A Pause!

Our main sober living home, with so many memories, with having had nearly 100 guests stay there, now stands empty.

The beds are gone, the couch is gone...no more laughter, no more tears, no more failures and no more successes.  No police are called there, or I at 3am.  No more rides are needed from there.  The air conditioner no longer runs when it is cold, the furnace no longer blasts while the windows are open!

Nothing more good or bad is going on there!

Wait...what?

No, we're not closing, we're not giving up.  Just a pause, just a renovation.  We had an overall average of an 8% success rate.  That is to say, that out of 75 guests, half a dozen succeeded.

"But, Dean, that's terrible!", I hear some of you reading this think.  But is it?  We were - and are - the cheapest sober living home in Springfield, and no one provides more than we did and will be doing again shortly.

Seventy dollars a week got every guest a bed, access to the internet, a washer and dryer, kitchen facilities, food aid, all utilities paid, free rides at the start, aid in getting IDs and social security cards, resume assistance, interview advice, rides to work and much more.

Each person had our full attention, we would go over any problems they had, alcohol or addiction related or not.  Obviously many - from the streets, from under bridges, from rehabs, from prison - were not ready for the kind of aid we had to offer.

But those half a dozen were.  They were able to get a job.  And then a vehicle.  And then an apartment.  They were able to go from rags to the modest prosperity that is all any of us not in the 1% can hope for.

It's had a cost, though.  Broken windows, torn up bathroom floor, bed bug infestation, damaged furniture, stolen goods.  Aiding those - especially those who don't want real aid - can be long and wearying road.

But we aren't weary.

This pause is for needed cleaning and repairs and refurbishing and refurnishing.  New paint, new flooring, new window, new furnishing.

And our new plan.

We've never run this for money - anyone who knows us knows that.  As my wife and I joke, we put the "non" in "non-profit"!

We have always run it at a loss, with the income of my wife and I, and some crucially essential donations now and then, run it without charging what should be charged.  Hence we being the cheapest sober living house in town.

Our Food Pantry that serves over 20 sober

living homes, halfway homes and battered women's 

homes is still going full bore!

But after much prayer and discussion, we believe we can give more without charging more.  Instead of having each bedroom hold two guests, we're going to give each guest their own bedroom.  At the same low price.

Less revenue to us - but more dignity to them.  We believe that this will help us in gaining and retaining more of those who are really serious.  And thus result in less of the routine drama and damages that have cost us so dearly.

We're going to need some help, though.  Cost of the interior clean up - free, because obviously we're doing that.  Cost of painting - well, that's us, too, labor and time we have in abundance.

We're going to need roughly $250 for tearing out and installing a new bathroom floor, though.  And another $100 for miscellaneous stuff like new smoke detectors (they get stolen, heavens know why) and such.

And we're going to need two twin beds.  They don't have to be new, just clean.  And we're going to need a couch, and a chair.  And two lamps.  And a dresser.  All can be used.

And yes, we are a bona fide incorporated tax-exempt charity!  If you like, we can send you one of those letters that your accountant can use to get you some deductions!

Obviously it's not much we're asking, and the question of "Why don't they just pay that?" might flit through your mind, but the simple answer is that without any revenue at all in that house, it makes it pretty hard to do anything but stay afloat.

And there are still two others in our own home that we're providing for.

Could we have let those there stay while doing the fix ups?  No...with some guests we've had, that could have been, but the last guests we had were kind of a part of the problem.  Of the last four, all were destructive of the home, that can happen sometimes.  Two I think meant no harm, just were still sick with addiction and other difficulties.

Another two...well, sometimes some just like to tear things down to their level, rather than in any way try to rise up.  It happens.  We resisted the temptation to boot them all out at once and get on with this new and better plan, as it was not any particular individual's fault what the sum total of all guests could do to one small house.

But as each left, we did not replace them with another, so we've already been under a financial strain anyway.  The second to last one we had leave, when he not only refused to clean but made death threats to us.  I wish I could say that was unusual.  The last one we put out when I found all the empty beer cans under his bed, I wish I could say that was rare, too.

We've been in active business aiding others for over three years - so we know we can and will be doing this.  This timely pause is only to let us do it better.  And to be able to provide more to our guests than we already were.  And to lessen some of the troubles we've had to deal with.

When it's all said and done, we'll be aiding four people at a time instead of six.  But they'll pay the same, while getting more.  We think that will work out well for everyone.

If you can be a part of helping us to this goal, which we full well expect to achieve in less than a month, please call us at 217-720-2568, to learn how you can be a part of our mission!  A few pieces of furniture, a few hundred bucks and lots of sweaty labor on our part, and we'll back better than ever!

A Full Service Ride

5:08am - phone rings.  I answer.  

"Dean, you have to help me, you have to, you have to!"

I recognized the voice.  If it had been a normal person, I'd have a lot to say about what I "have" to do at 5 in the morning, but this woman was the daughter of an addict I'd tried to help.  I had a couple of years ago worked to get her mom off of heroin, with mixed success.  And she had followed in her mom's footsteps and was an addict herself.

