After over 37 years in ministry, I never cease to be affected by the gratitude of the people we serve when we give them the simplest of things.  When was the last time you were really grateful for a clean pair of underwear, dry socks, a warm coat, shoes with no holes in them, a book bag or a blanket?

I have probably seen this tremendous gratitude for such small things over 1,000 times, but it still makes me think about the material things I really NEED in this life; clothes on my back, food on my table, a roof over my head, and the tools I need to help support my family.  Everything else is a WANT.

Our youth and adult volunteers learn this lesson as well.  One of the things teens take away from their involvement with TOP is an appreciation of their material blessings.  For some, the experience of dealing with people who have so little is life-changing.  They develop a thankful heart.  And a thankful heart often becomes a generous heart.
  

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We served Bethany (name changed) almost every time we had done ministry. She was a young, single mother who came out of an abusive relationship. Child Protective Services took her three children and placed them in foster care. She had a number of issues to deal with but was working to meet the requirements get her children out of foster care. 

My heart broke as she shared her heartache over not having her kids. But her biggest concern was for her kids. They were separated and frequently moved to new homes. Her oldest son had to move five times in less than a year. 

I asked her if we could pray for her. She eagerly accepted. The church’s youth pastor and three of their youth joined me. We stood in a circle, held hands and began to pray. Often youth aren’t comfortable praying with people, but one of them, Caitlyn, said “Hey, God, it’s me” and lifted up Bethany in a heart-felt prayer that moved us all. 

By the time Caitlyn finished, Bethany was sobbing. Caitlyn hugged her and began to comfort her as the tears continued to flow for several minutes afterward. The whole time, Caitlyn held her and softly spoke comfort to her. After a while, smiles and a joyful conversation replaced the tears. 

The two of them sat together for over a half hour, building a bond of friendship and touching each other’s lives in a very special way. Bethany later told me how much Caitlyn’s comfort helped her. Sometimes she despaired of ever getting her children back, but her time with Caitlyn refreshed her. 

This sort of connection doesn’t happen on every trip, but it happens enough that I get to see how we can make a difference. I think more than anything else that I do with TOP, being able to see these wonderful connections is what makes me eager to get to work each day. 

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Sometimes our contribution has been small.  Andre’ had been clean and sober for 6 months when he told us that he got a new job.  We celebrated with him, and asked if there was anything he needed to help him get started.  He told us his job was at a bagel bakery and he had to get up at 3:30 in the morning.  He asked for an alarm clock. Three months later he was off the street. The last time he saw us he said that alarm clock was a job saver and a life saver for him.

In other cases, all we offered was encouragement.  Because of a series of tragic events in his life, Reggie had quit trying to make it in mainstream society.  But the encouragement of young people over the course of 2 ½ months gave him the desire to try again.  Within 6 months, he had his own place and his own car.

And there were times where we did something big.  Through Impact the Valley, we took part in rebuilding the downstairs of Donna’s house. She had used the money she planned for the renovation to survive after being diagnosed with MS and finding she could no longer work.  

I’m not saying this to boast about what TOP has done, but to give some examples of how all of us can make a difference in the lives of others.  The process is simple, but not always easy.  There are setbacks and disappointments.  People we help may keep pushing their “self-destruct buttons” or we may suffer the greater pain of letting somebody down when they really need us.  

And, yes, I could also post here a longer list of names where the outcomes have not been so positive.

Is it worth the risk of our time, resources and emotions?  Absolutely!  Every success refuels us to persevere through the trials and struggles of ministry with the poor.

And it’s not just the people we serve who are transformed.  Our volunteers experience their own transformations.  People who began as the objects of our desire to serve have become our friends.  Sometimes friends for a season and other times friends for life.

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On our first day we saw a man, who appeared to be around 80, slowly push his walker to the area where we were serving. When he came in, the other residents greeted him as Deacon Davis. We helped him gather the few things he said he needed, and he headed back to his room.

After he left, the other residents told us that he started a prayer chapel for them and functioned as their pastor, even though he wasn’t ordained.  I was surprised when they told me he was 95, not 80 as I had guessed.  I got a chance to chat with him when he came back downstairs. What a passion for Jesus!  I was humbled.

Deacon Davis and 10 others were waiting for us when we arrived the next day. The teens impressed me by the way they turned their entire focus onto the people they served.  The time passed too quickly.

