Every time she laughs I laugh from my belly. I want to tell her story but I fear that in doing so I will exploit her experience, her struggle. Her story is so common and yet so unique and I learned it all very slowly as I tried to understand her broken English and she struggled to speak a language entirely different from that of her home. I won’t tell you her name or where she is from, in the event that one day you are given the privilege of meeting her. It is her story and when she tells it there is laughter and heartbreak.
She was sent as a bride to the United States with a dowry. She married the man her parents had chosen for her and had his children. He took everything from her. Many of the details of her life and the timeline are unclear to me, as it is difficult to understand much of what she shares. Having conversations that require one person to share from such a broken place is an unbelievable challenge.
She and her husband did quite well for themselves, owned businesses and had to beautiful babies. One day he came home with papers in English for her to sign, giving her the impression that they were in regards to the business and finances. She signed the papers, not knowing that she gave him everything. She signed over all her financial assets, her children, her life. She was divorced, unwillingly she was divorced from the life she had been sent by her family to build. She was kicked out of the family home, no green card, alone. She was left with nothing. He took her children and moved across the country. She has no proof of her identity.
I have known her for a just over a year and struggled with her as she tries to rebuild her life. The money, the lawyers, the immigration, the doctors, the paper work, in the hope that she can get back a small piece of what was taken. I listen as she shares her story with me. I help in whatever way I can but I mostly listen. She is less panicked as she gets slowly closer to her green card and her laugh is getting louder. Often times if you look in her eyes as she is laughing you can see tears and the hurt that she carries with her.
She yells my name like a mother would and gives me advice even when I don’t necessarily want it. She tells me every week that she is praying I have lots of babies. This would usually irritate me, but because it’s her I encourage it. I feel like is some way she gets a small, very miniscule part of the motherhood that was taken from her. Recently she found the phone number for her daughter and began calling her, now every Sunday she will take my cell phone and talk to her daughter. I don’t know what they talk about, I can’t understand a word of it, every time it happens I stand back and listen. I listen and feel overjoyed and sad all at the same time.
Her story is hers and to hear her tell it tightens the chest, burns the throat and rattles up the insides. I can’t do it justice, but I want it to be told. I want it to be told so that she is not invisible, so that the women that we walk by living outside or oppressed by poverty might be seen with a little more compassion. I want her story to be told because right now her story is the only thing he couldn’t take and in spite of it all she laughs and gives and I love her so much. 
Posted by Ken on Monday, July 19, 2010 | Just One Comment
I used to ride my bike like I owned the neighborhood. I left no stone unturned and had daily adventures that have long since turned into muddy memories and afterthoughts. To me, it was just a way to have fun and show-off my limited skills to the neighborhood kids. A few years ago, I discovered that the bicycle is so much more than a toy; it is a vehicle for change.
We live in a pretty complex society to say the least, and transportation is one of the biggest nightmares we face everyday. Whether it is hopping on the ol’ congested freeway, maneuvering the crowded streets of our cities, or just waiting at the bus stop for hours. The nice thing about bicycles is that they transcend space (busy, clogged streets) and time (in Portland especially, bicycles always seem to be one step ahead of cars and buses), yet they provide a very practical solution for many people to transport themselves. For many of the folks in our community, bicycles are the only way they can get around and often provide a means to gather some form of income.
A few weeks ago, I unassumingly set out to fix as many people’s bikes for free as I could. It came from an idea that I had experimented with before through my non-profit/ministry: a free mobile bicycle repair shop. It can provide many different services, from truing wheels to replacing brake cables and all the tools and equipment fit in the back of a car. It’s been a beautiful adventure so far and some weeks we are so busy we can’t keep up.
But the thing that is even more beautiful than fixing people’s bikes and even engaging in the bicycle culture in Portland is the community that is forming around our little set up. Every Sunday, I can count on two of our friends who live outside to help out with the growing number of people using our service. We are starting to learn names and hear stories. It is a huge honor to be trusted with someone’s transportation and an even greater honor to become a friend.
Posted by Ken on Wednesday, May 26, 2010 | Someone Comment already
The past couple of weeks I have learned one of the most important practical lessons of my life: love conquers fear. I have read this in the Bible many times but I always seem to learn things on a true heart and practical level through my friends at HOMEpdx. I am by nature an introvert, and use my insecurities as an excuse for not getting more involved in some social activities. I tend to not get involved if I don’t have to or if I don’t want to. What I have learned though, through my friends at HOMEpdx, is that in and through community love conquers fear. I can never overcome fear on my own, and the power of love is not found on my own. Through community I learn to love and through community I learn to confront my fears. Through the support of my friends on the team at HOMEpdx, I am pushed out of my comfort zone to connect with politicians, and persuade them towards social change. At the same time, through the team, I confront my same insecurities and learn to love people at HOMEpdx. I can look my insecurities in the face and walk through that fear, as I am gently pushed from behind by my friends and connect a politician with a person in need on the street. I count it as an honor and a blessing to do so, for I could never do works of justice without the support of my friends. There is no fear in love, love dismantles fear. The power of love changes me and those around me, and that love is found in relationship with God and community. I have found that same love at HOMEpdx and my life will never be the same.