She had a court hearing, on a charge of violating her parole by relapsing, and it could involve up to two years in prison.  And she'd missed her court appointments, more than once, and that really never ends well.  They had told her she had a final chance to appear, at 8:30am, without fail.  

The courthouse was in Lincoln, thirty miles up the road.  I had a prior engagement at 7:45am, assisting some blind friends of mine in getting some medical supplies, and an important meeting at 10:00am that was crucial to some future plans of 490 Outreach.  

But it is a peculiarity of my job that no one ever calls me unless they are at the utter extreme of distress.  And I know how our courts are.  And I knew this woman - not just a heroin addict, but signed up for the methadone program so she could take that, too.  And a meth junkie.  She probably weighs about 85 pounds, when she should weigh 130.  And in all her babbling and yelling at me, she was claiming that she wanted off everything, and would go to rehab.

The last part was probably a lie, as was - no doubt - her offer of gas money.  I said "no", just to test how much of an emergency this was, and the tears - real or feigned - in response told me that it was an emergency.  

I told her I would.  The tears stopped.  I asked if she really had gas money, as I was on fumes, and in her relief she said, "Yes, yes, I can give you twenty!  Uh, no ten!  At least five or seven!"  Yes, even in an emergency, a street level prostitute - as she was so as to support her habits - is going to try to get what she needs for as little as possible.

"It's worth twenty, but I have to have at least ten.", I said, and she agreed.  She gave me the name of her latest No-tell Motel, and I said, "I will have to have that ten when I get there, to put gas in to get us to Lincoln."  She agreed.  

I told her when I'd be there, explained that it had to be that early because besides the half hour drive, there'd be the in-town driving.  She agreed.  I told her, "Don't dress for business, dress like you're visiting your grandparents."

7:00am - I try my debit card for gas at the gas station, yes, I'll get the ten from her when I arrive, but junkies are always slow, it'd be easier to get it now by myself.  Also, I needed twenty in.  There was $2.82 on my card, but at the pump it only charges a buck, and then charges the rest later.  I could make up the difference by Friday.  

My card failed.  I guess that trick doesn't always work.  I tried my wife's, she had $6.27 in her account.  That one went through.  $20 in gas achieved.  Fast talking on Friday at the bank, yet to come.  I'd not have done this for most emergencies, but I've been to jail, I'd not wish it on anyone.  And as my wife and I tell each other - "the goal is for them to succeed".

See, as this woman knew from knowing me, and hearing from her mom and other addict friends, my "rides" were "full service" rides.  In other words, you'd get the best life and legal advice available on the way.  These folks are the least of these our brethren, uneducated, drug-addled, not thinking right, they've no clue how to deal with the legal system.

Heck, normal non-addicts mostly don't know how.  So this was a crucial situation.

I got there.  She was dressed...well, I could tell she'd tried.  She still looked like what she was, but there'd been some effort, and it wasn't totally crazy.  But a short sleeve blouse?  I could see the bruise on her inner elbow.  Too much skin popping, and too lazy to find creative places on her body to do it.  I mentioned it.  "I can put a band-aid on it!  I don't have any long sleeves with me!"

I said not to worry about it, a band-aid would be as bad as a bruise.  I motioned for her to twirl about, and she dutifully did so, and as she knew I didn't like nonsense, she did it normally, nothing sexual.  I saw the back of her arms.  Lines of scabby needle tracks, old and new.  I inwardly sighed, but assured her that the judge already knew she'd relapsed, so it should still be okay.  Just let him know you're entering rehab, I reminded her, though every addict standing before a judge says that.

We took off.  Well, first she loaded all her stuff, scant as it was, into my car.  "If I go to jail, you're the only one I know who won't steal my stuff."  I hear that a lot, but it always makes my eyes moist.  Her stuff was two back packs, a bag, a purse, another bag.  All worthless.  But when you're virtually living on the street, your scant possessions are more important to you than a mansion is to a rich man.

And knowing her "friends" and family, yeah, I was sure I was the only one who'd not throw it out.  Or try to sell her phone for a hit of crack.  And that's sad, too.

I saw the two fives and scooped them up.  No sense in making her cringe and waffle about handing them over.  But to be courteous, I said, "Ten for gas, yes?"  She nodded, but I could tell it was killing her.  I knew that before the ride was over, it'd not be ten.  You'll see.  Keep reading.

I have the car going, we're all loaded up, she's sitting in the passenger seat with her purse, the rest in the trunk.  I say, "Okay, we're going straight to Lincoln now."  I knew we weren't, though.  Sure enough, "No, I have to go to Triangle!  I have to get my dose!"  She meant her methadone.  I figured there'd be something, that's why I got there early.  Because there's always something.  

Such folks not having a car, they pack as much errands into each ride as they can.  

I took her to Triangle.  Actually, it's called something else now, but everyone still calls it Triangle.  I pulled into the back, where the door for that stuff is, and said she could run in and I'd turn the car around.  She started groping for her purse, which I knew she'd not need.  That told me something.  She knew that it did and said, "It's just a bubble pipe, but I don't want you to get in trouble."  As if the trouble would be less if she were still in the car and it be found.