It was getting close to our time to leave, so I asked Deacon Davis to pray for the youth before we left.  We gathered around in a circle and held hands. The Deacon had to lean on his walker, so the youth on either side of him placed their hands on his.

Then he began to pray.  It was one of those prayers that makes the earth shake and sends chills up your spine.  God’s presence descended on us like the fog covering a mountaintop. I don’t remember his words, just the power behind them.  When he finished, I looked around to see if the others were as impacted as I was. They were all rubbing their arms. Several of them said “Wow!”  One said, “That was awesome!” Deacon Davis just gave us a gentle, toothless smile.

At worship that evening, the young volunteers got to share their “God sightings.”  Cody, a bright-eyed, gregarious 7^th grader, was one of the first to raise his hand.  He told about Deacon Davis’ prayer and said, “When he was praying it was like fire shot through my fingers.”

I know our young volunteers blessed the residents of Shockoe Hill Apartments through their provision of food and other needed items as well as through their presence and company. But I think most of them would tell you that, on that day, they received a lot more than they gave.

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It’s not easy to “beat the street.”  The road to a better life is full of obstacles and setbacks.  I know dozens of people who have succeeded in moving out of the homeless life. They faced the same setbacks as others, but they never gave up.  Lots of people throw up their hands and say, “What’s the use?” but the ones who make it keep pushing forward.  When they get knocked down they pull themselves back up, scraping and clawing for any advantage they can find.

Denise and Lavelle pursued every avenue they could to find affordable housing.  They left no stone unturned. It reminded me of Jesus’ parable of the persistent widow who pestered the judge until she got her justice.  Bob (homeless for 30+ years) worked for a landscape company that paid cash under the table.  The first week his boss didn’t pay him, he left.  For the next month, he wore out a pair of shoes walking the streets, looking for a job.  Finally, he landed a good job as a plumber’s helper for a big contractor.  He still holds that job 14 years later and is still off the street.   

After reflecting on the conversations I had with these friends who have overcome homelessness, I concluded that three changes happened in their lives and in the way they saw themselves.

• Somebody believed in them.
• They believed in themselves and saw themselves worthy of a better life.
• They had something bigger than themselves to live for.

Somebody Believed in Them

People trapped in poverty too often believe they can never make it.  When they reach deep inside themselves for strength and determination, it’s not there.  They need someone outside of their peer group to look them in the eye and say, “I know you can make it.” Here is where I have seen young people shine in their ministry with the poor.  For Bob, it was Esther.  For David it was a group of girls who he came to see as his little sisters.  In my experience, this is the foundation for a new life.  It can still take years, but we can plant that seed of hope.

They Believed in Themselves

It’s sad and frustrating to see someone so close to making it off the street they can touch it, only to push their self-destruct buttons and fall back into homelessness.  Rob, who was just two weeks from a new job and a new life, succumbed to the temptation to revert back to drugs.  A few weeks later he told me this: “I gotta start seeing myself the way you all see me.  I’m a good guy.  I deserve better.  I guess I just haven’t believed that yet.” At some point, homeless people need to “own” the words of encouragement they get from others.  Once they believe that they are worthy of success, they have taken a huge step toward a better life.

They Had Something Bigger than Themselves to Live For

It’s important to have a compelling reason to push through the disappointments and setbacks the homeless experience as they work to beat the street.  That “something bigger” can be a significant other, children, or grandchildren.  But for most of the homeless people I know who have made it, that something bigger was Jesus.  When Jesus defined His own ministry with the poor, it was to preach the Good News.  We should take every opportunity to follow His example and introduce people to the One who can pull them through those times of discouragement and disappointment.

Building on the Foundation

Once the foundation of these three essentials is in place, we can build on it to overcome the other obstacles poor and homeless people face: lack of education, life skills, interpersonal skills, job skills and work ethic, as well as entitlement mentality and addictions.  But that’s a topic for another day.

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It was a beautiful, sunny day in 1988. Our dedicated group of TOP’s founders and I parked our van at a corner of Lafayette Square behind McKenna’s Wagon, the food truck for homeless people. The White House was across Pennsylvania Avenue from the park.

When we started unloading bags of clothes, some of the people who were lined up for food came over to see what we had. Those folks got what they needed and returned to the food line as a second group joined us after they got their meals.

