You Just Never Know ...

One of the recurring -- and possibly overworked -- points I make when I talk about the Downtown East Side is that anyone is just one misstep away from winding up in a situation similar to the "street people". It might be something obvious or it might be something seemingly minor, that sets off a cascade of events.

I've known Mike since I started at Gospel Mission eight years ago. Nice-looking, pleasant, polite, 40-something, he would sit at or near the back and sing lustily during Worship. He loved singing, and had been in his school's choir in Prince Rupert, which had won awards in festivals.

But as the years went by, one could see changes in him. He'd be prone to outbursts of anger -- not directed at us, but he would come in and bend our ears about the way some of the advocacy groups he was involved with, like VANDU (the Vancouver Area Network of Drug Users) would treat him. He was angry that they would ask him to leave meetings for being disruptive. How he was disruptive was never clear.

Certainly, Mike could be candid and maybe less than judicious in the things he said. When supporters of InSite -- the supervised injection facility -- turned out en masse for a court ruling regarding federal health-care funding, Mike was a no-show. "I missed out on thirty-five bucks," he said, explaining that had been promised to those who came for the demonstration. He then told me that he and others were given box lunches and a trip to Victoria for a demonstration at the Legislature.

Aside from exacerbating Mike's anger issues, the drug use has savaged his physical state, with ghastly open sores appearing on his face. I found it very easy to judge him, saying to myself, "so how are those 'drug users' rights' working out for you?"

Then, a couple of weeks ago, he shared a piece of information.

"My mother died 35 years ago this month," he said. "She, my auntie, my grandma, my sister and brother -- all killed in a car accident. It was just outside Edmonton on Highway 16 and they hit a tanker truck."

That was a jolt. I remembered that crash well. It was one of a number of fatal crashes in 1980 along what the papers were calling "Death Highway". Shortly after that, I had to drive that highway en route to my first radio job, in Lloydminster.

And now, here was someone directly affected by that string of disasters.

He went on. "My grandpa said, 'I got a bad feeling about Mikey going with you.' He didn't want me to go. 'I got a bad feeling,' he said."

"Wow," I said. "So you stayed home."

"Oh, no," Mike replied. "I went. I was the only survivor."

Suddenly, a lot of things fell into place.

So now, it becomes understandable that Mike would turn to drugs as the solution to his pain and his lingering grief ("survivor's remorse" is probably a part of that). Personally, I'm no more in favor of people doing drugs for any reason -- and certainly not in favor of making them "safer" to take. But Mike's experience reminds me that there are so many deep-seated issues that need to be dealt with and frankly, only God can reveal and only Jesus can heal. Anything else is a damned lie.

==

"My mother. Did. What she thought. Was right."

Denise spoke very deliberately, as if she was forcing the thought out of her mouth and into the light. Her mother had handed her over to a children’s aid agency when she was a baby, and her point was that she couldn't hold any anger against her. Mind you, her determined way of saying it suggested she had had a long and difficult time to get to that stage.

Ironically, Denise, herself, parted ways with her children. She talks with them from time to time, and then they go about their lives; but there's still a sense that there are still a lot of gaps in their relationship.

Denise is the one who said, "I'd have to kill you all!" when I asked if she'd share her life story for my "In His Image, Too ..." video project, so this was a remarkably candid revelation. She's in her mid-fifties, petite, still attractive with grey threads through her black hair and has definitely “seen it all”. But she refuses to play the victim and blame the myriad people who could be and are regularly blamed for what happens to our Native brothers and sisters. Instead, she’s what I'd call an actionist – someone who just gets in there and does what she can to help. In her case, it’s serving at the women’s centre on the Downtown East Side, helping other women – particularly the young ones – cope with the situation.

“Just show me a Native woman who hasn't sold her body at some point,” she said recently. Someone had had the face to ask her if she'd ever been a prostitute and she was her usual direct self. But with the annual Memorial March for Missing and Murdered Women about to happen, Denise was equally emphatic that it would have to go ahead without her.

“Nothing changes,” she said, meaning the impact of the marches. “But more than that: I'd like to see a march for missing and murdered men. You never hear about that, but that’s what happened to my husband and I wish someone would talk about that.” But almost immediately, she added, “Not me, though: I'm not goin’ on that crusade!”

Denise believes that handing her over to a child protection agency (ironically, the same one that was under the microscope last year in connection with the death of a little boy in Ontario) was not the right thing to do. And yet, it's clear that the experiences Denise went through as a result have led to this calling on her to help others. Who knows how many people she's blessed, just by being there for them?

I would say Denise has a calling of God on her life: I don't know if she'd see it that way, but I'm reminded of Romans 8:28 "All things work together for good, for those who love God and are called according to His purpose."

==

When we went to Australia in December, we walked around Circular Quay in Sydney (I love the Aussies' directness in many things in their language: it's a quay; it's shaped like a circle; therefore, it's named "Circular Quay") and one of its features is "Writers' Walk". This is a series of plaques, in tribute to the writers from Australia and around the world who have, in one way or another, had a connection with Australia. Alongside Nevil Shute, Jack London, Rudyard Kipling and James Michener, there is this plaque from Kath Walker, an Aborigine who took the name Oodgeroo Noonuccal -- the name of her tribe.