I said, knowing her real concern, which was "how does she take a purse with drugs into Triangle and not get caught, or leave it in the car where I could take it."  I told her, "Look, it's okay.  I'll go in with you.  And the car will be locked.  It's all good."  She looked grateful, then paused and said, "No, it's okay." and got out and left the purse with the stuff in it behind.  

Please understand, you reading this, that each of these street level addicts has a back story.  Were you to learn enough about any of them, there's abuse and horrors and such in childhood and adulthood.  It doesn't excuse anything, do not get me wrong, but it makes some of it understandable.  Some are self-medicating in a sense, as their insurance is not sufficient to get them the good stuff that the upper classes have unlimited access to.

They then, in their addiction and emotional pain and street living go "feral".  They look human, but are intensely distrustful of all "normal" folks who they see as either prey to take advantage of, or predators to fear.  This was a remarkable sign of trust, and I took it as it was offered.  Her trying to show that she really meant what she had been saying, and that she really needed help. 

Five minutes later she was back out, and to her credit, she waited two minutes before trying to check the purse to make sure I'd lived up to her trust.  That didn't bother me.  In her profession, she must deal with very terrible examples of the male of our species.  I understood.

"Can we go to the gas station to get the gas now?" she asked.  I said I'd already got the gas in as soon as I heard that I'd have that ten, so we were good to go.  That didn't work for her.  So she tried again, "Can we stop at the gas station so I can get a donut?  I'll be sick if I don't."  Hmm.  Probably a lie, but methadone can make one queasy.  I said, "Are you really going to take the methadone before your hearing?"  She said she already had.  I said, "I guess we're stopping at the gas station."

I pulled in to Casey's and she said, "I need that five, I'll bring you the change."  Yep.  There it was.  I knew I'd not really get ten in gas.  "I'll go get you the donut.", I said.  Figuring that $9 was better than nothing.  That didn't go over well.  "Okay, I need some butane, too.", she said.  I audibly sighed this time.  But it wasn't wholly unexpected, so I said, fine, come in with me.  No way was I passing over the five.

We went in, butane was $2.80 or so.  I said, "Why not just get the donut and call it good?  We're starting to run late."  She said no, that she'd skip the donut.  I thus paid for the butane.  

8:55am - finally on the open road, heading up I55 for Lincoln, my car only going 56 miles per hour, as it will shimmy too bad if I take it faster.  I had mentioned the lateness at each side stop, so she knew this was on her.  But we both knew the judge was not going to be there at 8:30am.  More like 9:00am.  Still not good, but what could I do to change that now anyway?

She's nodding off.  From the methadone.  I ask her if she's going to be okay.  She sleepily mutters yeah, then perks up as she had just remembered something.  At just past Elkhart, out comes the bubble pipe, residue in it, and a little baggy of crystal meth.  Very little, but enough to play with.  So in case you were wondering what the butane was for, it was for the special lighter that heats the bowl of the bubble pipe up faster. 

I looked at it, looked at her and said, "Really?"  She said it would let her be alert for the hearing.  I said she should just throw it out and start fresh, she didn't need to be alert, she just had to follow my advice.  She said I could have a hit.  I managed not to laugh, though it was tempting to.  

For one, I don't do the stuff, and never had.  Was never my "drug of choice".  For two, I'm proud of my sobriety, so it wouldn't matter if it had been something I had been into.  And for three, I knew there was no way she was truly going to share any real hit of anything, not when she knew she was facing a dry spell.

Trust me she might, rely on me she might, but no active addict about to go in to rehab or prison is going to give up any last hit.  But, I do believe in courtesy, so I thanked her for that kind offer, but said I wasn't in to that, and she should just throw it out.  A flash of the feral animal look came to her face.  Was I just like all the rest?  And enemy to be defeated?

I knew from experience what it could be like trying to take a bottle or a hit from any addict.  They'd fight, and fight hard.  At 56 miles per hour on an Interstate patrolled by troopers and deputies, I didn't need to be fighting a crazed and desperate addict over what couldn't possibly be more than two hits.

I said, "Do what you're going to do, then ditch the pipe before we get to the courthouse.  I don't want it in the car or to have you try to smuggle it in.  Is that good enough?"  She nodded, as under this plan, she got to have the hits with no fight.  I continued driving.  

She got out her butane and tried to fill up her special lighter.  Her hands trembled.  Drugs?  Semi-starvation?  Nervousness about the hearing?  Probably all of that.  She somehow busted the can and the car filled with butane mist as I rolled the windows down fast.  I saw the $2 plus utterly wasted.  I wasn't angry, such is pointless, it just is what it is.  I asked if she could make do with her regular cigarette lighter.  She could, but she wasn't happy to.  Ahh, well.

She took her hits.  Then did some mini-line of the raw stuff, and I winced at seeing how coarse it was.  And what it was likely to do to her nose.

Not to mention her mind.  But she's used to the stuff, besides a brief tremble and head shake, she resumed her halfway alert self.  Well, quarter of a way alert.  

