can get you one.”

I guess the moral of my stories is saying “I’m a Christian” is a pretty poor excuse for doing or not doing anything. I mean Christians can do anything, right?

Wild Abandon

Grace does not teach us to be responsible.

It doesn’t train us to care for ourselves and our own.

Rather, God sets us free to the wild abandon of mercy

Allowing us to fall into the windstorm of love

And to be a conduit of that most chaotic of charities—compassion.

October 7 2015

Well, my month of rest is over.  I still have some conclusions to draw, but I think I have a plan.

The first week of September was really just organizing Anawim, raising up leadership, closing up loose ends.

Then I spent about ten days with my parents who live a quiet retired lifestyle, and have a guest room which they allowed me to use.  This gave me an opportunity to set some things aside in my mind, to focus on my spirituality and to begin a regimen of  exercise  (oh yeah, haven't exercised this morning... be right back... there, that's done), and to get some tips about eating right, which they have got down to a science now.

You know, the tough part about any new discipline is remembering.  If I don't remember to exercise physically and spiritually every day, then my overall life will be worse for it.  That would be heading toward a downward spiral.

Then I spent four days at the local Trappist Monastery, near Newberg OR.  This gave me some separated space with God, some personal counsel that I desperately needed.

And I just got back from a week at a friend's beach house in Waldport, OR.  I have to thank my friend Sylvia for driving and arranging for me to be driven at all these various places because I've been going with a suspended license.  No driving for me until October 19!

Diane (my wife) came with me to Waldport, and we took pictures and generally relaxed.  She was so serine and happy there-- a house she could clean, and no crises or work or public transportation to deal with.  I wish she could have had longer there.

For me, I actually had an opportunity to relax there.  I spend one whole day just organizing my music, and I didn't get bored or exhausted.  That was different for me.  I've been waking up at 5, exhausted, but I'm willing to live with that.  Diane also cooked so much that despite my previous efforts, I'm afraid I gained more weight there.  Well, there's time to start again.

So today I head back to Anawim and start making plans for a permanent change.  Don't pray for me.  Pray for them.

Spiritual Excercise

I've been waking up early every morning to do a walk of a couple miles-- not too fast because I'm still working with a healing ankle-- and to pray.  It feels great to pray again.  To have the silence and the mind-space to hang out with God.

I've been praying through Phyllis Tickle's Divine Hours, which has been wonderful.  It is like a liturgical worship service, three times a day, every day of the year.  It is a portable monastery.

I've also been praying for others again, which has been fantastic.  Just walking and praying.

I also made a list for myself.  I'm a firm believer that lists help us to focus and figure out things in our lives that otherwise would take us a long time to figure out.  I ask a question of myself and then I write out the answer in list form.  I'm always doing this when I visit a monastery, when I have the silence and time to hear the Spirit clearly.

So the dual question I asked myself this time is: What is harming my soul?  What is healing me?

Harming:
Too much listening
Pointless acts-- doing things that end up benefiting no one
My anger
Overwork/taking on too much
Being overwhelmed

Hmmm.  Nothing new there.  And some of things things can't be helped. We all do things that benefit no one sometimes.  It's part of the danger of doing anything, it's always a risk.  But this is why I balance it all with acts of healing.

Healing:
Silence
Writing, especially poetry
Sleep
Exercise
Teaching
Liturgical prayer
Peacemaking like Jesus
Reading

But I recognize that I cannot just spend my life in healing.  A balanced life is loving God (receiving his healing) and loving others, spending time meeting their needs.  I may not be able to love others with the intensity or depth that I used to, but I can, and must, still do this:

Pray for others
Organize charity
Write for justice

All of this above are just pieces of my life.  I still have to organize it, but I'm getting there.

September 26, 2015

It's been a good month.  I've spent two weeks with my parents,who are living a quiet retired lifestyle in California.  And I just came back from four days at a Trappist Abbey, where I didn't speak or was spoken to for that time.  I got some time by myself, and a lot of quiet.  I have been able to connect again with God and to really listen to him.  I've been able to discipline myself spiritually, begin an exercise regime and get my diet under control.  I've been building balance.

The main thing that I've discovered is that my brokenness isn't going away.  It used to be that when I got some time alone, I returned energized, ready to take on a number of month's hard work.  Not this time.  People, any people, overwhelm me now.  It's like I have a PTSD of people talking to me.  My body responds to a "good morning" as if someone is challenging me or asking me to solve their crises, and I get immediately exhausted.