I could tell you of heartbreak, hatred blind,

I could tell of crimes that shame mankind,

Of brutal wrong and deeds malign,

Of rape and murder, son of mine.

But I'll tell instead of brave and fine,

When lives of black and white entwine,

And men in brotherhood combine -- 

This would I tell you, son of mine.

Note that this poem was written in 1964, at about the same time Martin Luther King was delivering his speech, in which he said, in part, "I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood ... that ... one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers."

Eloquence from two different parts of the world, at the same time, with the same thought towards brotherhood, equality and, yes, integration. For what it's worth, it's my own prayer for our First Nations in Canada, because the current situation, I believe, is geared to keep them oppressed -- just in a different way. But it's one thing for whitey, here, to talk about integration and brotherhood: hearing it from the oppressed people themselves, gives it credibility.

"Normal -- except in a bad place"

"Normal"? Well ... 

My friend, Murray Scott, who was one of the builders working on The Lord's Rain, made that observation as he sat in his van, watching the passing scene in and around Pigeon Park. You can hear Murray's observations -- as well as those of Rachel McKinley, Jeff Ridley, John Sharp and Kathy Kinahan -- here. It's been one of the "takeaways" that I have from the project: the fact that, in spite of the obvious differences between the people who live on the Downtown East Side and those who don't, there are a lot of similarities -- perhaps more than one would imagine.

It's that takeaway that's made me less fearful of "gentrification" on the Downtown East Side. It's a wonderful opportunity for integration of what's become Vancouver's version of the "two solitudes". The "good folk" of the city, buying condominia amid the squalor and depression of Hastings Central. If each group could just see and interact with the other, rather than put up barriers of fear and loathing, people might be more inclined to help, encourage and in their way, minister to one another. The "haves" might start to see the "have-nots" as people who do have something to offer them; the "have-nots" might be less inclined to see the "haves" as starlings, waiting for a chance to push them out of their nests.

At least, that's the pipe-dream. The real picture is starting to look more like two solitudes living side by side and barely acknowledging the other -- kind of like the woman who told a Vancouver reporter recently that she went for years without saying more than two words at a time to her neighbors on her floor.

Case in point: ultra-high-end lighting boutique, right across the street from Pigeon Park.

In the background, you can see where some people are camping in one of the openings cut into the hoarding around the old building. (That's the building where two concrete cornices crashed to the ground last fall, leading the city and the owners to say, "Yeah ... I guess it's time to get that fixed!) Somehow, I don't think they'll be buying their lighting from the place across the street.

At the same time, two young men walk a white labradoodle along Carrall Street, but passing by on the other side from Pigeon Park. There's a metaphor for you!

And inside, a young couple finally finds a place to crash after what was apparently a sleepless night.

Even though it's not exactly manifesting right now, I still believe in this "integration" thing. Let patience have her perfect work ... (James 1:4) They're in the same neighborhood, and that's a start.


(Yogi Berra might say, "as long as there's proximity, people will be close.")

Yes, anyway ... how do we get to there from here? This is one case where I will use the word "evolution". The divide is too great to be paved-over by a free barbecue at Oppenheimer Park or a street party in Gastown: you won't get people to mingle at either. A commenter on John Fischer's blog a couple of years ago wrote, "Nothing positive happens until we either allow someone into our sphere or we are invited to enter someone else's. Maybe having one's bubble burst isn't such a bad thing after all." 

The barrier of fear, loathing and suspicion has to come down, and that will only come through time and a conscious effort by both sectors to stop and say "hi". When that happens, each side will recognize that the other is, as Murray put it, "normal" -- and as the contact progresses into better understanding, the "place" will be less "bad".

                                                                                                               

Terry's Tale -- "I'm not a lucky man"

Today is Terry Hill's birthday, so it's fitting that this entry would be his story -- because 5 years ago, there may have been some question as to whether he'd even see this day. 
Terry Hill almost literally stumbled in The Lord's Rain in March of 2010. It turned out to be a pivotal moment in his life, and  ... let's let him tell the story ...

Hello my name is Terry Hill. I am a grateful follower of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I was not always a believer in fact I grew up as an atheist and was raised by atheists. I even married an atheist. Throughout my life I was pursued by God, although I didn’t know it.

           

            At an early age I was molested by one of our neighbors. It was tough because my parents didn't or wouldn't believe me. I ended up growing up on the streets here in Vancouver. I spent my youth running away from anybody and anyplace that I was put. When I was a teen I was locked up in a youth detention Center in Burnaby, BC I was locked up for being a run away. I was told I was unmanageable. While I spent those months locked up I learned how to really survive. I was going to make them pay for locking me up. I would give them a reason to lock me up.

            When I was released from the detention centre I was placed in a foster home. My foster parents were Christian. I thought my foster dad was a freak and kept this doubt that he loved me. He seemed to be too good to be true. His wife also really cared about me. They took me into their home and allowed me to be me they never pressured me into anything. They believed I was a good kid and they trusted that God would show himself to me. I ran from their house many times but they would phone and let the authorities know – not to pick me up, but to watch that I was okay. They knew that I would eventually come home on my own. Just like the prodigal son.  Which I did. But I still didn’t believe in God.

