Seeking Salvation?

I'm still processing my latest prison visit. To another sex offender. Against a child. He says he wants baptism.

You know, I saw a Star Trek episode once where the villain told an elaborate, but semi-plausible lie to Lt. Worf for really no reason. It gained him nothing. Worf asked him why. The villain said that lying is an art, and so one must keep in practice.

I thought of that episode as I listened to this 20 year old go on and on about how he was framed, it was a set up, his family was in on it, his public defender let him down. It just struck me, that really, when you're stone cold busted, why not just tell the truth? Or at the least, have practiced lying better?

Because if one must lie, why not use that time in prison to come up with a more creative one? I could, without a smidge of effort, come up with a better story than he did. I don't say that as a brag, though, I'm pretty sure most kids the age of his victim could come up with a more plausible lie, too, and his victim was only four.

Am I being too hard on this guy who in theory is seeking salvation? Hmm...no, I don't think so. In fact, if anything, I am actually quite concerned for him. More than he'd ever know. And I mean, really concerned, like I actually am caring about his welfare, now and in the future.

But I know people. We are our own worst enemies at times. For in almost every progression, there is the pretense of reform, and it comes before any real reform. And this young man is in the "pretense" stage. A stage that doesn't necessarily ever have to end, and if Satan has his way, will never end till the young man dies of old age, and no longer has the ability to repent.

The lie that the person tells to himself - and this applies to all sinners - is that, "Well, I'm not going to do that any more, so what business is it of anyone else what I did do?" Hmm...like most of Satan's snares, that's a plausible one. After all, I don't go around introducing myself by listing out all my sins of the past. I repented of them, I'm done with them.

But I did confess them, in accordance with the spiritual program of AA, to myself, to my Higher Power (God and Jesus) and to another person. I did this so as to not be able to hide - even to myself - that I "really" was a sinner, and not just some dork who everyone was against who has to say crap to get free. The difference between that young man and I is that I don't get to pretend that I was cool all along and then just tacked on Jesus later to be even cooler.

Like he wants to. Like many who have done far less than he - or I - want to.

Now this young man's crime is far worse - as I'd reckon it - from my idiocies involving booze, assaulting a fellow drunk who happened to be an off duty cop and more booze. His crime is far worse than the idiocies - and evil - of mine that I have not chosen to write down in this article, but that God and my wife and I know of and accept. And he's not really repenting. See, if he was repentant, then he'd have to admit it. Imagine if someone asked me, "Dean, are you sorry you were a drunken bum who pissed away family and property and friends?" and I said, "Well, see, I was framed! My ex had it in for me, my folks were never there for me, the sun was in my eyes!" Not much of a repentance. Hard to repent of something when you don't admit the "something".

The real answer is, "Yes. Yes, I am sorry for that. And there's some cases where I'd go tell them personally I was sorry if I didn't think it would cause more harm and more pain to them." Now that I can give that real answer means that I was able to then "really" repent. I was able to accept Christ. And He does forgive me. And thus I do not have to dwell on, or give a play by play to you reading this, or anyone else, as to the nitty gritty of my past sins. Past sins literally washed away, by the Blood of the Lamb.

Back to this man. This 20 year old, in since 18, who in 2 years doesn't have any more learning of himself and his actions then to try to toss out, "Dint do it, lawyer effed me!" like he's starring in "The Shawshank Redemption". And he wants baptism. And to be regarded as having been always good, good all along, and just now going ahead and tacking Jesus on top of all his great goodness.

He wants to be regarded as good, and to be looked up to. A natural enough human impulse. But he wants it without work, without effort, without admitting to any real wrongdoing. Without, in short, real repentance. And that can never work.

He must first burn through Satan's lies - and his own lies to himself. He must know and internalize and deal with the wrong he did to that girl. And the wrong he did to the girl's family, and the extra wrong he does them in lying about them. Heck, when an sinful addict gets really into the steps, the addict knows he must even be sorry for the crap he gave his hapless Public Defender, who was gave a crappy case and couldn't have done a thing with it even if he were Clarence Darrow!

So this young man will have to be sorry to the Public Defender he slanders, too.

Can it be done? Yes. Will he do it? Too soon to tell. I can promise you that he will have opportunity to. That he even recognizes baptism as a good thing helps. Time will tell.

Nevermind me and nevermind him, though. It occurs to me - of everyone who if asked is smart enough to say, "I'm a sinner, too!", do you really know you are? Here's a pro-tip: If all you're going to trot out to others - and yourself - is bad thoughts, then you probably need some further reflection. I've long thought that there are a lot of NON-alcoholics and NON-addicts out there who could really benefit from the 12 steps. Just replace the word "alcoholic" with "sinner" and go from there!

The Right Words

An active addict/alcoholic makes a tentative decision to quit.  Yay!  But what happens from there, you might wonder?

Well, since you ask, we came across a man like that just a few weeks ago!  We gave him food from our Church's food pantry, we took him to church with us, we went to AA meetings with him, we took him into our sober living home because he felt that it would be a better place for him to recover, we even took him out with our group after evening church to dinner at a local restaurant!

Adjustments were needful, of course.  It's never easy at the start.  He had no money, his pay was not due till - well, today, as I write this.  But we could let him stay a week or so till he got paid, after all, given his church attendance and AA meeting attendance, it was clear he wanted to progress.

Then, and yeah, I know you see this coming, payday came, and whoops - he decided to head out to his hometown, hundreds of miles south of here.  No more church, no more AA meetings, certainly no paying back the guy who ran the last place he had stayed at - like he had said he would - and not terribly surprisingly, no paying of me. 

After all, he wasn't going to be staying here any more, so why bother, eh?

Times like these are why that phrase that Mark Twain said about dogs comes so frequently to my mind.  "If you take in a dog, and give it a home and food and love, it will be loyal to you all the days of your life.  This is the key difference between a dog and a man."