The second group was more talkative.  They thanked us for bringing clothes and engaged in the usual small talk. One of the men stood by, listening to a conversation I was having. When there was a pause, he blurted out, “What we really need is underwear! Nobody brings underwear. When we get a pair, we wear them until they fall apart, then we go commando. Why, I’m going commando right now.”

It had never occurred to us to bring underwear.

That was the first of many times we learned of needs that weren’t being met. We already knew about the demand for socks, but another conversation taught us to bring mostly white socks.  The dye in socks can make people break out in a rash if they have to wear them too long. I would have never thought of that.

Four years ago, David, our DC Ministry Director, spoke with a woman in McPherson Square, just a couple of blocks from the White House.  She was quiet and reserved, but David could tell from her expression something was bothering her.  As they spoke, he noticed her slip-on shoes were in bad shape. She never mentioned them and was grateful when he offered to get her a new pair.  Although she usually kept to herself, she made a point of speaking to David whenever she saw him after that.

At about that same time, our old friend, Duke, asked for new pair of steel-toed boots so he could get a new job.  Duke had worked with temp agencies and was on Social Security Disability but could never make enough have stability in his life.  This opportunity was a game changer for him that paid him well. We got him a pair of work boots.  He started his new job the next week.

These are just a couple of examples of ways we were able to meet specific and important needs of the people we serve simply by taking the time to listen. 

Since 1987, we have reunited homeless people with their families, provided specific material needs, and referred them to other agencies for jobs, housing, legal help, and medical assistance. Our youth volunteers have led people to Christ, given them motivation to kick addictions, and even stopped a man from committing suicide all because we took the time to listen.

Most groups that serve homeless people hand out stuff and leave.  My heart breaks for them. They miss opportunities to impact people in a transformational way and miss the blessings they can receive through these special relationships. I wouldn’t trade places with them for anything.  

I’m so glad we learned about white socks, shoes, and underwear.  

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The pouting woman, alcohol in hand, seemed to be trying to prove to me that she needed none other than beer and headphones to make her happy. I couldn’t tell why I continued to sit with her; I felt awkward sharing the long silence together. Something kept telling me that, although this woman seemed to have zero desire to chat, I needed to stay with her anyway. Eventually, I took a second shot at starting conversation.

All morning prior to arriving at Monroe Park, I had prayed this prayer: “Lord, break my heart for what breaks Yours.” What was to follow was no-doubt an answer to that prayer. As I was asking Miranda questions, she blurted out that she’s been a victim of domestic violence for the past 16 years. She told me that she had never shared this with anyone before; I was blind-sided with her sudden openness. As she began sharing her story, her expression transformed from mistrust to softness, to buckets of tears.

Her story is repulsive, heart-wrenching. Her boyfriend has physically abused her in ways that I cannot even fathom. His most recent abuse was lacerating her whole thigh and groin, supposedly to prevent her from cheating on him. Miranda is 7 months pregnant, too, with her fifth child. I met her in her final attempt to run away from him.

Miranda and I sat together, crying, and eventually one of my middle school friends, Kayla, joined us. Kayla & I had no idea how to help her, aside from giving our ears to listen. Yet the Lord works in tremendous ways. One of our adult leaders had been through a similar situation with her ex-husband, and she was able to relate perfectly to Miranda, offering her wisdom and guidance that I would never be able to give. She shared with Miranda particular Psalms that were significant to her during her own past. Between sobs and the steady, repetitive phrase “I’m so scared,” Miranda listened.

We offered Miranda the practical help that she needed. Our adult leader drove her to the hospital, where she was readily admitted for prenatal care. As Miranda got up from the bench, she threw away her half-finished beer. Earlier she had told us that there was absolutely nothing to appease her pain and loneliness but alcohol; now she was hopeful for change.

After Miranda was driven away, I suddenly realized that about ten middle school students had been listening to our conversation and were deeply moved. We then started one of the most powerful prayer circles I have ever been in. I think we all felt so much love for Miranda that we practically stumbled over each other’s words to insert prayer after prayer. We finally stopped praying 15 minutes later. I have rarely seen kids bond so intensely, particularly over such selfless love for another person. My conversation with, and ensuing prayers for Miranda were by far the most rewarding part of the Jeremiah Project.

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The pouting woman, alcohol in hand, seemed to be trying to prove to me that she needed none other than beer and headphones to make her happy. I couldn’t tell why I continued to sit with her; I felt awkward sharing the long silence together. Something kept telling me that, although this woman seemed to have zero desire to chat, I needed to stay with her anyway. Eventually, I took a second shot at starting conversation.