            I ended up being an Alcoholic. I was drinking to kill the emptiness inside me. I met my daughter’s mother at 22 and she and I drank and partied together. She was a prostitute when I had met here. I was fresh out of jail. She quit working the streets when she met me and I was trying to go straight. I wanted to go straight because she became pregnant with my daughter. I went into King Haven treatment centre in Abbottsford not to get sober but to get my back as my drinking caused a lot of problems. It worked for a few months but then I went back to drinking. She left me and took my daughter with her. She always allowed me to see my baby girl and after a while she met another man. I tried everything to get her back.

            When my daughter was about five years old my ex wanted to get out of a bad relationship and move back home to Saskatoon. She couldn’t go unless I allowed it. I guess this was one spot that God had touched my heart because I gave up everything and moved her and my daughter back to Saskatchewan.

While in Saskatchewan, I started working for a roofing company called “Little Rainbow". The motto was “SEALED FROM ABOVE”. Whoa boy my employers were born again Christians!

Rick and Veronica were two of the nicest people I ever met. Rick would always try talking to me about the Gospel and I would joke with him that as long as I didn’t convert I would have job security. I was working there when I met my wife at AA. She was an atheist and we got along. But I was never totally honest with her about my past. When my past caught up with me she left me. And if I hadn't slept with some other woman while we were separated, I might have gotten back with her but that is not what God had planned for me. I ended up running away from that working and drinking I moved away from Saskatchewan and lost track of my daughter.

            By the beginning of 2010, I was highly addicted to crack cocaine. I was no longer working was angry and was at the point in my life where I thought I was better off in jail or dead. I hated me and I hated what I became. On a cold rainy night in March 2010, I was broke, coming down and feeling like crap. I wanted to just rob someone so I could get more drugs. This became one of the greatest nights of my life. I started walking from White Rock towards Surrey looking for someone to rob. I ended up walking all the way to Vancouver that night through surrey New Westminster, Burnaby and Vancouver,

           

            There were numerous opportunities to rob people at the instant tellers along the way, but every time I got a chance a police car would drive by. So I didn’t do it, I wasn’t going to jail without getting high first. So I was sore, wet and angry by the time I got to triage shelter on this cold and rainy Saturday morning in March of 2010. They didn’t have a bed available and I wasn't a really nice guy. They escorted me out to the street. I was defeated – I was going to go to Hastings and Carrall and rip off a dealer I didn't care if I lived or died. I came to Carrall street and this blonde haired man standing in front of a building asked me how I was doing I don’t remember exactly what that conversation was but I remember him smiling and saying, “looks like you’re having a bad day, why don’t you go in and have a coffee?”

He asked me if there was anyone he could call for me but I said I burnt all my bridges there is no one. While sitting there Drew was talking to John at the counter talking about God and Jesus. Well I saw the shelter list and I was going to test their God. I picked up the shelter list and said you can call them and see if they have a bed. I already knew they didn’t.

            “Well,” Drew said to John, “let us pray before we call.”

I remember rolling my eyes into my forehead thinking what have I got myself into. Well, this was the first time I saw prayers answered, and I started to believe there must be a God, because this place had a bed for me.

I spent the next three days there at the shelter and never once wanted to use or drink. On the Monday I started to seriously want to quit drinking and drugging. I ended up going to Union Gospel Mission where I was helped by more Christians. They prayed for me and got me into a shelter out of the downtown core to wait for a bed in their recovery program.

That Wednesday, I came to the Carrall Street Mission and was still in AWE of God’s wonderful power and that evening in front of a small group of people in this room I asked Jesus into my heart as my personal Savior. The power of the Holy Spirit came upon me my knees went weak and I had such a feeling of Love and Joy that I had never felt before, I was given such a high that no drug could get me to.

I remember to this day that feeling and I would like to say that it’s been nothing but good times since then but it hasn’t: I’ve had many days that were horrible and I forgot about the love that Jesus has for me I spent the next few years struggling but I was searching for God’s love mostly in the wrong places I thought I could do things on my own, I have since put my trust in God.

I know now that everything that has happened has happened for the benefit of my good. For He has nothing but good for those that believe.

Today, I am 18 months clean and sober. I attend a Christian recovery group called Celebrate Recovery. I know that Jesus is in these rooms with us healing the broken and the hurt. I thank God for the day that I was so broken that I asked him to deliver me and so far he has been. I pray for all the people stuck in this lost and evil area of addiction and alcoholism that the Lord will bring them into his Grace as well.  I also thank God for my brother Drew and John who God used to soften my heart to actually hear his voice and feel his love. Since coming to Christ, He has brought my daughter back into my life after 16 years and I now have 4 grandsons that I have met and look forward to watching them grow up.

I am not a lucky man but I am truly Blessed by God.

Click here to hear Terry tell this story.

Thank you, Ken!

There's nothing like a dressing-down from a judge to put your life on-track.

"Mr Franklin, you are not a career bank robber. You are a drug addict."

Ken Franklin was up before the beak for pulling 14 bank jobs in a short period, getting more money to buy more drugs. He had fallen in with the dealers and pimps while in a halfway house (yes, the facility intended to get convicts ready to return to society) and, seeing the "cornflakes boxes full of cash" they would bring in and needing to finance his habit, started his spree. Being of slight stature, he also wanted to show that You Don't Mess Around With Ken.