"The pipe", I reminded her tersely, as I used the electronic controls to roll her window down.  She asked, "Is anyone following us?"  I thought, yeah, well, she got something out those two baby hits if she's paranoid that quick.  I glanced in the rearview.  "No.  Do it now."  She did.  Pipe gone, stuff gone, me safe, her unable to hit anything else.  

"I need to fire my attorney.", she said while spraying herself with choking fumes of strawberry mist that let working girls like her mask that their shower opportunities were limited.  I said, "Under no circumstances are you to fire your attorney, at least not today.  Get through this first."  She explained that he was a bad attorney who didn't answer her calls and didn't care about her side.  I explained that all public defenders are like that, but you still needed an attorney.

"A friend of mine says he'll hire me a private attorney.", she said proudly.  I took a split second to review every friend and family member that I knew she didn't have and replied, "Is this 'friend' a 'client'?"  "Yes", she said.  "And he's a doctor."  I glanced at her at that claim.  "He is.", she insisted.  

I figured I'd tread carefully.  "Is he a doctor at one of the hospitals?" and she looked at me suspiciously.  I said, "I don't want to know his name, just trying to figure how for real he is."  She accepted that and said he was a doctor at one of the hospitals.

I said, "For today, do not fire your attorney.  It won't change anything on this hearing.  And wait till you're actually in this new lawyer's office, and he telling you that he's your attorney, before firing any current one."  She asked why.  I asked back, "How much is he willing to pay for an attorney?"  "Up to $2,000.", she replied.

Now there may be women in the business who could probably wrangle that kind of money from a guy, such are called "escorts".  But no street level prostitute, usually called "whores", would be able to.  Any cuteness she had ever had was long gone in her massive loss of weight, the lack of hygiene, the scabs and bruises, the general pre-mature aging of the face.  

I said, as delicately as I could, "As I am sure you have noticed, sometimes men say things to women that they don't really mean.  They try to big shot it, then fall short at the last moment.  Best not fire your current lawyer unless you know for a fact you have the other one already hired.  Then let him fire your old attorney.  For today...just leave things as they are."

That men lie she well understood, and that satisfied her for the moment.  No firing lawyers today.

First Lincoln exit coming up.

8:45am - having left our cellphones in the car, and her having a last cigarette, we got through the security check point and took the elevator to the third floor.  Yeah, I knew where it was, I give "rides and advice" to various people and am familiar with many courts as a result.  A sad specialty I'm in.  

We sat and waited.  She got out all her paperwork, which was a distressing collection of jack crap.  Street people know that paperwork means something, they don't know what or why, but they know that when they are going to be hurt the most, it'll be by some normal person with papers rather than some random fellow junkie with a knife.

They thus figure papers are magic, and if they have enough papers of their own, maybe that will overcome the other side's paperwork.  This is never actually the case, but I am not fool enough to try and explain that to them, when even explaining that to some college graduates is a tough sell.  Everyone thinks they're going to "put the System on trial", and everyone who figures that loses.

No, instead I dutifully went through it.  Urine test results from a year ago when she'd been briefly clean.  Brochures from rehabs to show her alleged desire to enter one.  Various papers her public defender had gave her.  Nothing that a lawyer could wave in court and secure a "not guilty" verdict with.  But to be clear, her premise was that she had not truly violated parole, because the date they said she relapsed was "the wrong date".  She had, she insisted, relapsed a few days later.  Even if that were true, it would be utterly irrelevant.  But years of TV has taught such types that you can get off on "technicalities".

You can't.  Well, not if you're poor.

Eventually her public defender called her name, not for the hearing, but just for a bit of a pre-hearing review of what would be happening.  I tried to stay seated, sure that he'd not want me up there, but she grabbed my hand and had me half pulled up - impressive, I'm 240 pounds - and I thus went up with her.  I had hoped that she'd just do as I said, which was "Listen to the lawyer and do exactly as he says."  I'd said much more along the way, but it often boils down to that.

But she wanted me to hear it in case I knew something better.  Well, fair enough, I've gone to lawyer conferences with folks before and realized while listening that better options existed.  Never met a lawyer who enjoys hearing me say so, though.

We stood there.  She fussed with her meaningless paperwork.  Her lawyer looked at me, I briefly explained my hope.  Drop the contempt of court charge for the missed dates, let her have as little time as possible so I could aid her in finding a rehab when she got out.  She seemed to not hear this.  The lawyer nodded, relieved that I was able to speak for her, and while she mumbled and fussed he went to relay that to the State's Attorney.  

I was not optimistic, but worth a shot.

He came back.  "They're tired of dealing with this, she can do 90 days, which she'll only have to serve 35 of.  No contempt charge.  But if she tries to continue this to another date, they're going to move to the hearing and they'll easily prove the parole violation and she'll do a year or two.

I almost shivered with relief.  I had been praying for an offer of 120 days, and here she could be out in about a month!  I leaned over and said to her, "Remember how I said that all you had to do was take my advice?  Look at your lawyer and say 'yes' now.  Everything else will work out."