Amen, Mr. Clemens.  Amen. 

Yet is it really so terrible?  Are men cut of such a poor cloth, are we as a species truly so deeply flawed?

I'd like to think that we are not so terrible.  The French have a saying, that to understand all is to forgive all.  And given the nature of my own job as a Program Supervisor, and that I'm a recovering alcoholic/addict myself, I think I understand a bit of what prompts this kind of thing.

Is it that he's running off to drink and drug?  Of course it is.  Is it because he's a terribly malignant person who was just scamming all along?  Possibly...but I doubt it.  With alcoholism and addiction, it's not so much the person being "evil" as them being "weak".  And in some cases "uneducated as to the reality of things". 

And partly for some physiological reasons, pertaining to their pleasure center of their brain having been burned out by repeated drinking and drugging.  Or at least habituated to a FAR higher amount of needed stimuli to "register" anything.

A normal person can derive pleasure from a child's laughter, a silly limerick, a nicely scented flower, a clever turn of phrase in a sermon.  Not so for the man used to a bottle of whisky and a vial of coke, and other even less savory hedonistic pursuits involving the kind of women not known for being brought home to momma. 

And such pleasures may be cheap and tawdry, but they are the pleasures many alcoholic/addicts are more used to.

So what happens from the just very recently "recovering" alcoholic/addict's perspective? 

Well, he made a tentative decision to stop all that nonsense, and all at once, with a rapidity that he found astonishing, a church group swoops in to make sure that all his problems will go away.  Need food?  Sure!  Need a new place?  No problem!  Need to not pay for a few weeks?  It's all good!  Need aid in getting a real job?  Sure!  Need a ride?  You bet! 

It's quite a good amount of blessings, and almost in the twinkling of an eye he finds himself sitting in one or the other of my sober living homes.  And whichever one it is, it will be adequate, but poor.  No getting around that, it is what it is.  And the food will be wholesome but unremarkable.  Not much getting around that, either.

And he'll be going to AA meetings and church - both new and shiny, and so the sheer novelty makes that okay...for awhile.

But the few days is now a few weeks.  There is no more "newness" and the shiny has worn off.  The payday from the last silly job is about to arrive.  He owes the last guy.  He owes the man who took him in.  He'll need to pay back some of the other guys he borrowed money from.  When it's all said and done, he'll have jack crap, till later on, when he can get his first paycheck from a job he does not even have yet.

On the one hand, all is pretty good.  He knows that if he finds some job washing dishes that the guy - me - won't boot him just for him needing a few weeks to get that next paycheck.  And he has enough food.  He has, in fact, everything he needs - and absolutely nothing he wants.

And so he sits on his bed, in a room that has no privacy, just another guy in the same boat as he is, and he ponders.  And if we were to synopsize his thoughts, the main one would be - "This is as good as it's going to get."

What a depressing thought.  But he knows.  He knows that all he has to look forward to, from this point on, is that crappy bed in the crappy non-private room, in the crappy sober living home (and they're all crappy) and for entertainment he can go to a meeting, listen to some boring sermon, go to a meeting, listen to more boring church stuff, go to a meeting, or attend yet even more boring church stuff.

And if you're thinking of non-preachy social activities, remember, he has lost the ability to enjoy those without a boost, and nor is he at home with any of the new folks who don't do those things.

And he knows that when he does get a job, it will be crappy.  The hours will suck, and barely give him enough to pay what he needs to pay and save a smidge, so it will take months and months to save any amount at all.  And his boss will be half his age, and be ready with finger snaps at a moment's notice and ever ready with supervisor's favorite phrase, "Hey, ya got time to lean, ya got time to clean!", a phrase first spoke by Ahriman-Hotep to the guys who were supposed to sweep up the dust kicked up by slaves dragging those blocks through the desert sands to make the pyramids.

He can sit at home doing nothing, or he can...do nothing.  His life is work, AA meetings, church.  Church, work, AA meetings.  AA meetings, church and work.  With plenty of boredom and stupid house politics thrown in.  Wonder why sober living homes - and any group homes - and any prisons - have so many petty fights and squabbles?

Boredom.

So now he is pondering his choices.  Persisting in choosing the right course will mean boredom.  Crappy work, no real fun, bunch of stupid meetings, bunch of boring church crap. 

Now, he might even know, that if he did that for a year or two, that he'd have his own car, his own place, a better job - maybe even getting to snap his fingers at others! - and then, the Holy Grail, some actual halfway decent girl that one could possibly take home to momma!

But that is so far off.  And it's so little, even then, isn't it?  I mean, remember, he's a drunk and a druggie - but not necessarily retarded.  He knows full well that the reward for that year and a half of hell will be...the least existence our society has to offer.  A cheapie apartment.  A used car about to break.  A job only marginally better than dishwashing, if even better than that.  Still no huge amounts of money for fun.  Still not much fun to even be "allowed", as he knows that if he relapses, he loses all that and is right back to where he is now.

So here he is - already with nothing.  Nothing but that $577 check.  Does he "invest" it in a year and a half of what would be, to him, pain?  With then the 50% chance that at the end he will join the ranks of the working poor?  And 50% that he will be right back to where he is now?

Or does he go smoke some crack, drink some booze and see if Trixie's number in his Obamaphone is still good?

Too often, the choice will not be for church, work and meetings.  The only decision at that point is how much self-deception they need to get back to their addictions.  Some will simply go at once to it, from the bank to the dealer's.  Others will need to lie to themselves.  The "I'm moving back home, it will be better for me to start from scratch there."

Yeah, that sounds logical - but oh yeah, the start had already been made here, so all that's really doing is delaying things.  An addict moving, by the way, is like a fat man looking online for the "right" exercycle.  A delaying tactic.  Because while I - a fat man - am searching for just the right exercycle, while I'm budgeting for which is most affordable, while I'm searching for where on Craigslist a used one might be, while I'm idly thinking about maybe one day saving for such...etc....what I am NOT doing that whole time is actually exercising!