But even in the midst of silence and peace, there is a cloud that occasionally descends upon my mind.  It might last for an hour or half a day.  This cloud makes my thinking sluggish and sometimes it makes me dizzy or feel sick or exhausted.  When it comes, I am slow, I have to force myself to think, if I have to, but I'm much more likely to do better watching a movie or reading a novel.  Just pass the time gently until it goes away.

Now I recognize my sense of being overwhelmed.  When I am asked to multitask or to deal with many issues or problems when that cloud descends, I can't move that fast.  I struggle to function at a low level, and when people are demanding that I function at a high level, I get angry at them and
snap.

I believe that it is just a form of depression, this cloud, another sign that I can't keep functioning at this level.  But that still doesn't answer what the future holds for me or Anawim.

Enabling

A recent story about me in the Oregonian:
http://www.oregonlive.com/homeless/2015/09/steve_kimes_lives_his_faith.html

As usual, people like to highlight the conflict between the neighbors and us.  Of course, they didn't ask the neighborhood associations about us.  Only people who heard stories of what we do, and don't like it.

No one wants criminals in their area.  But the neighbors complaints are all based on fear, not on what actually happens.

First of all, crime is lower in our area, than in other neighborhoods in our area.  If we draw criminals, then they aren't doing criminal activity in our area.

Second, the neighborhood associations have investigated us, and found that almost all the complaints against us are coming from a few people, who have made up a bunch of stories.  Like when one person said that we had a bunch of people staying over on the house on our property, and not, in reality, another church having a regular prayer meeting in the middle of the night.  Or like the story that we were running a brothel here.  Not possible. We have one of our pastors living on the property, keeping the place secure.

As far as trash in the park, yes, the homeless leave trash.  And the homeless clean it up.

The fact is, there is a class of people-- not because of any criminal activity, but because they belong to a certain class-- that are not accepted anywhere.  And if anyone accepts them and says, "Come, you are human beings.  We will support you and help you live," then you will be rejected by society.

It is not "enabling" to provide a place to sleep and shower and a place where you can cook your own meal, when you have no other place to do this.  It is not "enabling" to train the homeless to care for each other and to make sure nothing happens to the neighborhood in which they are welcome.

I will be called an "enabler" because I don't want the homeless to die.  I accept that.  If that's some people's idea of an "enabler", I will wear the badge proudly.

It is the church's job to take in criminals and to show them a new way. Jesus ate with "the sinners" providing them an opportunity to live a new way.

TC came into our facility a few weeks ago, just out of years in prison.  He was yelling and boasting about how violent he was.  But after a week coming to our facility, he realized that his "jail mentality" doesn't help him in this context.  Now, of his own free will, he is calm and cleaning up the facility.  Simply out of gratitude for what we have given him.

The only things we enable are change, peace and life. 

Sept 7, 2015

It is little remembered that Jesus' first day of rest was spent in the "lower parts of the earth."  Rest isn't a paradise.  We must travel the path of Dante before we can reach that.  Our first stop is Inferno.

My first days of rest are full of sickness, struggle and pain.  This is nothing different than every day before my rest, but then I had adrenaline and activity to cover up my daily feelings. When you rest, all you have left is your weariness, your body aches, your suffering.

To rest is a choice to surrender my addiction-- adrenaline.  Just like any other drug, withdrawals have consequences.  Withdrawal sickness is common, and sometimes painful.  To rest is to experience pain, to endure flame.  I took two naps on my first day of rest.  Now, on my third day, I was restless all night, so I am worn all the more.

I know that it is only for a season. I have to put on a good face for my parents.  But inside I just want to be by myself.

Still, I am creating a bit.  And I've almost finished my first Murakami novel.

And I am trying to put myself on a new schedule.  This month is about re-building my spirituality and diet.  Low animal fat, more exercise (but gentle, gentle on my sprained ankle), and diving back into prayer.  It will be a good month, but hopefully I'll have enough stamina to create balance.

Highlights

If I quit, I suppose it would be a good time for me to reflect on some great things of my work over the last 20 plus years:

-Seeing so many clean and sober after deciding to live instead of continue drinking or using.