She shook her head.  Her lawyer and I almost had twin heart attacks.  His mouth hung open.  With her record, and the obviousness of her guilt, this was an undeserved gift from an incredibly merciful Creator.  I looked at her and said, "This is an undeserved gift from an incredibly merciful Creator.  Take the deal, I beg you, you'll never get another this good.  It'll be a month of a clean place to stay, reasonable and regular food and a chance to get off all the stuff.  I'll visit.  I can even get some money on your books.  Just do this, and start a fresh new life in about a month.  Please.  They'll crucify you otherwise."

She related to both of us her silly technicality theory of not having relapsed the day they said, but another day soon after.  In her completely fried mind, I'm sure it made sense.  I've certainly seen normal people think such does.  I place my hand on her shoulder to get her attention, as she knows that I normally don't touch anyone.  I said, "Please trust me.  I know you think you're right.  I know you could be right.  But if you reject this, if it goes to hearing, you will suffer a year or so.  35 days is actually just what you need, but a year would just beat you down.  Please.  I am your friend.  Take this, I'll be there for you, and I'll help you when you get out."

The lawyer looked at me with what looked like wonderment that anyone would speak so eloquently and passionately to her.  He looked at her hopefully.  She said, "No deal."  A movie learned phrase if I ever heard one.  He shrugged angrily and went to the State's Attorney.  I guided her back to the chair, so she wouldn't fall, and dabbed my eyes a bit.  I don't really know her that well, it's not like we hang out, but I sure hate to see anything small get ground up, and I knew that was exactly what was now coming.

She looked pleased with herself and then, seeing my distress, actually tried comfort me that it would be okay.  I told her, "If it doesn't go as you think, then don't despair, I'll still visit and we can try to figure something out."  She nodded, sure that it would be fine.  

9:45am - I told her I had to make a call and excused myself.  I told her again that if she was called before I got back to simply do as her attorney said.  She nodded absently.  I didn't go too far.  I had a good talk with my 10am appointment, for quite a bit of time, but kept an eye on things.  

She rejected the deal.  Admirably, her public defender tried to slip it in on her, pretending she had agreed, but she full of meth fueled confidence corrected him and rejected it.  The judge was as fed up as the State's Attorney.  He gave her a 15 day contempt of court jail sentence in passing, and then set the time of the hearing as "immediately upon release" from that.  Which meant that they'd not let her go till the future sentencing, no matter how many procedural delays could be tossed in.  And she'd face a year or so.

I was dying.  It was like yelling "Bridge out!" over and over again to a bicyclist who then rides right off the cliff.  She was angry at them not believing her.  A deputy eventually took her down to the squad car, to take her to jail.  I followed along.  I assured her that I'd call her mother and sister, and her stuff would be safe.  And that I'd still visit.  She was starting to wobble again, her body still a seething cauldron of pills, methadone, heroin and meth.  

The deputy was alarmed at her looks and weight.  He tried to guide her gently to the back seat, while she was still mumbling out instructions to me.  She made a spasm of feeble resistance, but whether due to his kindness, or me as a witness, or both, he didn't hurt her, just eased her in saying, "Relax, this is probably where you need to be anyway."  I nodded and knelt down by the open car door and said, "He's right.  It's 15 days.  Rest.  Eat.  Recover.  We'll figure something out."

I got up, the deputy shut the door on her and asked me softly, "What's she on?"  I, knowing that they would not be charging her additionally for anything I related, said, "She's on a methadone program and had some this morning.  Probably heroin in the past 12 hours.  And a hit or so of meth before the hearing."  He nodded.  I followed up, "She's not bad-bad, just thoroughly trashed by the drugs."  He nodded sympathetically.  Lincoln is not a town that is unfamiliar with such addictions.

10:45am - I put her purse in the trunk with her stuff.  I'd lock it up at home later, after I searched it just to make sure there was nothing naughty left.  There wasn't.  Addicts do not let any drug go unused before such an event.  I hit the open road back to Springfield.  Called my wife to update her.

Then I called the girl's mother.  She was not incredibly sympathetic over her daughter's plight - and in fairness, if any ever asked for trouble, it surely was her daughter - but she expressed sympathy when I related how I had failed to get her to trust my advice.  

"It's because she's so spun on all that junk." said the mother who had originally introduced her daughter to drugs and was only "clean-ish" as we spoke.  "When she comes down, some time tomorrow, she'll be sorry that she didn't take the deal."  I suspected that she'd also be plenty sick from coming down from heroin, methadone, methamphetamines and whatever else, but that would be between her and whatever poor guy was in charge of mopping up vomit.

I called my wife again, getting closer to Springfield.  She heard how sad I was.  She knew why.  We'd been over this before with some guys I had tried to aid at various times with court problems, some - who took my advice - successfully, others, who failed to, not so much.  I care because sometimes I can't do anything in my life to correct or deflect some problems or issues I'm dealing with.  

In this instance, I'd figured this morning, somewhat optimistically, that I might not win my own upcoming court case, I could at least aid another worse off than me and help her win hers.