Thus an addict/alcoholic not ready to quit will always be moving.  Always be changing anything - anything but his habits.  "This other sober living home will be better for me!", "This other church will be better for me!", "This other town will be better for me!", "This other job opportunity will be better for me!"

Never will the job they have, the home they have, the church they have be good enough.  Because only through constant change can it look like they are doing something, while doing absolutely NOTHING to address the real issue.  Which is that they need to stop drinking and drugging and just settle in for the boring year or two needed to burn through to the other side.

Because I did burn through, and the great secret is this:

Yes, it actually does suck.  It sucks hard enough to make you cry, I know, I have cried.  You must make yourself go to the boring and menial job each and every day.  You must learn to jump at fingersnaps and learn the wisdom of those ancient words about leaning and cleaning.  And you must go to meetings, as stupid as they are since you're not a "real" alcoholic like those losers.  And you must go to church, even though it's also stupid, since you don't need the "crutch" of Jesus and hymns are stupid and they're sinners, too!

But if you do it...if you do it while gritting your teeth and knowing that its this or you relapse and die...then a funny thing happens. 

It gets better.

Slowly, but it gets better.  Your body starts to get really clean, not just that first three or thirty day clean, but it starts to actually heal a bit from the years of abuse you gave it.  Your job, well you get more used to it, you know the folks there, they know you, it's not all bad, you can even have a bit of fun now and then.  The meetings, well, somewhere in your "90 meetings in 90 days" regimen that you did so your wife would think you were taking it seriously, you actually had a revelation, and realized that you were as much a loser as anyone there - and more of a loser, as they had at least wisely admitted they had a problem, while you were still too arrogant and pride filled to take even that first baby step.

And church?  What started out as a "have to", slowly turned into a "don't mind doing" and even - what's this?  Even turned into something that you started to get a bit of enjoyment out of now and then.  That as almost a year went by, it came to be something that you looked forward to.  That somewhere, in the AA meetings, good work, and healing body, your soul had came to have real knowledge of your Savior, and really accepted His sacrifice for you.

And not relaxing your guard, but still burning through, by the time year two came around, you could - like at the beginning of your life, in your innocent childhood and still pretty innocent twenties - enjoy a good book, a nice conversation, a good sermon, the scent of a rose, a sunset, or even just snuggling with your honey while watching Netflix.

You didn't need a Hydrocodone or a shot of tequila or a hit of a crack pipe.  Life, life without hedonism, life without abuse of substances, was enough.  Was enough to make you feel pleasure.

You wish you could convey that to those just starting.  And more to the point, you don't just wish, you do try to convey it.  But they aren't where you are now, after your years of hard work.  They aren't hearing the words you are so desperately pouring out to save them.  I am generally regarded as an eloquent man, but against those deliberately deafened by addiction, my words often fail me.  And thus fail them.

I am always terribly sorry about that.  I know the man who left thinks that I am upset with him.  Why would he not think that?  But my real upset is with myself.  Was there more to be said?  Could it have been phrased better?  Would more talks have aided?  Less?  Could I have it dumbed it down more?  Or did I need to explain it more intricately? 

What were the magic words that would have let him know that if he did work at it, that even if it sucked now - and it would - that it would get better later? 

I will have to contemplate further, and re-evaluate the words said to him and others, so that I can be better prepared next time.  Ultimately, it is on each individual to decide for sobriety, and to work it till they succeed.  But if hearing some true words can aid them in making the right decision, then I want them to have that, too.

Poised on the brink of success...

Our application with the State of Illinois for a certain project is now on it's way. Mailed Friday. Will it or won't it succeed?

Hard to say. On the surface, we are very qualified, even more so than some doing it now. Of course, on the other hand, I'm a recovered alcoholic with three misdemeanors that have in previous times got me denied a stock boy job by Walmart.

And let me tell you, that's an event that will really get a man to sit down and contemplate his life's journeys and how "mistakes were made".

As I told Katie, the "not getting this" won't mean we're stuck. We were pursuing a slower path already, one that we may obviously resume in the event of a "no". But it is a much slower path, and much harder.

We can taste this like some who foolishly buy Lotto tickets can taste the mega-millions. We taste it all the more, because it is so tantalizingly possible. We've worked so hard, for so long, on one house, on the second house...we're very, very close to being solidly financially sound. In some ways, we already are, at least far more than other years.

Better odds than a lottery ticket - but better enough?

Long term readers know the story of the first two houses. Ten years of two very poor - pretty much destitute - people (my wife and I) acquiring and fixing up two condemned houses into homes. The years of replacing the roof, furnace, electrical, plumbing, windows and such in the first house. You learn a lot about the variety of flavor packets that Top Ramen has created, let me tell you.

The autumn we lived with no plumbing in the second house, so that our first sober living home guests could stay in the fully renovated first house. Followed by the winter of running water, but still no hot water. Followed by the spring of "Yay, we got electricity and can stop running everything off of extension cords that come from the house next door!" Which turned into the summer of, "Okay, well, at least we have some electricity and need fewer extension cords from the other house."

Katie's been a real trooper. Gone through a lot with me. More than I feel I am worth. But I'm glad she has, as I could not do it alone. As a Russian philosopher once said, "A spirit too needs fuel, it can run dry." My love for Katie has kept me fueled, as has her love for me.

Our slow but sure path has us doing something similar in acquiring a third house. Or it would have. We both decided we can't do that again. Not the out and out condemned house. Perhaps this is weak of us, but that living in a broken house with nothing was perhaps not as glamorously exciting as it might seem in the reading of it. Biking to work early enough to stop off at Planet Fitness for a shower and shave before continuing to work. Washing dishes in a broken sink with a gallon jug of cold water. Unplugging a microwave to plug in a bedroom light. So we decided this autumn that we'd instead shoot for a Contract for Deed house. One already up and ready for people to move in. One where there could be things to fix, but that it would at least have a roof, electricity, hot running water - the basics. Human habitable.