There was also something about the thrill of the chase that Ken found addictive, but when the law finally caught up with him, the words of Judge Harry Boyle made the reality all too clear. 

​

Ken carried a photocopy of that clipping with him in a shirt pocket everywhere he went.

By the time I got to know Ken, he had cleaned up and was part of the street cleanup team hired by The Bottle Depot to pick up trash around the Downtown East Side and would come into The Lord's Rain on his coffee break. One morning in 2011, I had to announce to the group that we had to limit the number of pastries we handed out to two per person. Believe it or not, I felt like I had to apologize for the new regulation, but Ken spoke up as if he was speaking for everyone and said, "That's OK: we appreciate everything you do."

That wasn't the only gesture of support. When he heard on the radio in 2013, that I had been let go from TransLink, he came into The Lord's Rain and growled, "you deserve better". Hello? Someone in a down-and-out area, telling me that I deserved better? Truly, there was something, well, different about Ken.

Earlier this year, Ken asked if he could volunteer at The Lord's Rain. "I got a lot of time on my hands," he said, "and I'd like to help out." He quickly showed he was a natural leader, taking charge without being pushy and showing by example how to treat "customers". As time went on, he told me how he had been Saved while in prison for the robberies, thanks to the female prison guard he eventually married. They had bought and operated the coffee shop at the 108 Mile Guest Ranch in the Cariboo, and it was there that he developed this knack for dealing with people. It was something Danilo sorely needed, and he was starting to develop it, working with Ken.

​

For Gary, has the responsibility of making sure The Lord's Rain is open at 6:30am, Ken was a welcome addition, a reliable extra pair of eyes to welcome the people. He treated everyone with unfailing respect, and it was never better demonstrated than when a mentally ill man "went off" on him one morning a few weeks ago, standing almost nose-to-nose with Ken and threatening him. Ken stood his ground but did not "return evil for evil". His mates on the cleanup crew started calling him Pastor Ken, but with respect rather than mockery, and there was a distinctly different, more up-beat, vibe around The Lord's Rain when he was serving.

In the past few weeks, though, Ken missed the occasional morning, then would come in and tell us he had been ill and couldn't get out of bed. He started losing weight and had trouble eating. "I'm scared," he confided. "I don't know what's wrong." "Have you seen a doctor?" "Not yet." I don't know if he ever did.

No one on the street-cleaning crew saw him for a week, which was unusual. Finally, this past Friday, someone went through the door at his hotel and found his body. It appears he had been gone for about four days.

Dying alone and unnoticed in a skid row hotel: certainly not an uncommon occurrence on the Downtown East Side, and my first thought was to say to Ken, "you deserve better". But while I miss him terribly, and I know the others do, it's tough to be sad because I have a really good idea where he is now, where there is no pain or sickness and he gets a reward that none of us deserves. As The Newsboys put it in their song, "The day he bought those pine pajamas/His check was good with God"*. 

Ken shared his story for a video project I've been working on, called "In His Image, Too ...", and which is currently airing on LivingStrongTV.com, a Christian internet TV station. You'll find the interview here, and Ken's portion begins around 14:30. Unless this part was edited for time, he says at one point that he would like to help others in some way with his own testimony and hope to inspire them in their lives. Judging by the way some of the guys talked about him on Saturday, as the news spread, I'd say he's done that.

Thank you, Ken!

____

*from "Breakfast", by Steve Taylor and Peter Furler

RIPPED FROM THE HEADLINES! (of DUH Magazine)

It's been a long time since the last post, but lots has happened in the interim -- including the news that a study was being launched to see if changing the way welfare is distributed might change drug use habits. It riffs off the conclusion of another study that found that a sudden increase in the amount of available cash appears to lead to an increase in drug use.

What was your first clue, Sherlock? It's axiomatic around the Downtown East Side, that in the couple of days after "Welfare Wednesday", you will see more whacked-out people -- and more-whacked-out people. Our Wednesday night Bible studies at Gospel Mission were turned over to prayer sessions on the last Wednesday of the month, because that was when the Downtown East Side needed prayer the most.

So now, someone apparently got paid to do a study that reached that same conclusion. There are times when I wonder if I'm in the wrong line of work. Forgive me, Lord: that's the worldly (and cynical) part of me coming out.

The new study is to see if the habits of drug addicts will change if they get their dole differently. Some will stay with the monthly payments, but others will be paid twice a month by direct deposit. Will they be less likely to OD if they don't get these sudden cash windfalls? 

The idea appears to have merit, although I can see that there could be logistical issues, such as the cost of changing the system and whether it should be changed for all welfare recipients or just those identified as drug addicts. For now though, Question 1 would have to be, Would it work? 

But I can't help thinking that our citizens would be better served if we took the funds earmarked for these studies and simply GOT PEOPLE OFF DRUGS! Officialdom has lost sight of the fact that recovery is possible -- ever since former mayor Sam Sullivan said, in essence, that drug addicts have as much chance of recovering as he had of getting out of his wheelchair, it seems like health officials have given up. I remember taking Frank from The Lord's Rain to InSite, to see if he could get into OnSite, their recovery facility. They told him, "there's no room: come back tomorrow."