I had started the day thinking, "This could seriously make me happy, this could really get her on the right track."  Now, while there is still always some hope, she'll be 31 before she's out, and she's only 29 now.  Two years may not sound like much, and maybe it will only be a year, but it'll be in prison.  And while the movies talk of "easy time", well, I'd suspect that those scriptwriters and directors probably never spent any lonely night behind bars, cut off and alone.

11:30am - I got back to town, aided my blind friends, who were amazed at her passing on the deal, too.  Now home.  I work on average 8 hours a day, but felt like I'd already put in 16.  Seven hours ago, I'd not had her on my radar, now I had went through an enormity of emotional involvement and suffering on her behalf.  I do not regret it, and yes I will continue to do it for her and others, but it can be wearying all the same.

4:10pm - writing this, I've already had more stuff to do today, and have some more sober living home business later this evening.  When I was an active alcoholic/addict, I hated work, it interfered with my stupid crap, but now as my own boss for the past three years, I put in more, longer and harder work than I ever did for anyone else.  

Was I sad today?  Yes.  Am I still sad now?  Yes.  But I'm also glad I was able to be there.  In the business of aiding alcoholics/addicts, you must know going in that it's a process, and maybe while the advice didn't take this time, it will next time.  And if nothing else, she may be more inclined to listen to me next time, I've had that happen with others before.  

The work thus continues.  

Postscript:  5:10pm, while reviewing this article, I got a call from her mother.  Who wanted more details for the grandparents.  Having had time to mull things over, I did relate an idea that I'd pursue.  Yes, I'd find a way to get a twenty spot on her books, and yes, I'd visit her next week when she was through the worst of detox.  But then my idea would be that when she gets to speak to her public defender again, that she beg for a compromise. 

No, not the 35 day offer, that will never be offered again.  But I'll encourage her to ask for a six month sentence, that can be served in jail.  Who knows?  The State's Attorney might, if his schedule is full and he doesn't want to mess with it.  

Will she out before she serves her time, her mother asked me?  I answered that while I cannot speak for the Logan County Court System, that seems unlikely.  She'll do her 15 days, then they'll take her to court for the hearing, and then they'll hold her till the trial, as she is a now provable flight risk.  But that she'd at least get some "time served" for that.  

And, if she's lucky and they give the six months plea deal, they'll still hold her till that starts.  So she's basically not seeing the outside of jail/prison till this whole sorry mess is over.  

Which is why I always advise everyone "don't run".  That always makes it worse.

A Stumbling Block Avoided

Often a man who's had a lot of trouble in his life will join the military.  It provides a fresh start, and an opportunity to show the world - or at least his family, his friends, his "circle" - that he's not the bad seed they may have thought, but an actually good guy.

Such fresh starts are invaluable.

Me, I had already served in the military.  But when I then lived a life of ups and downs and all arounds, culminating in falling prey to alcoholism and addiction, I also sought some fresh start.  For me, there was the charity that my wife and I run, and joining church.

The charity was to try and aid those in finding the recovery from addiction that I had found, and to give them the kind of "hand up" that I had hoped to find when I had hit rock bottom.  But yes, besides that good and decent motive, I also wanted what all men want, a chance to show those I care about, those who's opinions I value, that I wasn't really that down and out alkie any more, but a real man.

Same in joining church.  I joined for the clean reasons one should join for.  Love of our Savior, thankfulness for His sacrifice that allows even such as I to have a new chance, a new life.  But yes, sure, of course because I hoped that good and decent people would observe my changes, or as they did not know me then, observe the man I had fought hard to become.

In near half a century of a rather varied life, I've learned that everyone has such duality of motives.  A desire to honestly strive to be better and good, and the desire to have the respect of others who one values and looks up to.  Nothing wrong with it, and neither contradicts the other.

When you see a man in the military get awarded the Medal of Honor, or even so much as a Bronze Star, that man did not charge up a hill and risk sure death to save 12 people simply for the joy of the Medal and the admiration of his social set.  He honestly did it because somewhere along the line, he became the man he was striving to "pretend" to be, the work finished, he had improved, and he did in that moment what was in his heart to do.

He wasn't pretending to be a real hero then, he became one for real.

The medals then, if any, are but icing, but a delicious and tasty icing all the same.  Oh, sure, he did it for nobility, and he'd do it again, even without the recognition.  But recognition is nice all the same, and it can sadden him to not get it, especially when those about him say, "You shoulda got it, Joe!"

I have felt that for the past week or so.  But in truth, instead of the "why" of that being a sad thing, it's actually been something that has helped me grow a bit more, when I had thought that most of my personal growth was over.  If nothing else then, it's aided me in seeing that I do still have growth to do, and that is a good thing, not a bad.

What happened is that for a year, a great, good and busy year of starting a new food ministry from scratch - with the aid of many good people - I had finally won through to success.  This wasn't success in 490 Outreach, per se, but in the church I attended specifically.  490 Outreach partners with that church, so while I already have known that I succeeded in 490 Outreach, I had now received indication that I'd succeeded in church.