-Karaoke with the Childress' after they have moved out of our house and settled in their own apartment.

-Showing movies, especially the Wizard of Oz, which is the only movie I found which could silence a random crowd.

-Seeing teenagers come on a winter shelter night, freezing and alone, only to see them grow up, have daughters of their own, committed to raising their children better than they were raised.

-Having a couple come back, talk about how they moved to Alaska, got a great job and are well on their feet now.  Thanked us for all we had done for them.

-A couple who was having severe issues.  I gave them counselling, and eventually got a bus ticket to go to Reno.  They came back, she had a daughter, but wouldn't quit the drugs.  He got put in prison for a gang related offense.  In jail, he wised up, decided to do everything he could to raise his daughter.  He maneuvered through all the bureaucracy, jumped through all the hoops, took all the classes and gained custody of his daughter.  After a couple years of raising his daughter, he was attacked by a member of his old gang, and he suffered severe brain damage.  He still remained committed to his daughter, and after a number of months in the hospital, he got another apartment with his daughter.

-Troll disappeared after a visit in Tigard.  His sister was deeply concerned, because she hadn't heard from or seen him for eight months.  One day, out of the blue, he calls me on the phone.  He had been in a car accident, was in a coma for six months, and suffered severe damage to his memory.  After months of trying to think, the only contact information he remembered was my phone number.  He called me, and asked if I remembered who he was.  I said, "Of course, where have you been?"  After he told me, I immediately gave him his sister's number and they were connected again.  He now lives in a group home and comes over once a week to help us sort out clothes.

-Picking up people from the permanent locked down state mental health facility in Portland.  On the day of my ordination, one of the gals from the facility told me privately that the bishop ordaining me was a disciple of the devil, and that I couldn't have the ceremony done.  Despite weather problems and another woman with mental health issues disturbing things as well as Diane having pneumonia, the ordination went as scheduled.

-Diane and I seeking out a house for us to purchase, at my father's generous offer.  We wandered all over the city, but I felt that we should look close to downtown.  We were driving by on Williams and saw a huge house with a for sale sign out front.  "That one's big enough," I said.  Diane said that we could never afford it. On an off chance, we decided to ask about it anyway.  It was owned by an African American, Seventh Day Adventist couple, who was using the house for their family and for a foster care home.  They also would allow the homeless to stay in the basement overnight to get warm.  We knew that we were meant to have this house passed on.

-The wedding we performed on the steps of someone else's church, and held the reception in the meal for the homeless.

-The very expensive wedding of Bill and Sue Palmer in a local fancy hotel, catered with a chamber orchestra for the reception.  And all the homeless of the community were invited.  I remember the father of the bride having a great time with one of our regulars, getting drunk and reminiscing about how different the country used to be.  I saw the same father four years later when the groom died suddenly.  We shook hands gravely.

-Being called in the middle of the night because my friend's van, which was his home, was going to be towed in an hour.  I pushed it without a rope for about a half mile at two in the morning.  A week later, I did it again.

-Pulling strings so a friend could get his van, which he lived in, repaired so he wouldn't have it towed from him in the middle of an ice storm.

-My many conversations with the police, some hostile, some friendly, depending on their own prejudice against my homeless friends.

-Smiling as my homeless friends played and chatted with my young children, knowing they are substitutes for children my friends had but would never see.

-Walking down the steps of our house with a huge pot of soup for the meal that night, slipping and falling on the painted steps, soup everywhere.  I quickly checked the bank account, and found that we had just enough for pizza that night.  The pizza was delivered to the day shelter door.  We didn't get our bills paid that week, but everyone was happy.

-The Fire Marshal approving of our facility for a winter shelter after much struggle with city bureaucracy.  They approved us to have 75 people in the facility.  I laughed and said, "I hope we never have that many."  I ate my words when a hundred showed up at our door the next year.  We hosted a number of our folks in our prayer house next door.

-The many housed folks who learned to love and hang with the homeless.

-The many men who learned that violence isn't as effective as the way of peace.

-The many women who learned independence and power in their faith.

-The thousands of stories I heard about life on the street.

-The thousands of people who came our way and were changed.  Some just a little, some, their whole lives were unrecognizable.  We never did a lot.  But to be a small part of a change that God is working in anyone is a powerful business.

-Seeing Gordy still riding his bike with his huge bags of cans to the store, after twenty years.

