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.

From The Lord's Rain: "Do you want fries with that?"

"What's the difference between the churches?"

Joseph was in a somber mood, which often happens when he's been drinking, which is often. This is one of a number of people named Joseph that I know through The Lord's Rain. There's old Joe Trepanier; Joe, our new volunteer who stepped up after his friend, Ken Franklin, passed away last November; there's Joseph, who declared a couple of years ago that we were surrounded by Higgs Bosons, because the HB is called the "God Particle" and we are all particles of God; and then there's this Joseph, who knows his Bible well and has the call of an Evangelist on his life -- and has absolutely no idea what to do with it. 

Joseph had come up to me in Pigeon Park, with a look of bewilderment on his face. He also had a fat lip, and it was hard to tell if he had been in a fight or had simply run into something.

“I need you to pray for my brothers and sisters,” he said. When he asks for prayer, it's usually for others first. The Apostle Paul tells us we need to pray for all the saints (Eph. 6:18). We did. 

“Look at my hands, Pastor,” he said. “Look how dirty they are.”

“Come on in and wash up,” I said. “You can warm up, too.”

Joseph usually "sleeps rough", and I'm guessing it's because he doesn't feel safe in the shelters. Many of the homeless people have told me that. One night, I asked Joseph where he was sleeping. "Blood Alley," he replied. "I've spilled enough blood there; might as well live there!" He then exploded with a laugh.

He spent about five minutes with his hands under the water, scrubbing. Eventually, they came clean enough for him, so we sat down and that's when he asked his question.

“What’s the difference between the churches?” he asked.

Even with a load on, Joseph can ask some very probing questions.

“Like,” he went on, “say you’re driving down the road and there’s a McDonald’s … and there’s nothing but McDonald’s all along the road. And what if you don’t like McDonald’s?”

I got where he was going. “But instead there’s Burger King and IHOP and DQ.”

“Exactly. So what’s the difference?”

“So long as they’re using the same basic food on the menu,” I said, “what does it matter?”

Joseph paused for a long time. He was either taking that one in or formulating his next sentence.

“I was an altar boy, you know? Way up north. And my mom used to get me to read. They’d ask for someone to read in church, and she’d push me up there: ‘Get up there and read!’ she’d say.”

“Well, something sure stuck with you,” I said.

Another long pause.

“I went into foster care,” he said.

“What was that like?” I asked, expecting to hear some kind of horror story.

“I was a baby,” he said.

“Oh,” I said.

“But I remember it,” he said. That may have said more about his situation than any words.

===

In the last email, I mentioned Jeremy and how we try to care for him. But there is this violent side that I rarely see, but still hear about. Bill Piggott, who's been part of the Mission since long before I got there, showed up for the Sunday service the week before last with a huge shiner over his left eye. It turned out that Bill had spotted Jeremy outside the Mission on the day after Welfare Day, trying to rob an older man. Bill -- who's about six inches taller than Jeremy -- stepped in.

"Come on, Jeremy," he said. "Not in front of the Mission."

(Why shaking down an older guy would be OK, so long as it was away from the Mission, Bill did not explain.)

He took Jeremy by the shoulders and walked him away, at which point another guy appeared on the scene, and hauled off and cold-cocked Bill, glasses and all.

Apparently, Bill did not return evil for evil, but it does remind one about maintaining that delicate balance between trying to see people as God sees them ... and being ready to duck.

===

An old friend, whom we met through The Lord's Rain, has re-surfaced. Terry came to us in 2010 -- totally used-up, depressed, and on the verge of "doing something I shouldn't". He had been out all night, looking for someone to rob to get another hit of crack cocaine, and had been turned down at every shelter he'd looked at -- including Triage, the last-resort/emergency shelter that will generally find you at least a comfy chair, if not a bed.

John Sharp and I had prayed over Terry, and then we called Triage. And they had a bed for him. He went up there and checked in. From there, he was able to get into recovery programs, and he was baptized at Gospel Mission. Since then, we've more or less lost touch over the past couple of years, but from what he told me yesterday, life now is considerably different -- and considerably better.

Terry has often pointed to that Saturday morning in 2010 at The Lord's Rain as his point of "breakthrough", but the rest of his testimony speaks to two vital truths: one is that the actual turnaround in life is a long, often painful, process; the other is that once God gets His hook in you, that hook is barbed, and nearly impossible to get out.

Terry will be sharing his testimony on Sunday at Gospel Mission. We will post that on YouTube next week.

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?

People Moving Forward ... and a contest

It's hard to believe it's almost quarter-past 2013 -- and harder still to believe it's spring, with snow penning in my mother-in-law in Toronto and the weather here (at least, this past Wednesday, as I started to write this) reminding one of the Two Ronnies gag: "today's weather will be hot in Stott, cool in Goule, choking in Woking ... and those living in Lissing Down are advised to carry an umbrella." And for those coming into The Lord's Rain, the hot showers and/or coffee have been a relief and a blessing.

