The 410 and one of the many reasons I do what I do.

     On the corner of 4th and 10th in Minneapolis stands a garden. I posted 4 pictures of it the other day, well 3 pictures of the garden and one of what seems to be the only remnant of  the 410 left. What is the 410 you may ask. It was a homeless shelter for women and children in at one time was noted as the worst part of  Minneapolis back when it was first called 'murderapolis'. It was the place that I at one time, called home.
    It was once a large brick building that had old lettering on the side like the old Greyhound staions, except in large blue and white letters that spelled out 'Hotel' on the corner that faced the intersection of 4th and 10th. It sat next to the Sir Francis Drake, which was a homeless shelter for men. I being a teenager went to the 410. I remember going to a place called 'Profect Offstreets' which used to be over by the art gardminutesens right off of Lyndale. I met with a counselor who doubled as my 'advocate'. I only met him once, and his most supportive words to me were, 'either get tough or die kid'. After that it was off to the 410, making my way down Hennepin Avenue to find my way 'home'. My first 10 minutes there I witnessed an assault where a man cut a woman's face from temple to jaw with a bottle, and as I quickly escaped to the 'safety' of the elevator, I had a guy put a gun to my face, and tell me that the color shirt I was wearing was not welcome in the building, so if I ever wore it again around there, he'd blow my head off. I got to my room with my duffle bag and met my roommate who told me, 'Welcome to Hell'. I was pretty much shell shocked from my first 10 minutes. I learned the ropes quickly, what to do and what not to do. What would get you killed, and how you could survive. I witnessed so many acts of violence at such a horrific level that I truly believed that I was in Hell.
    The hardest thing for anoyone homeless, is that people stop seeing you, we've all done it, pretending not to see the person at the intersection, averting our eyes, or any other excuse that we have to not have to look upon people's misfortune. I had gotten to the point where I felt I no longer mattered, I no longer existed, I was a ghost in life, just passing through, not being seen, not being heard, except by those who were also caught in the strange cynical universe of homelessness and facelessness. It got to a point where I had had enough. I was done. I decided that I would live one more day, a really good day for once, and then leap from my room to my death so many feet below.
    I remember waking up happy, I was going to be leaving this cruel world, I was going to be 'free', my life didn't matter anyways, so I would just be out of pain and that would be that. I got dressed, and proceeded to take the elevator down to the street level and head out the doors to face my final day. It was a sunny day, and I had walked out the door just in time to catch a glimpse of the procession of the school busses. They would come by every morning, bus after bus, I would watch them drive by and then start making my rounds. This day I found myself staring longingly at them. I was never 'excited' to get on a school bus, but at this moment, I had never wanted to be on a school bus more in  my life.
    I watched as bus after bus passed by staring at all of the faces of the kids as they stared out into nothingness, they wanting to be off of the bus just as much as I wanted to be on it. That's when it happened. I couldn't tell you what school it was for, what numbers were on the side, or even what number it was from the end, maybe 3rd or 4th from the end. There she was. A black girl, about the same age as me, she had braids in her hair and a yellow shirt on. As I noticed her, she smiled at me and waved. I simple random act of kindness, and that was all that it took, I decided that life was worth living. The sidenote to the pictures, that slab of busted concrete, was below my window. That's approximately where my body would have impacted when I had lept to my doom. I remember staring at it from so many stories above.
     I stood at that site the other day with one of my brothers from along the way and sobbed, it was the first time I had set foot anywhere near that property in over 20 years. I had dodged it for that long. I thought it was beautiful that where once so much pain stood, that now a garden to help support the food shelves stands.
    One more note. The little girl with the braids, will probably never know that her second of reflecting Christ's love saved my life and that every second of my being after that is because of that moment, so in that, never underestimate what happens in a day. Something that may seem insignificant to you, a common courtesy, just the right thing to do, may affect someone's life in such a profound way, and not only be a 'warm fuzzy', it just may save a life. I love each and every one of you and God does too. LLLAKYFOTPA XD

One More Thing

   I have a hard time asking for help for myself. I would much rather ask for someone else other than myself. One thing that is essential for me in the field is a working laptop, not only to be able to document people and places along the way, but to be able to write what I write when the moments hit. I have tried many other methods and means, but as some of you who have followed my 'writings from the road', 'randoms', and any other of my stuff along the way, for some reason it is just the easiest for me to be able to type it out on a keyboard, I'm not sure why, but it is what it is. The other issue with that is that I must strike when the iron is hot, otherwise my thoughts tend to get lost in the wind, and is either never conveyed as well as when the emotions are fresh in my skull, or, it never gets written at all. My last laptop unfortunately was 'built incorrectly' as I was told by a good friend who attempted to fix it, when it was rebuilt, a necessary heat shield was not placed inside causing the board to overheat and fry it. So, in that, I need a laptop to be able to accurately document things when they happen, as they happen. I am putting this out there in the hopes that I can hopefully find a solution, and continue to do the work that I do, the best that God allows me to. I love each and every one of you and God does too. LLLAKYFOTPA