But that's a problem, too, sad to say. Most want 20% down, which we find remarkable for what the whole Contract for Deed thing was supposed to be. Others are clearly just being fraudulent. Or are trying to unload obviously condemnable houses as mild fixer uppers. I had a guy assure me he had a "move in-able house" and a casual look showed it would take at least two grand before I'd let a homeless mouse move in. Even the stairs were upside down. Don't ask, I don't know how either, you'd have to see it to believe it.

Understand, if we get a house CFD, that won't set us at once. But it would mean that we'd know that in five years or so we'd be financially secure, once that house was paid for. As the other two already are. Then we'd be sitting comfortably and not having to worry about getting the bills paid in a timely fashion. So that's why we're so eager for that.

This bid we're doing for the State of Illinois, that would cut all that short. The contract would provide enough that a third house could be had probably within six months, and be fully operational and paid off six months after that. We're obviously speaking of a very modest house. But still, that's all we were shooting for anyway.

Will we get it? Or won't we get it? Well, we have each other either way, and that is very comforting. And we'll eventually get a third house one way or another, even if this falls through, so that is also very comforting. Still. Still.

It'd be nice to get that contract!

An Opening

I found the thief in the sober living home a couple of nights ago. Another guest had reported a lot of change missing from his drawer and there was only one other person who could have done it.

By no coincidence, that person was returning from the gas station where they sell 22 and 40 ouncers. I asked him if he'd admit to having drank voluntarily, he swore he had not, I breathalyzed him and he was at .15/.16.

He said that wasn't drunk. I said, "Well, in many states it only takes .08 to be guilty of DUI, and you're twice that. Besides, you're not supposed to drink at all."

He then in further discussion admitted to taking the change.

I'd have let him sleep it off, but his anger and drunken state made it impossible. I offered him a ride anywhere, like the hospital or warming shelter, and he declined.

Then the guest that he had stole from came in, and that didn't go well.

Wronged Guest: Where's my money?

Drunk: It was just some change!

Wronged Guest: It was at least ten bucks!

Drunk: More like $2!

I broke it up and took out two fives and gave it to the wronged guest. I told the relapsed guest that I was covering it, and to just get his stuff.

He didn't do too well at that. Eventually, he was out of the house, and so were his things. I asked where he wanted to go. "No where with you" was not the most helpful of answers, but okay. He said that his girlfriend was coming to get him. That wasn't very helpful, either.

Having spoke with her - she called me after he called her - I knew that wasn't happening. I told him that she wasn't coming. That I could drive him anywhere he liked, or he could walk.

Instead, he called the police from where he stood yelling at us across the street. Been a long time since someone tried that one. It hadn't worked over a year ago.

Didn't work this time, either, as the cops are a bit more familiar with our sober living home status. Still, one had to test the waters.

Cop: How long has he lived here?

Me: Two months.

Cop: You know you can't just put him out?

Me: Our rules say he can't stay when he's loud and disruptive and drunk.

Cop: Do your rules supercede State law?

Me: No, they do not. But the State law I have in mind is the one where when the Salvation Army calls to report a loud and disruptive drunk on their property, you show up there and take them away.

Cop: Okay, okay, I was just asking.

Me: No problem.

After all that, I had to call the man's mom. She'd been paying for his stay here the whole time. Mercifully she did not answer, so I left a voicemail message. I doubt it came as a surprise to her.

Still, I told her she could call with any questions.

I was reasonably content with how it went, especially since I had called a guy who was looking for a place and told him that an opening just came up. He said I could pick him up tomorrow at ten in the morning. I asked if he had the program fee, he said "yes". Cool.

The next morning, I picked him up at the hospital. I'm not shy, I confirmed that he had both his ID and the program fee. He assured me he had both. I drove him to our sober living home.

In the living room I asked for his ID. He passed it over, and I took a picture of it. Standard procedure. If anything goes wrong after that, at least I know then who did it. I waited. I waited expectantly.

But I waited in vain.

Me: "Okay, so you have your program fee?"

Him: "It's on my card."

Me: (Assuming the best) "Shall we go to an ATM?"

Him: "I don't have my card."

Me: "Well, that's not quite the same as 'I have the money', but okay, where's your card?"

Him: "Helping Hands."

Me: "Okay, lets go get it."

I took him there. When he went out the door, I picked up his two back packs. Just in case. Not really my first rodeo. On the way there he related that the mail wasn't going to come in until 1pm, but it would be in the mail. I said that he could call me as soon as it came in and I'd pick him up. He said he'd call at 1pm.

Guess who didn't call then. Yeah, you're learning all about how sober living homes work, huh? I waited till 1:30pm, called, it went to voicemail. Ahh, well.

Late at night, after a long day, it was 8pm. Hey, that is late at night when you get up at 5:00am each day. My phone rings. I answer. It was a woman, identifying as a case worker for the man I'd had to have leave.

Her: "He needs to be able to pick up his stuff."

Me: "Were you wishing to pick it up tonight?"

Her: "Of course not, it's after hours."

Me: "Yes. Yes, it is after hours." (My perfect British sarcasm often goes over the head of the feebleminded, the drunk and those in bureaucracies.)

Her: "He can pick it up tomorrow." Me: "Not you?" Her: "Of course not."

Me: "I'd just as soon not have him on the property again, may I drop it off at your office?"

Her: "Yes, that's fine. *muttering in background* And do you have his phone that was thrown in the bushes?"