The fact that they did not give him a list of the recovery programs that are available and that work, tells one how serious they are about the health of addicts. 

The fact is, people do recover, and I ran into one such example last week in Abbotsford. An old friend from radio days in Victoria, Jim Leith, had invited me to a monthly luncheon laid on by his church, Immanuel Fellowship Baptist, to give a presentation on The Lord's Rain. As it turned out, one of them had a lot of first-hand experience about The Lord's Rain.

Dave had been a Saturday-morning regular up until a few years ago, and then he just stopped coming around. As I've said before, that can be either really good news -- or really bad news. In Dave's case, it was good news. 

"I heard someone was going to be talking about it here, and I had to come!" he said, as he hugged me. Dave had learned about Immanuel's Friday Night Recovery Program and got plugged-in. Now, he's been sober for three years, clear-eyed, re-connected with his family, joy emanating from his pores; and he praises Jesus for the new life with every opportunity. 

I had planned to end the presentation with a video clip of people talking about what The Lord's Rain has done for them. With Dave there, that wasn't necessary. Not that I'd claim credit for The Lord's Rain for Dave's turnaround, but people can see, first-hand, that people in that situation can, and do, get out of it. I can't describe the exhilarating feeling of seeing someone who's made that turnaround.

Part of his turnaround came by getting the heck out of the DTES, with its constant reminders of the source of his grief and the nattering voice of the enemy, trying to tell him he can never change. Also working in his favor were his own desire to get rid of the addiction(s) and the dedication of one of the leaders of their Friday Night Recovery Program -- a man named John, a former biker and addict, who has walked beside Dave throughout the process. John is one of the leaders of the program and emphasizes that it's "Christ-based" -- not simply affirming a "higher power" (à la AA), but naming that Power (Jesus) and recognizing that without it, one is powerless to change. Having someone to Be There for the recovering person is vital.

The other key ingredient in recovery is hope. One of the harder messages to get across to someone is that being free from an addiction is not only desirable, it's possible. That's not an argument you can make in worldly, human terms. That's where faith and love come in, the still, small voice, quietly out-shouting that nattering voice of the enemy.

===

A couple whom I also had not seen in about three years also resurfaced recently. Shannon and Brannen are two recovering addicts who have held each other up through their various attempts at recovery and the various health issues that have come with it. Brannen is big and looks tough with his tattoos of "dark side" images; but the fear in his eyes was palpable when he would talk about his failing kidneys. Shannon, despite her own problems, has been a rock for Brannen -- and has a whole lotta love for others. We are called to "love the unlovely" and Shannon could give clinics in that. I've seen her spend an hour trying to comfort one man, whose issues include paranoia about the health-care and social workers who try to help him; Shannon has also sat there while a girl has poured out her soul after what's euphemistically called a "bad date" (i.e. she was a prostitute and a customer had just beaten her badly) before motioning to me to come over a pray for her.

Eventually, Shannon and Brannen moved to a place on the south end and got the heck out of the DTES: but they came back to say hello a couple of weeks ago when Brannen had to come downtown for treatment.

"We missed you, the last couple of times," Shannon said as she crushed my ribs. She has a new set of teeth and Brannen was looking good, so I asked him about his kidneys. "They were doing better," he said, "and then they switched me to Methadose." Methadose, I understand, is a more concentrated form of methadone, the substitute drug they give people to wean them off heroin. But it also has side-effects that are different from methadone -- and for Brannen, that meant more kidney failure. "I brought it on myself, man," he said, his eyes starting to redden, "and now I'm paying the price."

===

Seeing Shannon and Brannen, and Dave at the Abbotsford luncheon brought encouragement at a time when it was sorely needed. We had a number of people who came, clearly more drugged-out than usual. Debbie, who had told me this past summer, "I'm off the drugs and I'm never going back!", is back in the lineup for the methadone pharmacy a block away from the Mission; she's also gone back to demanding new clothing whenever she comes in, which suggests she's actually selling what we give her.

Mike, who used to be a bright light at our Saturday evening services, singing heartily during Worship and talking at length about his own journey, has been spinning out of control due to the drugs. His face is ravaged by their effects, almost all his teeth are gone and he rambles angrily, usually to no one in particular, often about being thrown out of community meetings. He is -- or was -- a highly intelligent person. As the old ads for the United Negro College Fund used to say, a mind is a terrible thing to waste.

But as we see with Dave and others who've made that breakaway, it's possible to restore the mind. The Lord told the prophet Joel, "And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten, the cankerworm, and the caterpillar, and the palmerworm, my great army which I sent among you." (Joel 2:25)

===

The man was still crossing in front of the bus when the traffic light went red. At first glance, it would have been easy to write him off as some street drunk, crossing the street whereverandwhenevertheheck he felt like it. But it's a broad street, and it was clear from the way he was moving -- with obvious difficulty -- that he could have started crossing even before the light had turned green and he would have been in the same position. The bus driver waited patiently until the man hauled himself onto the sidewalk. 

Then, as Amelia and I crossed to where he was, he tottered and fell. I went over and helped him up. "I got arthritis in my legs," he said. I walked him over to the bus bench, a few feet away. "Can I pray over you?" I asked. "Hey," he said, "you believe - I believe: I know He's watching over me." We prayed together.