 

It was similarly awful weather a couple of weeks ago, when I accompanied Frank to OnSite. OnSite is the cousin of InSite, the "safe" drug-injection facility on the Downtown East Side, where nurses keep vigil over people as they shoot up their drug(s) of choice. If someone feels they finally want to take a crack (pun intended) at kicking the habit, they can go across the foyer to OnSite, to see if they have any beds available. Frank has been trying to beat his addiction for years, so this was his latest attempt. I offered to walk there with him and give him moral support. It was 8:30 when we talked and OnSite didn't open until 10, so I told Frank I'd meet him at The Lord's Rain at quarter-to and we'd walk up together. I had a twofold reason: supporting Frank, also to see what was inside the place. As I've expressed before, I'm skeptical of the "harm-reduction" approach, so even a cursory look would be instructive. 

 

It was a good sign when Frank came back to The Lord's Rain at 9:30 -- he was serious. We walked up and stood in line: other addicts, waiting to get their hit. A couple of them started banging on the window around 9:58 (the slight peevishness shown when the coffee isn't quite ready at The Lord's Rain is positively virtuous patience by comparison) and when the door finally opened, they all surged through and were directed to a door leading to the injection rooms. When Frank said he wanted to go to OnSite, he was sent to another counter. Two people ahead of him were told to "come back tomorrow," which was not a good sign; Frank went up and was told the same. I hazarded a question. "What treatment method do you use here?" "Oh, a number of things," was the reply, "like acupuncture, meditation, whatever the client thinks will work." "Does anyone help them make that decision?" "Oh, yes: we have counsellors here."

 

I didn't ask anything more, because I was afraid they might think I was spying and that might have affected Frank's situation, so I just nodded and Frank and I left. We agreed to meet there the next day, just before 10.

 

Frank was there before I was and this time I stayed outside while he went in. There was a curtain over the window looking into the OnSite reception area, but I found an opening and peered through. It gave me a good view of the front desk and I saw Frank wait in line, then step up. A few words were exchanged, and then he turned away and went to a different part of the building and through a door. Had he gotten lucky? I waited another 10 minutes as the rain intensified. A guy standing next to the door was calling out, "jib-jib-jib!" -- "jib" is the street term for crystal meth, and I couldn't tell whether he was selling or looking to buy. Finally, when Frank didn't come out, I squelched away, figuring he had gotten in.

 

That was Thursday. The following Tuesday, Frank was back at The Lord's Rain. "What happened?" I asked. "They said, 'come back tomorrow'." "Did you?" "No." He didn't explain where he went when he went through that other door.

 

I haven't seen Frank since. It strikes me that that particular facility is built on the premise that drug addicts have freedom of choice: that they can choose to come off the stuff, and until they do, the "clean" shooting gallery will keep them alive. Then, when they make that decision that enough's enough, there's a facility to help them. On top of that, the treatment facility gives them a choice as to how to be treated.

 

But doesn't being an addict, by definition, mean that they've surrendered freedom of choice? Anchor House, a treatment facility I visited in Brooklyn in 2007, recognizes that, and the house rules are strict. Pastor Roger Jamison took me around the residential portion. In one room, one of the beds wasn't properly made. "This room is a freakin' mess!" he growled at the man sitting at a desk, reading a Bible. "Get this place cleaned up!" The man jumped-to, right away. In another, there was some artwork on the walls that might best be described as bizarre. "What do you make of that?" Roger asked. "Demonic," I said. I'm not one to look for a demon behind every bush (largely because if you do that, you could miss the ram in the bush), but there was little mistaking it in this case. Roger got on his walkie-talkie. "Can you tell (so-and-so) I want to see him in my office?" Roger extends tough love -- and discipline the residents never had while growing up. The Anchor House premise is that people can get well and don't have to be consigned forever to the life of the addict, but they have no freedom of choice at that point. Eventually, though, as they recover, they get back their freedom of choice, along with their families and their lives. (By the way, the nightly Word-and-Worship service ROCKS!)

 

Do I believe addicts should be forced into recovery? I'm not so sure. Part of me still feels that it has to begin with the person wanting to break out of that existence, and that we have to be ready to support him or her not just with treatment plans but with prayer and encouragement so they know that a better life is not only desirable, it's possible.

 

(How many psychiatrists does it take to change a light bulb? Just one - but the light bulb has to truly want to change!)

 

But the Anchor House experience makes me wonder. As I recall, Anchor House residents are generally people who've been arrested for crimes and are given the choice of the program or jail. Hobson's Choice, really.

 

What I do know is, we as a society can do a whole lot better at helping people who have crashed and burned -- like those on the DTES -- to regain their lives; and I don't think you accomplish that by surrounding them of ways of making the cycle easier -- or "safer". I believe that removes the hope that they can ever be anything but drug addicts. Mind you, if enough people step up to the plate and instill hope in these individuals, you could have a safe injection site on every corner and they'd all be empty.

 

Selah.

 

As for Frank, it's hard to say: he may turn up again; he may try to get into Union Gospel's program. He's been beaten up so much by his addiction -- not to mention his family and himself -- who knows how many more knocks he can take?