(Now, interestingly, he had claimed that I had thrown his phone in the bushes to the police, and they found that without merit as he had called them on that phone and was holding that phone in his hand. But what is interesting is that such a leading question in this day and age means that she is literally trying to trap me into some goofy "confession".)

Me: "I'm not aware of any phone thrown in the bushes. If you mean 'his' phone, he did relate a story to the police about that, but since he called them with the phone he said was missing and was holding that missing phone in his hand they found no merit to his story." Her: (without missing a beat) "What of his birth certificate and papers?" Me: "If it's in that bag, he will have it."

Her: "He'll need to check the contents of the bag to see if it's all there."

Me: "He may check as he pleases, but there is simply that bag, whatever is in it is all he'll be receiving. 9am tomorrow?"

Her: (curtly) "Fine."

I went over to the sober living home to grab that bag before anyone could further go through it. It was a small bag, and without going through it I could see that it was miscellaneous junk. I dutifully locked it in my car.

The next morning I was at her office, 9am on the nose, and it turned out to be a Salvation Army office. Of course. If there is a way of doing charity as badly as possible, you may be sure that the Salvation Army will be in it up to their insignia laden shoulders.

Me: "Here's the bag."

Her: (in front of another) "What about the bag with the paperwork? Is his birth certificate in here?"

Me: "I know of no bag of 'paperwork'. There is this bag. I do not know if a birth certificate is in it, as I have not looked."

Her: (rifling through bag hoping desperately to find identifying papers so they start milking him for federal grants and aid and such as soon as possible) "He said he left it there."

Me: "I should be cautious going through a bag so quickly. And I could not speak to what he said to you."

Her: (looking at me suspiciously) "Well, there are two sides to every story." Me: "Yes. Yes, there are. Which makes me wonder why you are so sure of his. In any case, there will come a time when you ask him to leave. As have I had to, and as a dozen before me have. When that does happen, you will be able to hear from the next social services worker about all the wrongs you have done him, and all the things you are withholding from him."

(I pause strategically)

Me: "Well, unless the next social services worker is less naive and more professional than you. Call me if there is anything else. Preferably before 8pm."

I took my leave.

I drove to ARC. Salvation Army's "Adult Rehabilitation Center" or "the Work Farm" as I think of it. There they exploit a hundred men give or take for their LINK cards, full time labor, paychecks, disability checks, federal grants, other donations and whatever else they can get their patty-paws on.

I waited patiently until 9:30am, across the street, of course. Still not my first rodeo, and I know they are always on the look out for me. The intercom then blared for the whole block to hear: "It is 9:30am, there will be a 15 minute break."

Artist's conception of what the leader of ARC looks like.

All the men then filed out like from a prison movie and into what looks like a prison yard. They milled about, some getting snacks, others smoking a smoke. Me, I was already pulling my car into a parking space near them. I got out, went into the yard and started passing out cards. I only had to clearly announce that I was running a sober living home for $70 per week, everything included, and I was surrounded by hordes of eager men, desperate for escape.

I had at least 20 passed out when a Fraulein came out. "You there, stop that! You have to leave now!"

Me: "You need a sober living home, ma'am?"

Her: "No, I'm with the church!"

Me: (leaving slowly) "Glad they take care of you. One day at a time, right?"

Her: "I'm not a guest, I'm an officer!"

Guy behind us: "I'd like a card!"

Me: "Here you go!"

Her male companion: "Stop that! Leave!"

Me: (leaving) "Hey guys, if you didn't get a card, ask for my number from someone who did! You do not have to work here forever!"

Now the funny thing about all that, besides a woman living in a shelter thinking that her church-awarded rank makes her all that, is that my granddad was British. As in living in the United Kingdom of Great Britain, or what most Americans just think of as "England".

And there the Salvation Army is an actual church, not the money making, money laundering, scamming machine it is here. And he, I well knew, had been a Colonel in the Salvation Army, or in other words, quite a bit higher than this Lieutenant at most was.

In any case, the Salvation Army doesn't like me. Probably for so many of their former guests escaping here. They had one guest of theirs sent out to try to scare me off last year, and I gave him my card and he later called and apologized and asked if he could move in!

So, there's part of how we go from one guest to another. And it's not over yet. There'll be more calls come in now, but most will not pan out. I'll go to other spots where there are men likely to need a sober living home and pass out cards there. Then more calls will come in, and most of those won't pan out.

Finally, someone will pan out. ID, money, desire for sobriety, etc. Then I'll have that empty bed filled.

To end on a high note, after that I went to the church. That's always going to end well, and sure enough, it did not disappoint! I made up eight bags of food for people at various sober living homes.

My wife and I placed one at a sober living home on Pasfield, then six more at a sober living home in Southern View! And the last one was for a guest of ours. But best of all? The guy at the sober living home in Southern View took my card and said that since they were full, if anyone called, he'd refer them to me!

A Random Call

*ring, ring*

I look at my phone and see it's a guy who I've been there for as he recovers from alcohol and crack.  I had visited him in the rehab he had finally gone into, and then kept in touch with him after.  I had brought him some food from our food pantry.  I had took him for a Thanksgiving meal at our church.

"Hey, Don (not his real name) what's up?"

        I'm in trouble!

"It'll be okay, what's going on?"

        I'm in my front bedroom, locked in, I think I'm going to be rolled! 

"By who?"

         Audrey (not her real name)!  I had her over, and she invited two guys over and I think they were out there robbing my house.

"And that's when you went to the bedroom?"

          Yeah.  I need you to come over, to see if they're still there.

"It's been awhile since you heard anything?"

          Yeah, but they could be hiding.

"Well...why not loudly announce that you have me on the phone, and that I'll call the police if I don't hear you any more?"

           Okay.

He then proceeded to go room by room, while talking with me.

"Don?"

           Yeah?

"Did you smoke anything today?"

           Audrey did when she came over.

"But did you maybe smoke some with her?"

          I might have had one hit, but that was it.