Posted by Ken on Tuesday, May 18, 2010 | Someone Comment already
I wondered around downtown Portland this afternoon looking for friends and in the sprinkling rain I found some. Each time I go downtown I learn something and today it was a lesson in Love. One thing that amazes me is the way my friends who live outside take care of each other. Today I was asked several times if I could wait so that someone could go grab a friend who really needs some socks or a snack. As I walked on I thought about the concern and genuine love that people show for each other downtown. I also thought about my own life and how little I pay attention to the needs of people that I love. I have all of my basic needs met. I want for little and yet how often when I am taking what I need do I think about saving some for someone I care about? My friends who live outside live in hazardous conditions and yet they can consistently put the needs of their community ahead of their own.
As the city and the general public continue to limit the rights of my friends and target those that “obstruct the sidewalk (look poor) those same people are not playing into the victim role and instead that are doing what many of us don’t, they are putting others ahead of themselves.
Prayer: remind me that I’m not that big of a deal.
Posted by Ken on Friday, April 23, 2010 | Someone Comment already
He picked me up Friday night about 6:45 at the at the Enterprise car rental place on Pacific Avenue in Tacoma’s seedy South End. Yellow Cab guy. So what was I doing on the Enterprise car rental place on Pacific Avenue in Tacoma’s seedy South End? And why did I need a cab if I was in a car rental place? Don’t ask. It had been a really draggy two days…
So as we were chatting on the way to Lakewood Towne Center to pick up my mostly dead truck I found out that his name was Joe. I also found out that Joe really knew the streets of Tacoma’s seedy South End. I also also discovered that Joe is homeless. Lost his house, which he had owned for 14 years, in August of 2009. His house payment (adjustable rate) went from $800 a month to $1500 in a period of about four years. Joe makes about $800 a month. The math is pretty simple. Fortunately the bank that made this delightful economic device got bailout money and can continue to serve folks like Joe. Thank God for that!
Here’s how it works. Joe pays $72 per day to rent the cab and buys his own gasoline. To say that his vehicle was a full-sized model would be somewhat of an understatement. More like a land yacht. So it costs him at least $100 a day just to end up at zero. Due to the deregulated taxicab industry in Tacoma there are many days when he ends up in the hole by $20 or $30. He drives 12 hour shifts several days a week to make his $800 every month.
I kinda lied. Joe is not exactly homeless; he lives in a trailer that has electricity but no water at all. The funny thing is, though, he doesn’t seem bitter. I, on the other hand, take a severe emotional downswing when my truck craps out on me and I have to hassle for a couple of days. Maybe this guy has something to teach me.
Posted by Ken on Monday, April 12, 2010 | Just One Comment
About 75% of our community at HOMEpdx are Veterans. Last Sunday like most Sundays there were about 65 men who had served out country just hanging out in the basement with all of us. As far as I know every single one of these men served during wartime and now each one is struggling to survive. A small few have hotel rooms or apartments but cannot make enough to meet any individual’s basic needs; the majority of my veteran friends are sleeping outside and waiting for the VA to pay attention. They are waiting for the government to give them the money that they were promised, they are waiting for someone to call them back or send the letter in the mail, they are waiting for a hearing, and they are waiting to start all over because they haven’t been able to jump thru the hoops the way that the VA expects them too.
Many statistics say that veterans make up 23% of the population living outside; I believe that statistic is extremely conservative. Many of my veteran friends struggle with life long injuries; physical, mental and emotional as a result of their service to our country and when they are forced to live outside those injuries that exist as a result of the war are compounded with the injuries that living out side cause.
At HOMEpdx we have an incredible opportunity to love and be loved by these amazing men, we get to hear their stories, laugh with them, cry with them and live life together. These men like everyone who lives outside deserve to be acknowledged. These men deserve to have their basic needs met and shouldn’t they be acknowledged and honored for their bravery, loyalty and service to the United States? I encourage anyone interested to listen to the stories of our veterans who are living outside. I have found these friends of my to be some of the most sensitive insightful people I have ever met and I want to badly to make life different for them, I want for each of them to experience justice and equality.
Posted by Ken on Saturday, November 21, 2009 | 2 comments
http://jessicaroye.tumblr.com/ Maybe it will be clearer why we do what we do. And one of our pitfalls.
Posted by Ken on Monday, October 19, 2009 | Someone Comment already
When I saw him the first time, he was sitting with his back to us. It was our usual Thursday evening burrito/socks/toiletries/laugh a lot/tell stories (some of which are true)/hear stories (some of which are true) hang out in Pioneer Square time. He obviously didn’t know that we were there. Or didn’t care. Or…
INFP (Meiers/Briggs). Lots of feelings, some perceptions, a bit of intuitiveness. A near fatal dose of introversion… that’s me in a nutshell. So I’m looking at this guy. Raggedy, visibly dirty, scroungy backpack, tattered black garbage bags, hunched over with the telltale slouch of chronic low self-esteem. Just sitting, hoodie pulled up around his face. What to do? I could turn back to the safe, warm, familiar faces. Ignore him. I’d soon forget him. Guilt? Sure, but it would eventually seep away.
