The Street Corner Commission
Behind the Faces
For years I wondered what was behind the faces. I wanted to meet them. At times I even longed to provide food and blankets. The fear of being one and inexperienced in such things would keep me away for years, but one hot August day my dream, a passion that had laid dormant inside of me for years would find life.
A small group of people (street ministry team) were meeting in Tacoma to prepare sack lunches made up of sandwiches, pretzels and bottled water to pass out to some of the faces. A friend who had flown in from London for the experience of street ministry had signed up, hoping to learn and take home with her other ideas for reaching the hurting and lost.
This was my opportunity and I wasn’t about to let it pass me by…not now when I could feel that passion rise up inside of me. So I asked if I could go along. We went as a group, all except my friend and I experienced in such things.
Standing at the end of a well-worn dirt pathway that led into the brush and trees we offered the sack lunches and water to everyone who went in and came out. Three of our group including one who had three short weeks before been a resident at the end of the dirt path, were now going in to try and offer hope and help to those inside.
The rest of us were directed to not go beyond the beginning of the dry dirt pathway. It was a dangerous place to be if you didn’t know the rules and protocol.
I stood there as a car of men drove up, parked, one of them getting out, walking past us down the dry dirt path…It wasn’t hard to figure out that he had come with a purpose and had merchandise to sell.
I had stopped him on his way in and offered him a sack lunch and water. On his way out he stopped to warn me that the area we were in was a bad place to be after dark and again cautioned me to be sure to leave the area before dark.
Faces went in and faces came out. Tears began to well up in me as I watched those who were going back in. I began to see the hopelessness and instead of faces I began to see someone’s son or daughter, sister or brother, niece or nephew, mother or dad…My heart was breaking for them. It would be a day I would never forget. A day I would forever cherish that would soon move me to spend Saturday mornings on the streets of Tacoma offering clothing, hot coffee, cookies and most importantly getting to hear some of the stories of the people behind the faces.
There was a guy who had been homeless for years, had a tent and was asking if we had candles. He shared how he would place a candle in a can and how much it would warm his tent in cold weather. A few weeks later he shared how his sister who he hadn’t seen in years had come from another state to find him. He had been so glad to have the time with her.
Another man had been a victim of the Katrina disaster and been offered a ticket to leave to go to another area and start over, but hadn’t been given a choice of location. He was given a ticket to Seattle. The gentleman had been a chef in a high-end restaurant and had three homes all paid for, all destroyed. Having yet to be able to put enough money together his wife and daughter were still there. He was hanging drywall in Seattle but because he couldn’t afford to live there he had moved to Tacoma, living in one room and was taking the bus back and forth to Seattle to work every day.
There was the man from California who had served for years in the military. One day his wife didn’t want to be married to him anymore. He had found his way to Tacoma and was staying in a shelter and looking for work. He shared how he had to leave the shelters in the morning and wasn’t allowed to go back until 3:30-5:00pm, depending on how low the temperature was outside. It was winter and difficult to find someplace to stay dry and warm during those hours.
A young man in his twenties came. It was cold and raining and when he took off his dilapidated shoes with part of the soles gone, removed his drenched gray socks to reveal feet that were beat red. He was given a clean white dry pair of socks.
There weren’t any shoes in his size but one of the volunteers who wore the same size of shoes who was so touched with compassion took off his shoes and gave them to the man along with a clean dry jacket. I don’t recall having seen that kind of love before.
There were many that tugged at my heart but there was that one young man…about my son’s age who continues to pop up in my mind from time to time. His name was Josh. He was working on Freighters and had traveled to many countries. He had gotten involved in drugs and lost everything in the process. He frankly shared with me and my heart broke. That picture of him walking away and asking me to pray for him is still with me and I wonder where he is and if he is alive and well. Has he won the battle and regained what was lost?
While some are where they are because of choices they made, still others are where they are because of circumstances beyond their control.
There were success stories. The wife and daughter of the man from New Orleans were reunited with him in Tacoma. The man who had once lived at the end of the dry dirt path who was trying to help others has a job and is now able to spend time with his daughter and that relationship is being rebuilt.
The faces all have names and a story to tell. They all have or had families somewhere. They all have feelings and needs, experienced hurt and pain. They all need to be loved and to be hugged. They all need to know they are important and someone cares.
In so many ways they are just like you and me. I haven’t seen them for quite some time, but I am grateful for the privilege to have heard some of their stories and seen beyond the faces. I hope and pray they are all alive and well.
Connie