"I understand, Don.  It'll be okay.  Could it be that maybe she just had some buddies come by to pick her up and take her to where more 'stuff' was available?  Like after your money ran out?  And that maybe they meant no harm and are gone?"

          Yeah, maybe.  But they could be hiding, too.  To rob me.

"But there's nothing really to rob, you know?"

           My mom's stuff.  There's that.

"Yes, that's a nice china hutch she left you, but it's not something anyone can pocket easily, is it?"

            No, I guess not.

"You through with the search?"

            I got it all checked but the basement.  And I got the front door locked.

"You have the back door locked?"

            Not yet.

"Go do that now.  Then we'll check the basement."

             Okay.  You don't think they took anything?

"Nah, Don, I think you're okay.  I bet they're gone and didn't take a thing.  Just the 'stuff' talking, it makes you a bit paranoid, remember?"

              Yeah, the counselors said you were right about that.

"I am.  It'll be okay, just check the basement real quick.  You at the back door?"

              Yeah.

"Is it locked?"

              Yeah, I just locked it.

"Okay, let's go down stairs."

               *yelling loudly* HEY, I GOT DEAN ON THE PHONE AND HE'LL CALL THE POLICE IF YOU'RE DOWN HERE!!

"Sounds quiet, Don.  You okay, now?"

               Yeah, sorry for calling.  I'm just frazzled.  You know how it is.

(I do know how it is.)

"Yes, Don, I know how it is.  It'll wear off.  You're safe now, though.  The doors are locked.  Do you have any more money?"

                No, I'm broke.

"It'll be okay.  But you know you shouldn't have Audrey over.  Please try and avoid that in the future. 

                I guess there are safer women.

"I would say any of them would be safer, Don, given how you two are together."

                 Yeah.  I told her not to call anyone over.

"I know.  Well, just kick back and rest now.  But call me tomorrow, okay?  We'll figure it out."

                Okay, thanks Dean.

"No problem, buddy.  Call again if you need to."

*ahem*

I've greatly synopsized that conversation, as my wife could attest to.  For instance, he didn't just check each room, but each closet and behind dressers and under beds and couches.  And when going to the back door he went out the front, locked it from the outside, then went to the back so he could see if anyone was lurking around the house. 

And we talked the whole time.  Including advice on getting back on the horse, the desirability of AA meetings, and how some women who are addicts are best avoided, perhaps especially when you've a noticeable bit of money. 

Does this mean it's over, he failed? 

Well, given his age and health condition, I am - and have been for a long time - worried about him.  I know it can take a lot of relapses before sobriety "takes".  But I'm not thinking he has many relapses left.

Sadly, I know him well enough, and for a long enough number of years to know that this was not the "relapse".  He relapsed, kept it semi-hid and now is building up some steam to be right back in the thick of it.  It's almost a pity he owns his own home, I could try to squeak him in our house and keep a better eye on him.

Ahh, well.  Tomorrow is another day, and we'll see what we see when he calls again. 

Prison Visit

I went to prison to visit a member of my faith.  I should be used to it by now, I've visited plenty in prison - of my faith and not of my faith - for drugs and drug related offenses, but this time it was a non-drug related offense.

I try to see the best in people.  But I more "get" drug addicts and alcoholics.  People who sinned and/or sin my kind of sins.  It's harder to grasp some of other people's sins.

This man's sin was enormous.  A sex offender doing a 17 year stretch.  Ordinarily, I'd not have visited him.  But he had in theory converted and had been baptized.  And there are no "excepts" in Christ's admonishment to "visit those in prison". 

I'm generally excited to go on visits to prison, even if I've never met the person before.  I know that I can give them some hope and some aid.  I can help talk to them about their options for while they're in and when they're out.  I can, if nothing else, just be that link to the outside that so many of them do not have.

And even those who do have the random mom to visit now and then, still enjoy having another visit.  It's kind of hard to have too many visitors in prison.  But as I said, many get very few, and for some, it's just you.

I wasn't excited to visit this time.  The GPS said I was there, but I was not.  That's not uncommon.  Often prisons are not quite where the GPS says.  I've speculated that such is deliberate.  But who knows?  In any case, I knew that I could simply drive a bit further and it would be there.  Instead, I pulled over and pondered.

Was this a good enough reason to turn back?  Hey, I tried, right?  I drove all the way to (redacted), but I didn't see the prison!  But I knew I was just stalling.  I put the car back in drive and went on.  There it was, just a mile further.  My stomach was already sick.

I left everything in the car, except for my wallet and car keys.  I read the sign.  Yes, I had been right to leave everything behind.  I knew though, that since this was my first visit, inevitably they'd have some minor variation on procedure that would likely send me back to the car.  I was right.

They checked my IDs - driver's license and social security card.  I always wince when I have to pull out my social security card.  See, I signed it when I was five years old and I was so proud that I could write cursive that I did it very florally.  Cute at five, goofy ever since.

Ahh, well.  It wasn't like the guard cared.

I was sent back out to the car to leave my wallet behind.  Some prisons let you have the wallet, others let you put it in a locker, this one you had to leave it in the car.  Whichever.  I went back in.

They stamp the back of your hand with invisible ink.  They pat you down.  Nothing too huge, you'd get more bother from a TSA guy at an airport.  I left my car keys in a locker, and pocketed the key.  They let me keep my watch and wedding ring on.  That varies from prison to prison.

I went through one door.  Then another.  Buzzed each time.  Down a hall.  Through another buzzed door.  Then I held my hand under a UV light so another guard could verify that I was supposed to be visiting and that I hadn't just teleported into this section. 

I had not teleported into that section, and so she buzzed me through another door.