We left him waiting for his bus and Amelia observed, "it never changes, does it?" Because this wasn't Vancouver: it was Portage and Garry in Winnipeg, just on the edge of that city's own version of Skid Row. That part of the windy city now has the trendy name of "Exchange District", hearkening back to its origins as the site of the Winnipeg Grain Exchange and the warehouses that developed around it, the railyards and the river. Apparently, it eventually became a version of the Downtown East Side, and now (surprise-surprise!) many of the warehouses are being redeveloped into modern, hip condos, restaurants and boutiques. Translation: gentrification is underway. I don't know if that word evokes the same visceral reaction that it does in Vancouver, but it wouldn't surprise me.

The next day, an Aboriginal man walked up to me and, out of the blue, declared, "I believe in Jesus!" He told me his name was Blackie and he went on, "I'm an alcoholic and I believe in Jesus!" We chatted for a while, and I couldn't help remembering the words of another pastor, who said, "if he's always drunk, he can't possibly love Jesus!" I dunno ... how does "love for Jesus" manifest itself? How about, in spite of your current physical state, walking up to a total stranger on the street and declaring you believe in Him -- perhaps knowing you might get a comeback like that?

"I'd have to kill you all!"

No ... that wasn't a verbal threat -- not when it was spoken. It was Denise's way of politely declining a request.

Let me explain. 

Late last year, I mentioned that I was starting a project to record and preserve the stories of people on the Downtown East Side -- where they came from, where they were going when something went sideways in their lives, what they saw themselves doing a year down the road. The project is called "In His Image, Too ...", and the idea is to make the point that there are really a lot of similarities between the haves and the have-nots in our society -- or, as I've said before, any one of us is one slip-up away from winding up on Skid Row. If more people hear their stories and realize that, then maybe they'll be more motivated to help lift others out of poverty.

I started the project by getting Kris Cronk to talk and the result was promising. But it's been difficult convincing others to tell their stories, and the reason becomes very apparent: for many, it's too painful to go back over the past. That's the way Maggie put it, when I asked her if she'd share (Maggie is a 50-something woman who lived in the doorway of a restaurant for about a year while her SRO hotel room was renovated); Richard grew up in the notorious Indian Residential School system, and boiled his experience down to one word: "unspeakable"; others just shake their head; some give dark hints about what might happen if the wrong people were to see their faces; Junior laughed sardonically and muttered something about having 3 AK-47s at home that he might use some time. 

Then there was Denise, a lovely woman, now in her 50s and still quite pretty despite having lost most of her teeth. She works at one of the women's centres on the DTES, helping other women who have gone through experiences similar to hers.

Would she share those experiences for the camera? "Oh, no!" she said. "Someone in one of those 'groups' asked me to tell my story and I said, 'Forget it! I'd have to kill you all!'"

I don't think they're unaware that their stories could help others, but it's hard for so many people to talk about their past. So many of them try to escape it: why go back and revisit it? 

I have another reason for wanting to collect these stories: I've had too many people die in that area -- like Tina, Barry Smith, Pete -- without others knowing what really neat people they are. This project might help.

An internet TV outlet has offered to broadcast two of these videos, and maybe more. LivingStrongTV.com is based in South Carolina and its mission and the concept of "In His Image, Too ..." appear to fit nicely. I'm currently editing a second video and this half-hour show should be put together by the end of the week. I'll let you know when it's online.

(CRASS PROMOTION ALERT: I'm currently using an online crowdfunding tool to cover the production costs. If you have a mind to, please take a look at the website: http://www.faithlauncher.com/projects/761-in-his-image-too#/.)

===

If "In His Image, Too ..." is an attempt to alter preconceptions about people on the DTES, Kris' new project is another. He brings in some additional income by selling "Megaphone" magazine on the street. "Megaphone" is a "street paper" -- basically, a mouthpiece for the urban poor -- and people like Kris sell it for $2 a pop. Kris' turf is around Dunsmuir and Seymour streets, in the downtown business area and close to some of the English-language schools that serve foreign students. Many of these students tend to gather outside a 7-11 store at that corner during their breaks, smoking and chatting and practicing their new language.

One day a couple of months ago, Kris saw some of the newcomers on a walking tour, and they passed by a panhandler. The guide told them, "you'll see these people: don't give them money, because they'll only spend it on drugs."

Kris was peeved. It hurt, he told me, because he felt that was unnecessarily putting fear and a wrong idea into the heads of the newcomers, and he decided to do something to counter it. He's met some of the teachers at those schools, so he went to one of them to ask her if he could give a talk to her class about the "real realities" of the streets of Vancouver. She agreed, and he's now given one talk, has another scheduled for the coming week, and other teachers are interested, too. 

Kris has also written "The PESt Handbook", where PESt means "Pre-Emptive Strike". He describes it as hints for dealing with panhandlers so that they don't become a nuisance. Carry extra cigarettes, for example; keep a couple of $2 coins on-hand and offer it before the person asks, and then on subsequent encounters, they'll be less likely to bother you. The over-arching principle, Kris says, is not to judge people. 

I certainly agree with the premise, although I'm not sure about some of his solutions. Still, here's a great example of someone going beyond complaining about society's attitudes and actually doing something about the situation. Good on 'im.