 

***

We've been watching others going through their struggles to get clean and free. Michael is planning to go to Day-tox -- another program aimed at helping people get off their substances. Mike's is mainly alcohol, and at age 41, he has an inflamed pancreas and liver trouble -- and some other symptoms he described to me the other day sound a lot like what I went through when my gall bladder finally said no mas! to the fat and salt I'd been loading-up. He suffered a broken collarbone a while back, and the doctors decided not to repair it surgically: they feel that, because he's an alcoholic, there's too much danger that he could fall, re-break the bone, and get an infection. It's not the first time I've heard of that medical decision, but for Mike, it means constant pain and a bone that sticks up crazily beside his shoulder.

 

However, it was also a wake-up call to get serious about recovery. He's also looking into Wagner Hills Farm, which is a Scripture-based recovery program in the Fraser Valley. Stay tuned, and keep him in prayer, as well.

 

Marty is someone else trying to reclaim his life. He was suspended from his job as a teacher for drug use, and a number of other life challenges also took their toll. It's hard to say how well he has the habit under control now, but he's still determined to turn things around. "I thought I could do construction," he told me the other day, "but I'm way outta shape and that's a young man's job. But teaching is what I love." He's putting out feelers to teach ESL or adult literacy around the DTES. We've seen him quite ill, and we've seen him at his best: through it all, he does have a ready laugh (some of my more obscure one-liners in my sermons might go over everyone else's heads, but I can always count on Marty to crack up). We pull for everyone who comes into The Lord's Rain, but one can't help but have extra-high hopes for Marty.

 

And then there's Herbie. Bad knees -- and painkillers -- pretty much shot down his career as a plumber, but over the past year and a half, he's been working hard at building his academic credits. He's setting his sights on social work, and has been learning a lot just by volunteering at The Lord's Rain. Tuesday morning, I gave him directions on how to take SkyTrain to Douglas College in New Westminster, so he could personally hand in his application for courses. He still has to line up grants and scholarships through the various options available on the DTES, but he is a wonderful example of dogged determination and I have no doubt he'll succeed.

 

The trick is to shut out the voices that say, "you can't" -- and sadly, there are plenty of those around the DTES, physical voices as well as endless yammering in one's own head. People can learn from the example of a fellow I heard from this morning. Stu (not his real name) has quite a testimony, which includes a "turnaround encounter" with Jesus Christ, just as he was about to take that Final Step off the Lion's Gate Bridge several years ago. A couple of workplace injuries left him in a great deal of pain and hobbling around, but he was determined to be useful. But there were those voices -- "you can't" -- and finally, Stu simply separated himself from the area. Now, he's been building up a small business doing renovations and installations, and his past is exactly where it belongs: passed.

 

My former employers at the BC Electric Railway Company unveiled a strategic plan just over a year ago, called "Moving Forward": a detailed description of the improvements needed to the region's integrated transportation system. It also -- and this is the really important part -- counted the cost. I think about that expression when I think of the guys around The Lord's Rain who are so determined to bust out of the cycle of poverty and addiction -- especially the part about counting the cost. In many ways, the "cost" involves pushing through pain and frustration, and also giving up that notion of free will, at least until they're free enough to have a will.

 

***

I've mentioned this before: there is an amazing amount of creative talent on the Downtown East Side. A fellow named Dale astonished us one night with his guitar-playing. We had a guest worship leader who sang and played the guitar. After the service, Dale came up and shyly asked if he could try the guitar. Sure, she said. We continued cleaning up, and suddenly, there came the familiar riffs from "Taking Care of Business". Dale, it turned out, was a brilliant rock guitarist, and for a few more weeks, our cleanup time was accompanied by his playing. He never played outside that very private situation. We contemplated getting him a guitar, but because he was homeless and his shopping cart would often get stolen, we figured that wouldn't be a good idea.

 

(Dale was one of the inspirations for The Lord's Rain. Before just about every service, he would make a bee-line for the laundry tubs at the back of the Mission and wash himself, drying his hair with a dish cloth. Ironically, he has never taken a shower at The Lord's Rain.)

 

But there are also many brilliant artists -- many of them Native, who draw and paint wonderful images and scenes. So over the next few weeks, we're hoping to tap that talent with a contest: design a logo for The Lord's Rain. This is Pastor Janet's brainchild, and the submission deadline is April 30 -- the 5th anniversary of the opening of The Lord's Rain. A panel of judges will choose the winner, and the winning design will go on letterhead and signage and anything else appropriate. Some great sponsors have donated prizes, too: a home-made birdhouse, courtesy Janet's uncle, a gift certificate to Army and Navy, and a prize pack from the Vancouver Canadians baseball club.

 

By the way, if you'd like to see some examples of this creative talent, check out www.indianartfromtheedge.com -- it's a project by Marylee Stephenson, specifically to promote and sell work by DTES aboriginal artists, many of whom we know personally at The Lord's Rain. I've always thought their work was undervalued, and now, someone is taking steps to fix that.