August 28, part 2-- A Question

I have a question, but only for those who are willing to follow down the path of my spirituality.

I do not give my possessions, my life out of guilt of being born middle class.

Rather, I recognize, being born middle class American, white, male, educated and it implies, that I am called by Jesus to a certain path of justice.  Everyone is called to a path of justice.  For most of us, it is enough that if we have two coats, we will give one who has none.  For some of us, we must seek a path of balance between work and rest, between giving and being given to.  And that is good.

But to the rich young ruler, Jesus called a greater calling.  He said, "Give ALL that you have to the poor and then take up your cross and follow me."  This is a deeper path of justice.  The path I was called to.

This is the path of Jesus.  The balanced, the strong, those who have greater resources, must surrender, not to a balance, but to an excess.  Why is this?  Because the injustice in our world is excessive.  Some must surrender all, so that some may have some.  There is no way in the world that everyone in the world will have what they need unless everyone shares of what they have.  So some must be chosen to give all, absolutely everything.

This is the path of Jesus who surrendered his life on the cross.
This is the path of Peter and the apostles.
This is the path of Paul.
This is the path of Moses who wasn't called until he was 80 and then surrendered what little he had so he could be God's tool to lead his people out of Egypt and into justice.
This is the path of Elijah, who surrendered his mental health so he could lead God's people away from Baal.

Even closer, my path is the path of Barnabas, who surrendered what he did not need to so that the poor and the foreigner could have some.

Okay, so what is my cross?  What is my limit?

Admittedly, I wish that I had suffered from a heart attack or a stroke.  That is as clear of a message I could get-- and gives a finality that cannot be turned away.

But that's not what I got.  Here are my real symptoms:

I am overwhelmed by people.
I can't look anyone in the eye.  To talk to another human being, I have to look down.
If someone asks me a question, be it ever so simple, I struggle to find the will to answer.
It used to be I could solve all problems, now any problem is overwhelming.

Today, a trusted person had allowed another (not-so-trusted) homeless into our private facility, after he had been told many times not to.  I yelled at the person he had let in (because she had been in the facility before and knew she shouldn't be there), and I yelled at him... but in my heart there was such rage that could not be controlled.  I had to leave, so I did.  I came back with food and then I left again.  I couldn't talk to anyone, couldn't even hear a question.  I was finished.

What is the path of justice now for me to follow?  I still have the physical ability to give food to others.  I am incapable of leading, of providing spiritual guidance, but I could (in theory), follow my system to provide food, hope, work.

In theory.

I have cried to the Lord, many times, asking Him to escape this path, because it is too much for me.  It is the prayer of Elijah, who asked God to kill him, because he was done.  God's answer to Elijah was to accomplish three more tasks and then he was done.

I am not sure what I am hearing from God.

But this is true:  The poor man can cry out to the Lord for help, and the Lord will answer him, and give him a path that meets his needs.
The rich man, however, may not tell the poor man, "Ask the Lord for help and he will help you," for the Lord did give the poor man help.  He gave him the rich man, and the rich man refuses to help the needy, and this will be a judgment against him.

I am the rich man.
Am I refusing the poor, by claiming my mental weaknesses are enough to tell the poor, "Go and seek the Lord"?

What is the path of justice for me now?

A cross would be a fitting end.
Or a chariot of fire.
Or a heart attack or stroke.
But mental weakness?  

August 28, 2015

I guess I'm quitting early.  I thought I could make it to September, but nope.  Not gunna happen.  I quit now.

I am really broken right now, so I'm saying "quit", but I suppose I might get enough rest to make it back by October, but I really doubt that.  My mind is no longer able to do the unique thing that I have been able to do for twenty years-- take a ever-more-complex ministry, keep it in my mind and guide it from one place to another.

Homeless ministry is difficult, partly because no one, apart from the homeless, wants it to succeed.  (See the last post)  Partly because every homeless person is so different and it requires a unique point of view and plan for each person.  So a leader of a homeless ministry is like Jackie Chan running from the gangsters behind him and the police are ready to shoot him from the front, so you got to dodge all the bullets and you have to save the heroine who is screaming at you to do something.  Up to this point, I've been able to do that.  Not today.

There's a certain kind of brain that can accomplish this.  I have never trained anyone to do a ministry like Anawim because I don't think anybody could do it.  I built it around my unique mental abilities.  My brain changed.  The ministry changed-- by becoming more complex.