===

The loss of Robin Williams gets one thinking about depression. Heaven knows, I've felt depressed, but I look at the state of people who've been pushed beyond the brink -- like Williams and my old friend Peter -- and I figure I must be OK. This much I do know: hanging out with "the guys" around the Mission has been a great anti-depressant. This isn't to say that when I feel down, I look for someone in worse shape than I am so I'll feel better; it's that so many people I know there have a lot of reason to be depressed and they somehow keep smiling and joking and hanging in.

Johnny is a case in point. He was Tina's boyfriend/husband/ol' man (marriage has rather a loose definition on the DTES), and we had to rally round him when she died suddenly two years ago. He's in his late 50s and still works, doing janitorial jobs. He came into The Lord's Rain this morning and announced he'd met a woman he'd been involved with 20 years ago and the two of them had found a place in the East End -- far away from the DTES, which was a relief to him. Cecil is missing one leg and gets around on a wheelchair: I don't hear him complain - he's generally good to have around. 

And then there's Bandit, who turned up at The Lord's Rain last Friday.

"Hey - you don't got no pants on!" 

Danilo, with his keen powers of observation, had spotted the essential deficiency in this man's wardrobe. He was tall, skinny, with a scraggly beard, wearing a black t-shirt and, aside from what appeared to be a pair of Depends, that was about it.

Oh, yes - shoes. He did have shoes on.

"Why don't I find you a pair of pants?" I offered. "Sounds like a great idea," he replied.

All I could find was a pair of women's slacks. "I'm not sure what kind of fashion statement we're making here," I said. "Hey - I'll make 'em work! Thanks!"

He pulled on the slacks one-handed, and I realized his left arm was useless, hanging from his shoulder like a clump of over-boiled linguine.

He came in the next morning, wearing the same t-shirt and a pair of filthy jeans. "I found these in the laundry pile," he said. "I better do a wash soon." 

"What's your name, bro'?"

"Around here, they call me 'Bandit'."

"Bandit."

"Yeah." He moved his shoulders from side to side, making the left arm swing like a pendulum. "This thing's useless, eh? So they started calling me ... [I said it with him] 'One-Armed Bandit'."

He explained that he'd lost the use of the arm when a motorcycle hit him about 15 years ago. He said it with that touch of irony that says that there was nothing he could do about it, so might as well laugh. 

And so it is with many of the people in the area: an ability to keep going when so much of The World might wonder what they had to live for. In a roundabout way, it reminds me of Paul's words to the Colossians: "To them [that is, to His saints, or those who believe] God willed to make known what are the riches of the glory of this mystery among the Gentiles: which is Christ in you, the hope of glory." The operative word is "hope".

The Lord's Rain at 6: "We couldn't get by without it!"

In the flurry of events over the past two months, it was anti-climactic for us to look at one another last Friday (May 2) and say, "Oh! The sixth anniversary was on Wednesday!"

Nonetheless, April 30 marked six years since we fired up the water heater, put on the coffee and switched on the ersatz neon "OPEN" sign for the first time. Now, more than 6100 showers have been taken, which, given our limited opening times (especially in the early going), is a pretty impressive figure. The space has also served as a place where people with disabilities can take part in the services -- particularly the Sunday afternoon services -- thanks to our closed-circuit TV system.

It was Marty, the once and future teacher -- still working towards his ESL-teaching ticket -- who gave the frank assessment of the way The Lord's Rain meets a basic need on the Downtown East Side. "There are so many places around here, where the showers don't work," he said. "One place I was in: I would wait until 3 or 4 in the morning, when the cleaning guy would do my floor, and as soon as I'd hear him go, I'd get up and rush in there and have my shower. Otherwise, you're stepping over needles and feces and ..." He trailed off, seeing that I got the picture.

It all comes back to the initial thought that got the ball rolling -- the summer evening 10 years ago, when I walked into Rainbow Mission for the first time and was hit by a human stench like a 50-lb sack of poi -- "how can people live like this?" Answer: they can't, and when the Lord brought all the elements together -- the people, the finances and the supplies (the people, especially) -- to make it a reality, starting in the fall of 2007.

No, that's not true: we only started to see it in the fall of 2007. In preparing presentations for various groups (most recently, a youth group at Hope Chapel on Maui -- hence the reference to poi, above), I've spent quite a bit of time reverse-engineering the process that led to The Lord's Rain being built, and I've realized that elements were put in place decades ago. I like to refer to the directions for the building of the tabernacle by the Israelites after they'd left Egypt. Huge amount of pure gold are required, but where would they get it? Answer: it was the gold they'd taken from their Egyptian neighbors. They may have thought it would be for trading once they reached the Promised Land, but in reality, God intended it for the tabernacle all along. In the same way, the preparations of one's heart, the connections and the "chance" encounters over many years have led to this point -- and who knows what else?

If you look back over much of your own life, you'll probably see how the connections have unfolded -- seemingly unrelated connections, too -- that all fit together. In other words, God puts His ducks in a row long before we even know there's a pond.

The Lord's Rain has meant different things to different people, as you can see in this clip. We've also seen people grow out of their past lives and become the servers where they used to be the servees. Herbie, Gary, Danilo, Joanne ... all have stepped into roles that are showing them that they're able to help others, and do so with a measure of compassion because they've Been There, too.