Down a long hall.  Finally, the Visitor's room.  Large and a little less than half full.  I had been offered the opportunity to purchase a Vending Machine card, for a minimum of $5, but had declined.  I know the machines overcharge.  I also knew that most inmates you visit love to get a coke and a candy bar out of your visit, which was why I had always bought one for when I visited other people who were in for lesser crimes.

But I hadn't done it for this guy.  I hadn't wanted to.  I pondered again the un-Christian-ness of my attitude.  I do that somewhat often, not just for how I was viewing him, but because I know that I can be an unjust man.  It's best for me to review my behavior often, in case I slip up.  In this case, though, I did not feel any guilt, nor any desire to correct things. 

Knowing myself, I knew that this probably meant that I should have bought a card anyway.  That it was small of me to not spot him a coke and a candy bar.  Like that would somehow "show him".  Grudgingly, I told myself that next time I would.  I shuddered.  I hadn't really wanted to have a "this time", and was now realizing already that inevitably there'd have to be a "next time".

The guards asked if I wanted a four chair table or two.  I said two.  I should have said "four", as the two seater tables were crowded.  Oh, well, too late.  I sat down and waited.

And waited.  I looked about.  I could tell this was a minimum-ish security place.  The inmates and family that was visiting them could touch, hug, be close together.  Kids were present.  I also had learned last minute that their visiting policies were quite liberal.  I could have as many hours as I liked until 7pm.

I had hoped for one of those places where you get 45 minutes and then can't be back for a week or so.  Not this place.  Hours of visits at a time, and you could visit seven times a month.  Well, there's no world in which I'd be visiting seven times a month even if he'd only been guilty of trespassing and cop sassing.  So there was that.

I idly took note of the sheer volume of times I would automatically reach for my iPhone that was not with me.  They say that everyone's phone is within three feet of them at all times nowadays, even in their sleep, even while they're showering.  Except, I noted, when you're in prison.  It's an odd and disconnected feeling.

I dismissed it and started inventorying people and items, a thing I'd done as a kid when bored in a new place.  Eventually, fifteen long minutes later, he arrived.  I knew it was him, I had previously looked up his record and knew he was very, very tall.  I am 6'1'', he was at least 6'6''.  Not broadly built, not overly muscled.  But not skinny, either. 

Proportioned, I guess.  No face ink, no hand ink, a pleasant enough face, not too handsome, but not ugly either.  I guess a little good looking, as much as one man can tell about another.  Better looking than his mugshot.  But who isn't, right?  He looked like he could make friends easily, though, and that bothered me.

Pleasant greeting.  Polished.  He wasn't one of the uneducated ignorant ones that too often get stuck in prison for little more reason than being uneducated and ignorant.  He had some proper upbringing, some learning.  He could converse at the level that you'd expect in any mundane office.  Not college, but not street.  And I thought I could smell some bit of college, but that turned out to be more due to his excessive reading.

Which many in prison turn to, television being truly terrible when it's all you have. 

After the brief pleasantries, I got down to it.  You know how in the movies "you never ask what a guy did to get sent to prison"?  Yeah, that's nonsense.  I always ask.  Politely, but yeah, I always ask.  What a person is in for colors too much of what all else you can or cannot do for them, not knowing what a guy did to get in would be like not knowing why someone is in a hospital.

Kind of hard to minister to either patient or inmate if you don't know.

I asked if I could ask first, to be polite.  Actually, I just politely told him I'd be asking.  He accepted that.  My first question was, "Is this by chance some kind of thing where you're actually innocent and just have to say you're guilty for some hope of parole eventually?"

...Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes...

No, it was not.

Inwardly, I sighed.  I had known that was a long shot, but it would have made it so much easier. 

I said, "I know it's a sex offense, as I looked it up, but it gave little details.  Nor do I wish too many details.  This was some woman?"

No, it was not.  It was a girl.  12 years old.

And was this done violently, or was some degree of consent gave?

He looked wary over that one.  I said, "I know there can be no consent due to her age, but you know that some can be tricked into agreeing."

He admitted that it had been non-violent, that he had groomed her.  For those unfamiliar with sex crimes against children, well, while some debate it, many - like me - find "voluntary" to be a worse offense.  At least the girl violently took only has her body violated.  The girl tricked into it - "groomed" as he said - had her mind and soul violated first, with her body then being violated last.

Finally, I asked, "And from what I gather, you have come to know that this was wrong and have repented of it?"

...Please say no, please say no, please say no, please say no...

Yes, he said. 

Crap, I thought.  Though I chastised myself as I knew I should be glad.  But that he was claiming to have repented meant he needed ministering to as a fellow brother in Christ.  And, come to think of it, if he had said no, he'd still need that.  I was stuck either way. 

Why was I judging this man so harshly, was I not myself a sinner?  No sex offense, of course, just noise disturbances, drunk and disorderly, assault on a police officer, dumb stuff like that.  And that last had just been a drunk off duty cop and I having some fun over a fine point of constitutional law involving me wanting to park in a fire zone. 

But aren't all sins equal?  Hmm.  I've always thought that's a yes and a no.  All sins are equally bad in that you're going against God.  But I do believe that murder is worse than theft.  And that being a child molester is worse than my stupid drunken offenses. 

I knew that theologically I was to forgive this man.  Everything in me cried out against that, though.  I kept my face unrevealing of my conflict.  As far as he was concerned, the conversation was perfectly fine.  He said all the right things, and so did I.

I was suspecting that he was lying, that his presentation was too perfect.  He was not aware that my calm demeanor was a front, that I was inwardly outraged at his past crimes, and what I believed to be his current likelihood to re-offend.  If you are wondering, I based this on statistics about recidivism for these type of offenses in general, and his demeanor over a several hour discussion in particular. 

I had also asked him, in the course of that long conversation, if this was a case of he being attracted to children, or was it that this twelve year old happened to have developed so quickly that she looked like an adult.  And in his only slip up, he took the bait and said that it was for her looking like an adult, that he had no predilection for children.

