Serving in the yard

I feel like Thea and I are in "countdown mode". In a little more than one month, we will be heading home, and the St. Francis Inn experience will be just a memory. Clearly, it has changed Thea and me, but now, we will re-enter the "real world" of Hickory and get on with our "real" lives. On Wednesday morning, I spoke with my spiritual director -- we call each other for an hour every Weds. AM -- and he gave me some good advice. "Mark", he said, "don't waste these last days at the Inn by jumping ahead in your mind to being back in Hickory. There are still many opportunities for the Lord to work through you at the Inn." Good advice, and I resolved to be open to the Lord's grace amidst the "countdown".

Today, I worked the morning meal and was in the yard. We had plenty of staff, and so the Coordinator told me to "relax and just monitor the yard and bathrooms." As I was standing around, some of the guests began "checking in" with me. Rambo, one of our regulars who suffers from ongoing depression and suicidal thoughts, told me that he "wanted me to hang him." I replied that I didn't want to do that because he was an important person, and that I didn't want him to die. He grumbled off saying that he was tired of living and wanted to die.

Then, Michael and his one-year old baby came by. His is a sad story: the mother of his child was murdered about a year ago at one of the subway stops. Apparently she was a prostitute who could not give up the lifestyle and got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Michael asked me to take a picture of his little boy because he, like many of the parents that the Inn serives, does have any photos of his child. While Michael tickled the little boy, I snapped away and we finally got a good shot which I told Michael that I would print for him.

About this time, back comes Rambo informing me that both bathrooms are out of toilet paper. This, clearly, is a crisis of the first order, and I quickly go in and replace all the exhausted rolls with new ones. "See", I tell Rambo, "if I had hanged you, you would not have been alive to tell about the toilet paper. You are important!" Magically, Rambo's atitude flips and he begins to tell me about how his secret powers, derived from something called "The Matrix". He rambles on for a few minutes, not making a whole lot of sense, but clearly, the depression is at least temporarily, put at bay. He is happy again, feeling some self worth.

A minute later, another of the regulars -- a 48-year old man named Deacon -- stops by. Deacon suffers from mental illness of some sort, possibly paranoia. He is a voracious writer, scribbling endlessly in notesbooks, and recently has been in a religious mood. I ask him how he is, and he replies in a sonorous voice: "Wonderfullll....wonderful.............wonderful. To think that He would be interested in me.......to think that He would care......they don't believe but it's a little too much.......just a little too much......Isn't it?.......Isn't it?? I ask Deacon who "He" and "They" are. He replies that "He" in the Lord, and "They" are people on the street. So I say: "You mean that it is just a little too much to believe that the Lord cares about you and me, even though many people in Kensington are non-believers -- right? "RIIIIIGHT", says Deacon, "But it's a little too much......too much." He moves off to discuss religion with someone else.

Then, a "normal" person -- Jerome from the AA program across the street -- approaches. Jerome is a recovering alcoholic that lives over at the Last Stop. He comes to Mass regularly and when I ask him how many days he's been sober he says "Over two years, man!" I congratulate him and ask him if he has any family. He casts his eyes down and tells me that he's separated from his wife ("She got tired of my drinking and kicked me out of the house.") and his three kids aged 21, 19, and 7. He, at 38, is already a grandfather. After the initial separation, he "went crazy" and got arrested for dealing drugs ("I panicked and made some really stupid decisions.") Now, however, he's clean, looking for a job and hoping to reconcile with his wife. He tells me: "I want a relationship like you have with you wife." "It takes lots of work" I tell him.

Jerome heads to the food line, and I hear a familiar voice behind me. It's Ray. This is the guest that has an educational bent. He loves science and often asks me questions about animals. Today he, too, is on a religion kick. "I got this tape from the library on religion, man. You know that lots of our religion comes from Africa and that's why those churches have all that singing and dancing and charismatic preachers." I notice that someone has left a Time Life book on Mammals on the ground and ask Ray if he would like to have the book. "Sure", he says, and he moves off. Later, after the gate closes he comes back and asks for a razor which I give to him, although technically we are not supposed to give out toiletries on Thursdays. "Thanks, man" he says. "I knew that you would do that for me because you are my friend." And he moves off down the street.

I look at my watch: 70 minutes has elapsed, just like that. And I feel good, because Rambo is happier; Michael will have a good picture of his little boy; Ray has a new book and a couple of razors; I have told Jerome that I will pray for him, but my main thought is Deacon's -- It's wonderful that the Lord cares about us and works through us.

Wonderfullllllll, indeed.