In 490 Outreach, my outward reward for the inward work done was when I joined the Chamber of Commerce and also when various other aid agencies started referring people to me.  And when such agencies would even contribute money to us.  This type of recognition was as if I had received medals, they validated what I had known.

Such was not why I had done such work in the field of sober living homes, but they were a very, very pleasant validation of who I had become all the same.

Like a wise philosopher once said, "A spirit too needs fuel, it can run dry." - and such recognition of a man's spirit is fuel to those who strive hard.  And what's often forgot is that weak and flawed alcoholics and addicts have to strive twice as hard just to achieve half as much as the blessedly normal folk can expect.

I had been told of an opening to be coming open on the Church Board for over a year.  And in my (perhaps sinful) pride, I had yearned for it.  No, not to walk about saying, "Behold my glory" or anything dumb like that.  But for a validation of a variety of church work that I honestly enjoy doing and do for it's own sake, but do only because of a massive amount of inner work and inner struggle to self-improve myself from the selfish ***hole I had been through much of my active addiction life.

And as a third motive, a natural desire to contribute in a meaningful and important way in a church that I love.  Yes, I tithe, yes, I donate 30 plus hours of volunteer labor a month, but I felt that a say could also benefit the church.

I had forgot, of course, the scripture about those disciples in the Last Supper who had been bickering over who was the greatest.  No, no, this was not where I thought I was the greatest, I know I am not, I know that in fact far more than some others who would be quick to say I am not.  Just that I had erred in setting hopes on a recognition that I should have been more blasé about.

Suffice to say, I did not get nominated for the church board.  A 1/19th say in that Board was denied me.  And yeah, as a man who is the living example of the verse that says, "For all have sinned and fell short of the glory of God", I did feel pain over that.  And a bit more pain than usual, for instead of being offered the position, and instead of them just offering me nothing, I was offered a position that boiled down to "2nd Co-Assistant Junior Helper".

Kind of like busting your butt at McDonalds all year, hoping to be given the "Lead Worker" badge and then being offered a made up "2nd Co-Assistant Fry Cooker" badge.

And there was Satan.  Always nearby to stir things up.  He - or one of his demons - was quick to remind me of every flaw and foible of those who were nominated for such leadership positions.  Fortunately, as sinning as I am, I am not that dumb.  I do know well the foibles and flaws of such folks - as who couldn't, when I attend 99.99% of all church events and activities and 100% of every board meeting?

Then in what purely must have been Satan inspired, I found myself early at the latest board meeting and while quietly reading over the church budget notes had to hear one woman on the board say to another, "It's been hard to find those to fill the leadership positions, as they must be of good spiritual heart."

That made me sad.  I know I have such a heart.  But I resolve now to try to show it better.  I learned a long time ago that getting someone else to work harder is a fool's errand, but one can always strive to work harder themselves.

And, while I'm aware of the foibles of those who make these decisions, I'm aware of all their goodness, too.  It's funny, there are factions on the board, and one "dislikes" the other to such an extent that the word "hate" would come to mind, were it not that we are taught not to hate.  Yet I can, as I sit in the back of the room watching the Board meetings each month, dispassionately note that while each side thinks it's on the side of angels, that both sides - and the various minor sides - all love Jesus, all love the church, and all think they are doing what is best.

That by itself, over the course of this past year, has helped me to grow, and I am grateful for that.

I did the old "on the one hand" and "on the other hand" and even "on the other other hand" thing.  I know some of the clean reasons that could have been cited to keep me off that board.  But I also know that those reasons were probably a bit of a stretch, and it probably has more to do with just me not being there long enough, or having upset a wrong person, or just not being a "known" enough factor.  Or maybe, as some told me, it's just a "clique" thing.

And I know of my own flaws, times I could have tried harder to go easier on others.  And I know such flaws existed in others, but were forgave in them.  And I know that if they felt that they had a really clean reason for denying me a position that most thought I'd obviously get, they'd have shared it.  And as they have not shared it, that hurts, too.  Mostly for it telling me that I'm just not "one of them".

But after all the hands, and I think I had 23 hands by the time I was done pondering this (for I had wanted that recognition greatly) I settled on, "Even if they chose to decline me for wrong reasons, I'm either doing good for goodness sake or I am not."  So therefore, as I am doing good because I now have come to a point in which I truly value it, I carry on.

Funny, twenty years ago - even ten - I'd have railed against this to the high heavens.  Perhaps this was then a test.  Now I can just put it behind me, and get back to the good - and for me fun - work of aiding others in the food ministry, while continuing on with plans for growing our sober living homes.  Not only is that enough, it's more than enough.

And heck, there's always next year!  Perhaps there hearts will have softened by then.  Or perhaps I'll be recognized as having a "good spiritual heart".  In any case, I feel this was a Satan-inspired stumbling block, but one I'm simply going to jump over and continue to carry on.

Cautiously Optimistic!

A man walked into our sister church, Bible Chapel Church, just a bit over a couple of weeks ago.  He dropped a substantial donation in the plate. 