It was the answer he had to give, I suppose.  But it was an answer I knew to be false.  For the great reason that 12 year old girls, no matter how developed, NEVER look like adults.  And this had been his step daughter.  Which kind of makes it obvious she's a child.  I mean, it's not like he met her in a bar.

I discussed his plans, what his ideal vision for his life after prison was.  As he will still be under fifty when released.  He wants a job, he cooks in prison now, so he'd like a cooking job on the outside.  Not impossible, I said.  And it's not.  He is aware that it will be harder for him to get employed than some, but there are agencies to aid in that, and I can, at the least, help get him in touch with those agencies.

He wants a "Church family".  This is where my mother being British aided me.  My face did not change.  Nor did I deny that as a possibility.  But I pointed out to him that just as he expected forgiveness for his sins, that others also have their own sins - and that among the sins a great many of those in church would have, "failure to be able to forgive as quickly as we might want to" would be one of them.

I phrased that quite delicately and diplomatically.  He got it.  I said that such things were not necessarily impossible, but he should expect any kind of interaction with non-sex-offenders to be very difficult, that it would simply be a thing that he'd have to get used to.  We had a pleasant theological discussion on how the nature of some sins meant that there long term consequences.

After all, my own sins during my days of active alcoholism have long term consequences, and that I have repented does not excuse me from those consequences.  I have had to come to terms with that, now so must he for his sins.

Some parts of the conversation were better than other parts.  In those hours, there'd have to be some less unpleasant moments.  He was well-versed in our faith.  He's read at least two of the main books that Ellen White wrote.  He'd like more literature, to read and study with others inside.

There are two others of my faith in that prison, neither for sex offenses, thank heavens.  One for drugs, another for theft.  Almost too easy to forgive those, I thought.  Especially in comparison.  There are also two others in there who want to be baptized in our faith.  Neither of them sex offenders.  Again, thank heavens. 

What's to be done?

Well, I know that only God can see into a man's heart, so no matter what my opinion may be, the presumption must be that he has truly repented.  I greatly wrestle with that, though.  However, there is nothing to be gained by acting as if he has not.  So there is that.  And who knows?  I could go back and forth on this all day, day after day, and at the end of the day after a long week of this, it will be ten past three in the morning with me writing this article and none the wiser.

I told him that I'd see about communion for he and the others who wanted it.  That I would check into the specifics of baptism for the two who wished it.  I advised that on the baptism that such was a process that would take time.  I am gathering that his baptism had been a bit faster than usual.  I said it could vary, but I'd see to it as quickly as it was allowable.

I asked if he had the 28 articles of our faith, and if the others had seen it.  He did and they had.  Good.

I told him to have the other two write me and to put me on their Visitor's list.  For that matter, I said the two seeking baptism should also write me and put me on their Visitor's list.  I can see that this is going to be a somewhat greater time commitment than I had first thought.  And that's fine.

I told him that he could relax now, that he wasn't going to fall.  I always tell that to people inside, and I mean it every time.  Because it's true.  There is not much a little guy like me can do, but I loom large compared to the littleness of being in prison.  And I can do enough - aid with finding jobs and a place to stay.  Even just being there at various hearings and to pick them up when they get out.

My sober living homes were brought up.  I told him as delicately as I could that such were not an option.  We can't have sex offenders at our place, it is only for those recovering from alcohol and drug addiction.  And even alcoholic sex offenders can't stay, as if one is accepted in, the others will leave at once, and then we'd just be running a sex offender house.

Which, as I told him, is a valuable ministry, and one I do believe there is a need for, we just don't have the money or the housing for it.  Nor is it what my wife and I feel called to do.  But I can help him find places that do deal with that kind of thing. 

I told him he could tell the others that they'd not fall either.  And I meant that, too.  I did point out that all the safety nets that were available are only there for the doing of right things, but they are available if those right things are being done.  And in the case of the others, I could aid them with housing if that was needful. 

I'm re-reading this and thinking, "Man, am I outing this guy for that I don't believe him, and is that unjust of me?  Is he pretending, or is he real and I am too lacking in Christian mercy to see it?"

Oh, God help me and have mercy on me, I don't know.  I know that there are a lot of kids that run around our church and if I must be wrong, I'd rather be wrong on the side of those kids being safe.  There's a lot of kids that run around a lot of churches.  I care more for those kids I do not know than I care for this man.  Maybe he's sincere and no threat, maybe he is lying and planning his next way of acquiring a victim when he's out.

I can aid him in half a dozen ways, and I will aid him in those ways, so that he does not need to fall.  I can and will see to it that he has every housing and job opportunity available.  But I cannot aid him in saying "I believe him."  I won't say for sure that he is still guilty.  No matter what my gut tells me.  But I cannot say he is innocent. 

I've been struggling with this all week.  Some skeptics and atheists like saying that being Christian is somehow "easy".  Oh, no, it can be terribly hard.  I know I must forgive him, but I cannot.  What does that say about my Christianity?  About my faith?  Christ forgave him, if he truly repented.  Did he truly repent?  I do not know.  If Christ forgave him, must I?  I know we are to, but I have not.  Can I later? 

I don't know.  It does not seem to me that I can.  And yet I know we are to. 

I am suspecting that "not forgiving him" is just going to have to be a sin of mine.  And that I can ask forgiveness for that sin, even while still sinning that sin.  If that makes sense.  I guess in the end, I can only pray that God sees my heart, and forgives me for my uncharitableness.

In any case, if you've been wondering at my lessened tolerance for some stuff this past week, that's why.  As I told a brother in our church who visited me yesterday evening, I can minister to this man, but it's on the outer edges of my abilities.  I have tons of patience for fellow alcoholics and addicts, I understand them. 

But I don't understand this man who hurt a child, and I don't want to understand him.

This, well, it used up my whole supply of patience and forbearance this week.