All morning prior to arriving at Monroe Park, I had prayed this prayer: “Lord, break my heart for what breaks Yours.” What was to follow was no-doubt an answer to that prayer. As I was asking Miranda questions, she blurted out that she’s been a victim of domestic violence for the past 16 years. She told me that she had never shared this with anyone before; I was blind-sided with her sudden openness. As she began sharing her story, her expression transformed from mistrust to softness, to buckets of tears.

Her story is repulsive, heart-wrenching. Her boyfriend has physically abused her in ways that I cannot even fathom. His most recent abuse was lacerating her whole thigh and groin, supposedly to prevent her from cheating on him. Miranda is 7 months pregnant, too, with her fifth child. I met her in her final attempt to run away from him.

Miranda and I sat together, crying, and eventually one of my middle school friends, Kayla, joined us. Kayla & I had no idea how to help her, aside from giving our ears to listen. Yet the Lord works in tremendous ways. One of our adult leaders had been through a similar situation with her ex-husband, and she was able to relate perfectly to Miranda, offering her wisdom and guidance that I would never be able to give. She shared with Miranda particular Psalms that were significant to her during her own past. Between sobs and the steady, repetitive phrase “I’m so scared,” Miranda listened.

We offered Miranda the practical help that she needed. Our adult leader drove her to the hospital, where she was readily admitted for prenatal care. As Miranda got up from the bench, she threw away her half-finished beer. Earlier she had told us that there was absolutely nothing to appease her pain and loneliness but alcohol; now she was hopeful for change.

After Miranda was driven away, I suddenly realized that about ten middle school students had been listening to our conversation and were deeply moved. We then started one of the most powerful prayer circles I have ever been in. I think we all felt so much love for Miranda that we practically stumbled over each other’s words to insert prayer after prayer. We finally stopped praying 15 minutes later. I have rarely seen kids bond so intensely, particularly over such selfless love for another person. My conversation with, and ensuing prayers for Miranda were by far the most rewarding part of the Jeremiah Project.

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The pouting woman, alcohol in hand, seemed to be trying to prove to me that she needed none other than beer and headphones to make her happy. I couldn’t tell why I continued to sit with her; I felt awkward sharing the long silence together. Something kept telling me that, although this woman seemed to have zero desire to chat, I needed to stay with her anyway. Eventually, I took a second shot at starting conversation.

All morning prior to arriving at Monroe Park, I had prayed this prayer: “Lord, break my heart for what breaks Yours.” What was to follow was no-doubt an answer to that prayer. As I was asking Miranda questions, she blurted out that she’s been a victim of domestic violence for the past 16 years. She told me that she had never shared this with anyone before; I was blind-sided with her sudden openness. As she began sharing her story, her expression transformed from mistrust to softness, to buckets of tears.

Her story is repulsive, heart-wrenching. Her boyfriend has physically abused her in ways that I cannot even fathom. His most recent abuse was lacerating her whole thigh and groin, supposedly to prevent her from cheating on him. Miranda is 7 months pregnant, too, with her fifth child. I met her in her final attempt to run away from him.

Miranda and I sat together, crying, and eventually one of my middle school friends, Kayla, joined us. Kayla & I had no idea how to help her, aside from giving our ears to listen. Yet the Lord works in tremendous ways. One of our adult leaders had been through a similar situation with her ex-husband, and she was able to relate perfectly to Miranda, offering her wisdom and guidance that I would never be able to give. She shared with Miranda particular Psalms that were significant to her during her own past. Between sobs and the steady, repetitive phrase “I’m so scared,” Miranda listened.

We offered Miranda the practical help that she needed. Our adult leader drove her to the hospital, where she was readily admitted for prenatal care. As Miranda got up from the bench, she threw away her half-finished beer. Earlier she had told us that there was absolutely nothing to appease her pain and loneliness but alcohol; now she was hopeful for change.

After Miranda was driven away, I suddenly realized that about ten middle school students had been listening to our conversation and were deeply moved. We then started one of the most powerful prayer circles I have ever been in. I think we all felt so much love for Miranda that we practically stumbled over each other’s words to insert prayer after prayer. We finally stopped praying 15 minutes later. I have rarely seen kids bond so intensely, particularly over such selfless love for another person. My conversation with, and ensuing prayers for Miranda were by far the most rewarding part of the Jeremiah Project.

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