Substantial?  Well, I'm not saying that it was enough to have them then buy a brand new church.  Quite a bit less than that, by far.  But it was quite a bit more - by far - than just a twenty in the kiddy collection!

Then, as one Sabbath visit turned into two, it came out that he was homeless.  And without any means of support.  At 67, he had no job.  No home.  But he did have a car.

He had used that car to come from Texas to here.

We had no openings at 490 Outreach at the moment, but we will have an opening by the 18th of this month.  So I've offered, and he's accepted, to stay with us then. 

I reviewed his situation with him - well over half of our "aid" to others is just in hooking them up with the right set of circumstances, as many are unaware of the opportunities out there. 

I asked about jobs and skills and records and such, to see what could or could not be done.  In the course of this, I asked what was his base income now.  He said he had none.  I asked, "Well, what about your Social Security?"  He said he had none.

Wait...what?  I asked why he had not applied for it.  He said he almost did once, but some pop up on the online application was asking about his housing status and he thought he somehow then didn't qualify.

I let him know that Social Security was only a matter of if you worked and were a certain age.  He was skeptical, but I got him to agree to let me take him to the Social Security office.

I picked him up at the motel he was at - the kind folks at Bible Chapel had put him up there till they could figure out how best to aid him.  I took him to the Social Security office.  I assured him it would be okay.  I said that even if they "only" gave him $600 a month, our charge for a place to stay was only $280 a month, so he could not fail.

I related to him Matthew 6:33.  He said he understood.  As we sat and waited, for a long time, he shared how he got here.  A vision.  He didn't call it a vision, but that's what it boiled down to.  He saw "Toronto".  But knew it wasn't Canada. 

He checked Google maps in Illinois and saw at one point the word "Toronto".  As in the Toronto Rd. exit just south of Springfield.  And he got in his car and came here.  He had also seen a pretty white church in his view of the satellite image of our town.

And that church was Bible Chapel.  So he went there.  He said he knew the Sabbath was the seventh day.

Such things are a lot to digest.  You read or hear of such things, usually in some faith-based magazine, or on some evangelical video, usually far off, and if you're like me, sometimes you believe it, sometimes you don't. 

In our sober living home business, I take any exciting prospect with what I call "cautious optimism".  I hope for the best, but will not be surprised by anything less than best.  As I tell my wife, "Time will tell."

Well, it was his turn at the Social Security office.  He qualified alright.  And then some.  And for quite a bit more than $600.  Never mind how much, more than some folks I know, and enough to tell me that his work history had been quite, quite healthy.

And my optimism about a man's prospects always shoots way up any time I see that he is or was a hard worker!

Frankly, I was massively excited.  Given the cost of living in Springfield, he can now have a perfectly normal and comfortable life.  And I was quick to point out to him that this was a clear and obvious blessing from God. 

I've seen that kind of thing before - a person put off from what they needed and were owed, simply for misunderstanding it or not following through or even not having heard of it.  Usually just thinking they don't qualify or that something is for "others" not them. 

We reviewed his now many other options.  He'll be using our address for his mail.  He'll still be staying with us when that opening comes up, until he can get a bank account and some savings to then see what apartments are available.

He'll still be attending Bible Chapel. 

Meanwhile, he's not up for staying at a local shelter, I can't say I entirely blame him.  He's roughing it in his car, in a safe place, I've had to do that before, and know that it affords a bit more freedom and dignity than some shelters.

And I let him know that I can get him a shower every few days if he wants, and laundry facilities. 

I was able to get him an emergency box of food from the food pantry at Springfield First Seventh-day Adventist Church.  12 meals that don't have to be cooked, all in one handy box!  And our church also has quilts, so I let him pick one, because even if it's warm, the nights can still be cool. (I was, as an aside, also pleased as punch about the synergy I'm seeing between two local Adventist churches and our own Adventist-themed non-profit! This man needed a variety of things, and here between our churches and charities, we were getting him all those things!)

I dropped him off in the care of Brother Allen, from Bible Chapel.  And called the next day to make sure all is on track.  That was yesterday.  I'm still thinking about the man and his situation.  How funny and odd life is. 

I know what some are thinking.  What's the catch?  Well, I asked him all the usual questions, if there is a "catch" I've yet to come across it.  He says he simply wishes a fresh start.  I can personally understand that.  I had my own some years ago, but at an age still older than some.

So his is a bit older than mine, I still get it.  And perhaps he'll have more to share about the whys of that later.  Meanwhile, any man who simply attends church each week, harms none and does the right things to progress - well, if that's all a man does, that's enough in my book.

I'm cautiously optimistic!  Not for his success - I know for sure he can succeed now, it would, short of booze and drugs, be impossible to materially fail!  No, my cautious optimism is that he may well have been led here to learn more about our Savior and our faith, and to find a church home where he can spiritually grow and progress!

As I told a brother at Bible Chapel yesterday - those stories we read about this kind of thing in some Adventist magazine or Guideposts or such...maybe we're in one of those stories now!  Maybe this is his life's turn around point, and baptism and prosperity are here for him, right in our very backyard!

Time will tell!