Well, I'll give it up to God.  It's beyond me now.

August 25, 2015

This week I've been working my regular schedule.  Most days I've felt unable to continue.  But, like Travis says, "It's almost over" so I press on, only occasionally asking people firmly to stop talking to me.  I'm also getting occasions of rest.  Today, unlike most Tuesdays, I spent the day by myself, in a fast food place and in a chilly church basement.

Last night, fall started.  Most of us remember the heat and don't trust that the temperature fell below 60 degrees last night.  But the trees have been on edge, waiting to shed their leaves.  As I drive to St. John's, overnight, the colors on the tops of most trees have turned.  It's time.  The trees know.

I want to write today about living a truly unique life.  I think I'm one of those few who chose his life. God directed me, Diane trained me, but this life I've chosen was mine for the last 20 years.  I chose a life of compassion, Diane and I chose to accept the sacrifices required to make it, and we pursued it long enough to completely burn out, unable, perhaps, to take another step.  This is the path I chose, I wanted it and followed it to the end.  If I died today, I could say that I met all the goals I set for myself twenty years ago (except that I have not yet published a print book). Not many people could say that.

But choosing one's own path, living a unique life, has to have an end.  There are pressures everyday to stop living a unique life.  To live a life of compassion and empathy.  It might seem an easy task, but every social worker and counselor and church planter knows exactly how difficult the task is.  There is the burden of taking up other's burdens, which I mentioned in the What's Wrong with Me post.

There is the other aspect of being committed to develop a community of the outcast.  To create this community-- a community that respects the disrespected, that gives strength to the weak to make their own positive decisions, a community that honors the independence of every poor person who asks for help-- requires many different groups to create it.  In our case, we had a denomination (Mennonite), other local churches, a community of financial supporters (no grants), a group of prayer supporters, churches committed to share a central piece of property, two church networking groups, a few loyal volunteers, as well as many, many homeless people over the years.

Everyone sees this as "my" work, "my" ministry, so they are always asking questions, and I have been just as happy about that.  I have in my head a vision for a homeless church community, an idea of what a family house full of the homeless looks like and a vision for a multi-culture, multi-ethnic shared church property looks like.  The visions are really detailed, and the direction for some may look petty-- the details that some think are unimportant are essential for the establishing of the vision.  It is so detailed that I can't explain it all.  It is as if I have three Brothers Karamazov in my head, and all I can do is point at each detail and say, "That fits.  That doesn't."

This may sound as if I am a micromanager.  I certainly was when it comes to seeing these visions become reality.  I know, now, that I can let them go.  Even if the stack of cards I laid so carefully out crumbles, I know that the work these three visions accomplished are solid.  But if they continue, they must change.  Because I won't be there to replace every fallen card.  I can't.  My fingers are numb.

Developing communities of the outcast, however, are a tough responsibility.  Everyone is there to tell you what's wrong, from their point of view.  Of course, everyone told me, at some point, that I was wearing myself thin, and I couldn't deny that.  But some of the complaints were unique because, ultimately, no one could agree that the visions I had in my head were the right ones.  I guess I can't  disagree.  Maybe another's vision would have been better.  But how many visions have we seen come to life like Anawim?

-I remember a church group, who had never (at that time) worked with the homeless, came to me and told me how I should set up my organization like theirs, focusing on a logo, constitution and fundraising.  I smiled and said that I appreciated the suggestions, but that wouldn't help our problems.

-I remember a homeless man sitting me down, telling me how I'm not helping the homeless as I should.  I need to force more discipline, to require more effort for what I'm giving, otherwise they'll never learn discipline.

-Another homeless man, whom I've never met in person, but was trolling me from Canada, insisted that I was using homeless people for my own profit.

-Recently a police officer told me that I had to tell the homeless to go away, to clean up more (when they were already cleaning) to be more polite (to people who were screaming in their face).

-I had a number of neighbors tell me that I have ruined their neighborhood, that I brought all these homeless people into their neighborhood, when, in fact, I have been inviting the homeless into this same neighborhood for longer than they have been living here.  That a church is about welcoming the outcast.  That if they thought a church was about quiet judgmentalism, then I'm sorry to have broken their stereotype.