The Lord's Rain has also afforded Janet the opportunity to grow into the role that God has for her. She took on the job of Assistant Pastor and leader of The Lord's Rain in the fall of 2012 and has helped develop Ladies' Day (Monday mornings) and opening times in afternoons and middays. She is one of the most loving and compassionate people I know, dedicated to the Mission and its people; her ability to speak into people's lives astounds me.

"Pastor, come out here!"

Barbara is a 50-something woman who gets around on a walker. She usually just comes in to get a coffee and leave, but this time, she only stuck her head in and called to me. She evidently figured the street was more "private" than The Lord's Rain, and she's probably right. I came out and joined her and Lisa, a woman who looked only slightly younger. 

"We're burying my brother today," she said. "Will you pray for me?" Of course. "And I also found out my other brother died around Christmas and they didn't tell me because I have a bad heart."

As we talked and prayed, it turned out that Lisa was Barbara's granddaughter. 

Granddaughter?

I had taken Lisa to be a good friend or possibly a younger sister. Such are the ravages of drug use - premature aging, losing teeth, etc. This is why I have little time for those who promote any kind of treatment for drug abuse that doesn't get the person off drugs. It's chic to sneer at the Americans' "War on Drugs", but -- and I know I've said this before -- the "non-aggression pact" Canada has pursued with drugs hasn't been much use, either. 

I can't remember seeing Barbara come to the Mission services, either upstairs or on the TV hookup downstairs. But even though we've made a point not to be overtly evangelical at The Lord's Rain, people still know they can get comfort -- or just unload their troubles on someone -- there. It's an ongoing "service" that we never thought we'd be providing -- along with the showers.

Connections ...

Pastor Reggie, outside the strip joint in the Bronx
(nicked from NY Daily News)

Reggie Stutzman, who was pastor at the Bowery Mission when I made that "fateful" visit in 2007 and saw their showers facility, has a challenge in front of him: trying to claim a building for the Lord in South Bronx. Reggie's current church, Real Life Church, in Hunt's Point, needs a permanent space and they've been trying to raise the money to buy a building currently occupied by a strip club.

It's not dissimilar from the way The Lord's Rain came into being. Our storefront space at 327 Carrall Street was formerly occupied by an anarchist organization (isn't that an oxymoron?) and before that, a drug-needle exchange and supervised injection site (prior to the opening of InSite, further up the street). Truly, God claimed this building for His own purpose, so there is a precedent for Him to do the same in the Bronx. I'll pass along any updates.

When people know ...

In the six years that we've been working on The Lord's Rain, there's a phenomenon I've seen repeatedly: when people know about it, they want to support it. People want to help out with the situation on the Downtown East Side, but in tight economic times, they want to make sure their money has an impact. When they see a facility dedicated to helping the urban poor and that is demonstrably helping to bring change to people's lives, they want to get on board.

In 2013, we nearly had to close The Lord's Rain due to lack of funding, but all it took was a little bit of media exposure, and people rallied round. Less than a week after stories broke in Metro and on CityTV, we had enough to keep going for over another year. Other items on Radio-Canada and in The Province helped a lot, too.

Now, a new financial blessing will provide another opportunity for people to contribute, knowing that their dollars will be doubled. The R. Howard Webster Foundation is providing a grant of $10,000.00, and is offering to match funds raised between now and March 31, 2014, up to an additional $10,000.00. In other words, this could generate as much as $30,000.00 -- enough to keep The Lord's Rain alive until almost the end of 2015. 

What I really like about this, is that it helps us meet short-term financial needs (the arrangement takes effect in June, when another grant is due to run out) while maintaining what I believe has been the key to the success of The Lord's Rain: "collaborative caring". The Lord's Rain has been built and sustained by many people and organizations, bringing what they can, as they can, motivated by a desire to provide hope to people in an area where hope is the most precious commodity.

I intend to start visiting churches and other organizations with the presentation I gave at Westpointe last summer, and if you are led to make a donation, you can do so online at www.gospelmission.net or by mail. Donations specifically marked for "The Lord's Rain" will go towards the fund-matching program. Please make your cheque or money order payable to Gospel Mission Society, and we have a new mailing address:

Gospel Mission Society,

PO Box 98802

The W PO*

Vancouver, BC V6B 0G0

The name of the game is instilling hope in people: Hope in Christ -- the recognition that their situations are not as good as it gets. Without Hope, why would anyone try to get off drugs, seek treatment for their issues, move forward in their lives? The Downtown East Side is too full of hope-destroying things -- reminders of the past, temptations of the present and deniers of the future -- and people need something else to grasp onto. The Lord's Rain helps people find that "something else".

---

*Yes, that's "The W PO". Sounds like a plumbing fixture, but it's a post office (PO) located in a complex called "The W", which was built out of the ruins of the Woodward's Department Store, a block away from the Mission. Part of the complex is the iconic neon "W", perched on an Eiffel Tower-like structure on the roof. Hence, "The W", rather than "The Woodwards Complex". It's likely that, as Vancouverites get more familiar and less talkative, it will become known as "The Dub" ... and eventually, simply "The".