Trials and Tribulations

     I have decided to place my personal writings in Papabear's Den and write work related things into Stories of Hope. I have gotten away from writing lately for personal reasons, well, let's face it, sometimes life gets too busy. For me, one of the first thing I tend to do is focus on other things than my own issues. Why do we do that? I like to think because when standing outsside the box we are sometimes able to better address the issues, the problem with that is that I tend to lose focus on what I ned to do for myself. Sometimes, it is easier to 'dodge' my personal issues. I have been called the 'artful dodger', if something starts slowing or becomes difficult, that I will grab another task that waits in the wings to attack and let the other task become stagnant. The issue with that is that if the issue is not properly addressed, or properly wrapped up so that it can be adequately shelved, it becomes an anchor and not just a shelved item. It can not only become an issue, but can actually stunt forward progression or growth.
     I love my job, I get to be with people and hopefully help them along with the problems or issues at hand, the issue with that, I sometimes have to rip open my ribcage and stare directly into my own fears and past issues on a daily basis. Which can be a good thing, if I let myself look into it and conceptually work at it, but if I take that festering wound and attempt to cover it, without not only addressing it, but taking the time to take out the infection, use the proper salve, and then let it begin to heal, it can become infected and begin to become a larger problem than it was originally. I was once asked, 'what does it take to do what I do?', the best answer I could have at the time, 'be able to have your heart broken 1000 times a day'. Well, in that, there is alot of truth, but at the same right, it can be overwhelming at times. This is one of these times.
    I have not been at the shelters much lately, I have been out in the streets and campgrounds mostly, 'campgrounds?' you may ask. Yes, campgrounds, there are hundreds of campgrounds around the cities, not city or state areas dedicated to swimming, campfires, volleyball, and such, but places, some so close that if you looked hard enough, you would be suprised. I will not give out any locations of such camps, but I will tell you that I have stood in campgounds not only in the cities, but I have yet to find one suburb that doesn't have some type of campsite. Yep, that's right, I have been throughout the metro suburbs and stood in campgrounds. The difference? The city seems to be mostly single adults. The suburbs? Families, yep, families. Too often I have heard the story, mom lost her job, but that was ok because dad still had his, then dad lost his job, we lost the house, and here we are. Why? because, I felt a need to make necessary connections there. My feeling was only accentuated when one of the folks who works for a local shelter asked me, 'Where have you been? I haven't seen you around.'. I replied that I had been in the camps, at which point they asked how many camps. I told them apporximately how many camps and how many people. To that they replied, 'What are they gonna do this winter?! We are already turning people away, and it's summertime, what are we going to do this winter?!'. To which I replied, 'Exactly'.
     Every year, in the most prosperous nation in the world, people freeze to death. How is that possible? How can I be talking about winter on a beautiful August day? I have been letting this fester since the first cool breeze came in from Canada a short while ago. Reflecting on one of the many stories told to me by the brothers and sisters I have met along the way. One of my brother's sat with tears in his eyes and told me how all of the shelters were full, emergency and regular. So, when the MN deep freeze hit, a week of sustained double digit negatives, he was 'lucky' enough to have enough blankets and sleeping bags to hunker under in the abandoned trailer of a semi truck. He would only venture out for a few short minutes to grab ice and snow to put it in his thermos so he would have water, urinating in a bottle under the blankets so he would not be exposed to the elements and 'holding it' as long as he could each time for the other, so he would not be exposed to the elements. Now, I know what many of you are thinking. You may be thinking of the stereotypes that you think of in homelessness. Let me tell you, my brother is so far from that, 14 years ago he was a bike courrier who was hit by a cab while working, it actually made the paper and he carries the story around with him. The cab company settled with him at a standard that most of us would scoff at, but for him, a minimally educated man, who just worked hard and lived minimally, it seemed like a windfall, even if it left him permanently disabled. Now, he lives in a campground, after last winter he has spent most of his summer 'preparing', since for him, 'there's no end in sight, other than death'.
    Worst part, that's just one of the many stories of those who are getting ready for winter. So, in that, this is one of the thousands of reasons that I do what I do. I love each and every one of you and God does too. LLLAKYFOTPA