-I had churches who worked with us tell us to tell the homeless to stop being on the property when I wasn't there, because the homeless scared them.  I told them that they needed to get to know them, that their parishioners were on the property without them at times, and that they needed to stop being prejudiced against people because they didn't have walls surrounding them.

-I remember, years ago, the police lining up my church in the parking lot yelling at them, and accusing them of stealing and generally being worthless.  The officers screamed at me to get into the church building, and I refused so I could be a witness to what they were doing.  Twelve officers showed up that afternoon and when the Lieutenant asked for who was in charge at the facility, I said that I was the pastor.  He asked, what church are you pastor of?  I pointed at the dozen homeless people on the ground, some handcuffed, and said, "This is my church."  The Lt. looked at me and said, "You are the pastor?"  "Yes." "These people have permission to be here?"  "Yes."  He shouted out to all of his officers, "This is private property and they have permission to be here.  Let's go."  And they all left.  But not before one incensed officer shouted in my face about how I am enabling criminals in the city.

-I remember when we were renting the same church building from the owners, and the owners decided that my homeless folks were the cause of a recent break in, so they planned to lock my people out of the front of the church (where the bathrooms were).

-I remember being at a "mediation" session between that church and ours, when they were allowed to express lies about our congregation, but when it was our turn to say our peace, they shouted us down, not allowing us to say what was really going on.

I guess what I'm saying is that when you are developing a community of the outcast, everyone thinks you're doing it wrong.  And you are the one who ruined everything.

All I can say is, accepting the outcast is a tough job.  Putting other people in the place where they have to accept the outcast (even accept themselves) is tougher.

August 20, 2015

It's been a while since my last diary entry.  I've been busy and it's been too hard for me to write.  How much more depression can anyone read, anyway?  I promise this entry will have hope.

After determining that I am beyond the point of no return, I did what I always do: make a plan.  I don't believe in hopeless situations.  I think we can always make things better, if we just plan it out.  So I need to re-evaluate my life and work.  How do I do this?

First, I need to separate out that which I was called from by Jesus and that which I am not.  That was pretty easy.  The one, big thing I was not called to is to manage the three acre Sanctuary property.  I am called to the homeless, and I am called to care for my family and I am called to write.  So I've got to release that unnecessary burden, because the rest is enough.   So I handed in my resignation of that job earlier this week, and we had a meeting which determined what is part of the job and what is not.  I've got some work to do to organize for the next person, but I should be able to finish that out by the end of the month.  Of course, if no one picks up the pieces, we could have chaos... but we might not.  The owners of the property, the Mennonite Conference is willing to wait and see.  Good enough.

Second, I need some time to evaluate, and to revitalize self-care and my spiritual life.  So I am taking the month of September off from everything-- family, work, friends, the internet, everything.  I will still be doing writing, but not to instantly publish, so I can consider what kind of writing I should be doing, and what is growing my spirit and what is shrinking my relationship with God.

But what about Anawim during this time?  I got together a group of leaders and potential leaders in Anawim and told them that I was considering quitting and shutting down and that I needed to know if they were willing to step up to keep the facility going.  Most of these are people who don't need the facility or services anymore, but have used them in the past.  They all said they would keep it going, get the necessary training and to step up to take my place.  I have 16 people who are willing to help volunteer, especially during September.  So we will have it run without me, and see what happens.  Part of this is testing my delegating skills, I guess.

At the beginning of October, I will come back.  I will have evaluated myself to see what I am able to do.  I will get reports from Anawim and evaluate what Anawim is able to do without me.  And then we will plan for the future.

So, faithful readers, do you think this is reasonable?

What's Wrong With Me?

Well, this week has been a surprise.  First, I found out that people read this blog, even if I don't advertise it.  That was unexpected.  Sorry to have poured all my depressed/depressing thoughts out on you.  I really didn't mean to inflict anyone, but I needed to write and my blogs are the best place for me to put my thoughts on "paper".

I want to talk about three things: an analysis of what is going on with me; my plan for the near future and what has been going on this last week.  In this post, I'll cover the first of those.

I am really touched by the responses by Clare and Jeanie to the last post.  Just to let you know: I haven't given up, and I'm working on things.  But I've been thinking about what you folks said.  It is very hard to analyze or come to a conclusion about someone from a distance, even when they are as prolific as I.  But still, there is some good insight there.