I grabbed a burrito, beef, one of our four varieties, and a pair of socks and slowly shuffled his direction, feeling as if I was stumbling to the gallows (a bit shy? Yeah). Sitting down, I stuck out my hand and quavered, “My name’s…” He jumped back about a foot. I jumped two. That’s when I saw the wires dangling from his ears. Earbuds. He pulled one out. It screamed hardcore as it dangled lifelessly from his chest. He took the burrito and socks, muttered his thanks, replaced the earbud and hung his head.
That went on weekly for six months or so. Each week would bring a slight thaw. Replies always one word or less. His name was Bernard. Portland native. My mind would blank out at each encounter after about thirty seconds. “God, throw me a bone. I’m dying here.” No bone, week in and week out. Two paralyzed waifs, side by side, sitting on the brick staircase, in silence. Then one Thursday evening… Bernard smiled. A broad, rotted tooth, lumpy faced smile that revealed a flicker of joy in this grief stricken twenty-something’s life.
Now, a year and a half later, he comes near when we arrive, leans his elbows on a planter and stays until we leave. One of us, though a silent one. His future? God knows…but, for now he’s one of us…with a beautiful smile.
There are no quick fixes on the streets of downtown Portland, Oregon. Change comes, if at all, glacially. Measured in months, often years. Measuring each life against itself.
Why then do we do what we do?
For me, some folks loved me when I was dying of my own life-grief about forty years ago. I haven’t forgotten.
You’ll have to ask the others.
Posted by Ken on Saturday, October 17, 2009 | Just One Comment
This is Jessica’s take on last Sunday:
Last Sunday my community at HOMEpdx ordained me. Ken and I had been talking for almost a year about my future/potential ordination at HOME and what it would/should look like for our community. What ended up happening last Sunday was so incredibly different than what my head thought would happen. I had put off the idea of ordination for a while, and my excuses ranged from: it doesn’t matter for what we do downtown, we are to busy, I don’t think people will care one way or another and so on. I have a lot of ideas and opinions about everything and as it turns out my ideas and opinions are not always God’s ideas and opinions (although I like to believe they are and, well… you can guess were that gets me). Leading up to Sunday people were congratulating me and that felt weird and they wanted to know how I felt about the ordination and what I was thinking and I didn’t know what to tell them, so there was a lot me saying: it feels weird, I don’t know yet and yea, wow, crazy.
God and I don’t have the sort of relationship like a Thomas Kinkade painting, where he is walking me through the meadow of life and I see glimpses of him everywhere, nor is it like the forth of July and the fireworks are His voice. Most of the time God has to talk to me like I am a child in a preschool class; they sit on the mat, the teacher holds up a picture of something, like a cat and the child knows what a cat is, the teacher makes consequences very clear and the child gets punished. So God knows I need to be led by the hand and He also knows that unless He makes it very clear what he is doing in my life and my community I will miss it because I am a preschooler and I get distracted.
Taking into account my assumptions about how my ordination would go down, my inability to understand what it was I was feeling leading up to the ordination and my preschool relationship with God, He couldn’t have made himself more clear. The best way to describe downtown last Sunday would be to say that my community owned my Ordination; it belonged to them and was as much my being recognized as it was their opportunity to demonstrate their oneness. In the middle of the Cop Circle more than 50 friends laid hands on me and prayed for me, men and women crying and laughing together and then all singing: “amazing grace how sweet the sound that saved a retch like me”. In my preschool brain things like this don’t happen, but what I realized standing in the middle of all of that oneness and love and witnessing that can only be described as revival, is that things like this do happen. I believe that what I and all of my friends experienced so clearly is what God sees every time he look at HOMEpdx. Most Sundays I am caught up in responsibilities and holding shit together and in all of that it is very easy to miss the things that God might see or do, but something like last Sunday happens and, boom, He is there and He has weaved himself in the lives of each individual and he has weaved us together. When he looks at us every Sunday what He sees is revival and worship Last Sunday I was given a glimpse into God’s heart and the opportunity to see very clearly what he sees. I don’t think that there is a an adequate way to describe last Sunday, or any Sunday for that matter, but to say that Jesus is very real downtown and if you are looking for him in the way that you have seen him before you will miss him, but if you shut your opinions up and let him show you, you might be changed forever.
God, help me see what you see, because I suck at paying attention most of the time.
Amen,
Jessica
Posted by Ken on Sunday, October 4, 2009 | Someone Comment already
Here’s a link to Pam’s video of Jessica’s ordination party. Held in my back yard.
We ordained her as a pastor because her (our) community spoke.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9wyJgxOdqO0
Posted by Ken on Friday, October 2, 2009 | Someone Comment already