I'd like to talk briefly about acadia.  I hadn't heard of it before, although I knew that the deadly sin "sloth" has nothing to do with laziness, but has more to do with depression.  I never concerned myself with that because I am and am still one of the hardest working people I know.  If you look up "addicted to work" in urban dictionary, you'd see my name there.  And it is all self-started.  No one, besides God, is telling me to do any work.  I'm happy to do it.  Until I'm overwhelmed, and then I'm very unhappy to do it, but I still work.

But depression?  Yeah.  For ten years, off and on.  In my brief study of acadia over the last 24 hours, I came across an article on acadia and pornography, talking about how those who suffer acadia often trip into pornography, because they lack any kind of pleasure, and pleasure is a necessary human experience that our bodies will force us to have if otherwise we don't.  I've been there, and that fits me.

It seems, though, that acadia is best defined as "I don't care" which is often accompanied by "I don't have energy" or "I don't feel pleasure."  The last two are main descriptors of clinical depression, but the first seems to be the "spiritual depression" of acadia:  I don't care about my relationship with God, I don't care about my relationship with others.  It is a deadly sin, because we are commanded to love not to apathy.

But this isn't my experience.  I do care.  If I didn't care, I would just quit, throw everyone but my family out of my house and have done with it.  But I care about them all.  Perhaps, some would say, too much, but my compassion has not worn out.  I am exhausted.  I am deeply depressed.  But I do care about my relationship with God, which is why I am seeing a spiritual director and she is giving me spiritual exercises to do.  I care about my relationship with others, which is why I know that I have to back off of the work I'm doing.

Part of the issue is that there is a work I've taken on which is too large for any one person (or a small group of people) to do, but since there was no one else to help, I'll just do it myself.  It is a work of dealing with what a Red Cross worked said is "The primary emergency crisis of Multnomah County" the homelessness.  Most people overlook it because it is familiar, but I can't.  I see it deeply and I not only sorrow over it, but I must act on it.  So I do.  I work harder than anyone because I know the lives at stake and I can't bear to see one go.

A month ago when one of my friends passed away, I felt-- actually felt-- the sorrow I was keeping at an arm's distance for so long. And it overwhelmed me.  It wasn't just a sorrow for one person, but for the whole community of homeless that is devastated by daily harassment and suffering.

But here is the thing I've been learning about myself through this whole process-- I believe that I have a small amount of Asperger's Syndrome, enough that I am on the spectrum.  It really only comes out in times of stress, but the symptoms are clear then.  I wouldn't have thought this, but two of my children are on the Asperger's spectrum and it is passed genetically through the male.  (If you don't know about Asperger's or "the spectrum", think of it as a mini-autism.)

When I am very stressed, I can't have people touching me or near me.  I can't have people talking to me.  I feel as if there is a weight of details about other people's lives that rest upon my neck, shoulders and back and every time someone talks to me to tell me their problems or to give me solutions to my problems or whatever then it is another pebble placed upon the huge weight of pebbles already on my back.  When I feel that weight, I cannot look at people's faces because it is overwhelming for me.  And I might, although this is rare, yell at someone or snap at them or even push them away, because they are overwhelming me.  A person can see I am overworking and they will ask if they can help and I will snap a rude answer back because them asking just adds to my burden.

This is all very Asperger's.  When we see someone like this, and it only displays occasionally, we can think of them as rude or as having a bad day or if they aren't always like this we can make up excuses for them.  Really, we need help.  There is a weight that no one sees that we wake up to every day. Often we just don't know we do.

If this is my problem-- and it has yet to be formally diagnosed-- then I have been doing my work wrong for the last ten years.  I need to have balance between working with people and working without people.  I need extra time to process the details people are giving me, so it doesn't overwhelm me.  And I need a place to go where no one else is.

This was my primary assignment from my spiritual director.  Find a place of peace without anyone else around where I can be comfortable and rest... even sleep if necessary.  Not to add to my burden with additional prayer, but to just be who I am for a few hours without forcing myself to conform to another person's standards.  Because my soul is homeless, just like my friends.  It has no place private to be.  I need a space with no internet, no one interrupting, no one telling me that they just have one little thing to ask me.  Just peace and quiet.

I did this for a few hours this week, and it helped. Somewhat.  I'll have to work out what this means for my future work, but I think I'm getting to a place where I understand what is going on with me.