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| Under the Bridge: Stosh's place |
Sunday,
July 27, 2014
“What do
you mean you yanked the urethral catheter out?
And you really shouldn’t talk to the doctor like that, Mari, they’re
just trying to help you!”
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| Mari, Mari! |
“Ain’t
nobody putting one of them tubes in my bladder!”
“Why did
you have to have one, anyhow?” I ask her.
“They
thought I had a bruised kidney.”
“Pray
tell, Mari, why did they think you had a bruised kidney?”
When Mari
gets something in her mind, you might as well just let her go with it. To try to restrain her in any way would be
like trying to hold two fighting mad, scratching, biting, wiggling wild cats with your bare hands. This otherwise gentle lady can gain a hundred pounds and
a bucket full of adrenaline within about five minutes - something the emergency
room doctor did not understand.
This is
how it all started.
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| Railroad bridge to Enchanted Gilligan's Island! |
The
railroad bridge is like a magic connection to the enchanted “Gilligan’s Island.” The island has white sandy beaches and lush,
green trees and palm trees. There,
people leave you alone; you can drink, as it is not a public park; and the cops
don’t usually go there. If you’re homeless
or a boater, it’s a great getaway just three minutes walking distance from the
Bay Side Camp.
Of
course, the magic of it all stops if a train is coming around the corner. If you happen to get caught on this very
narrow bridge during this unfortunate moment, you would just lean back against
the outer edge railing and suck in your stomach as much as you can, as one train
wagon after another goes noisily by. Oh,
and hang on to your beer! Hopefully, the
train will go by without snagging any protrusions of yours, thus dragging you down
the tracks with it.
One other
way to lose the magic of the bridge is if the cops catch you crossing it! Yes, you get a big fat ticket, if not jail
time for such a bold move on “Federal Property,” as the railroad tracks
are. The standard procedure, if
apprehended or called by the cops, is to jump off the bridge into the water
whose tidal current will carry you away from the cops. However, this could be counter-productive if
you are swept out to sea. But at least,
you won’t get a ticket!
Mari was
crossing the bridge with her friends at such a time when the “magic” was still
there, and “enchanted” times on “Gilligan’s Island” held great promises of
drinking and freedom. As the drinking
had already started a while back and it was getting dark, everyone was slowly
and cautiously walking on the railroad tracks.
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| The Magic Connection and "Thump" beach! |
Suddenly,
lights were flashed at them from the other end of the bridge where they had
started; blue lights, red lights, bright white lights. Over the loud police speakers, they heard,
“Come back to this end and get off the bridge immediately!”
Someone -
not the brightest or most sober one - yelled, “Jump in the water!” So, according to Emergency Plan B, all four
of them jumped.
Splash!
Splash! Splash! Thump!
Thump?
Yes, you
see, Mari was almost at the end of the bridge where the water ends and the sand
begins. She thought she was still over
the water and hadn’t thought to look down before jumping. The cops called; someone yelled, “Jump!” Her “fight or flight” response was
“flight.” She jumped. She landed with a “thump” on her side on the
“enchanted” beautiful, white sands of Gilligan’s Island.
The cops
had to be called to the ER because she had not sobered up completely, yet,
and…well…nobody was going to stick a tube up to her…bladder. She got up and said she was leaving –
something doctors have not been taught how to handle in Medical School.
They
tried to restrain her; poor souls.
She was
walking through the hospital parking lot when the cops arrived. She was not breaking any laws at this point
so there was nothing they could do. One
nice officer, however, did give her a ride back home – to the Bay Side Camp. Bless that officer, oh Lord.
Don’t
judge. Don’t ask questions. Just love them.
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| From railroad bridge, looking at Bay Side Park. |
It was
not Mari’s turn to go to jail that week; it was Jersey’s turn!
While at Bay Side Camp, Jersey immodestly emptied
his bladder behind a tree. Someone at
the park saw him and called the cops. He
was arrested. It’s that simple. Of course, drinking has something to do with just
about everything, here.
I must
briefly remind our readers what our main purpose to the homeless is.
1. Lead
them to salvation
2. Encourage
them in the Lord
3. Disciple
them to be used by the Lord where they are
Our
purpose is certainly not to judge or condemn them. They know they have issues that seriously
handicap some of them. Why tell a handicapped
man in a wheel-chair, “Hey, you’re in a wheel-chair!” How rude and disrespectful. We love them in the name of Jesus Christ,
because Jesus himself loves them (Matthew 25:40). Most of the homeless are loving and
respectful of each other and very respectful of what we are doing for them.
So, what
are we doing for them, today?
Today is
the last Sunday of the month when I hold a “service” for them and feed them a
home cooked meal – usually spaghetti with sauce and meat balls, fresh French
bread, desert and soft drinks.
However,
because it is over 90 degrees and 90% humidity, I am serving pizza, this time. No cooking today. They will each get three slices of Little
Caesars large pepperoni pizza. If there
should be some left over, they can take some with them to eat later, as it
keeps well. Bill brought them fruit pies
for desert and sodas to drink.
Kojak,
who once was a chef, frowned, “What do you mean no spaghetti?”
I think
they all like the gas stoves, the steam from the boiling water, the spaghetti and
sauce cooking, the slicing and the scent of the fresh, yeasty loaves of French bread. It must give them a sense of “kitchen;” of
family dinner; of togetherness.
However,
today we’ll just have to all huddle around the pizza boxes, hold hands and sing
“Kumbaya!”
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| From L. to R.: JJ, Stosh, John, Chris (white T-shirt), Tina and Kojak |
“All
right, let’s all gather around and let’s first have the food which is most
important – the Word of God!”
I started
this about a couple of years ago and many now tell me they would come to get
together and hear the Word of God even if there was no food. This is their church. All 25 of them sit down at the picnic tables
and look up expectantly…including the dogs!
“Today,
by popular demand (Mari), we will hear about the book of Esther.”
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| Mike: Haven't I seen you in a movie somewhere? |
My
preaching/teaching is interactive; they can ask questions, make comments, etc.,
as long as it is not disruptive. If someone
is disruptive, they all get on him to be quiet!
The book of Esther is an exciting story which they follow with rapt
attention. Mike was right into the story,
following the plot excitedly like a little child. Jack the Intellectual was smiling at the
understanding of the meaning of the Word of God.
Tony said
something I didn’t quite hear. Everyone
turned to him and, in unison, told him, “Be quiet!”
Today, I
spoke a little longer, as it seemed they were enjoying the sermon about Esther.
There is
always a call for salvation. The Lord
has always met us and blessed us at our services. Today, they’re all sober; I get a double
blessing!
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| Bill and Mari |
Bill asks
who will pray and thank the Lord for the meal.
Mari speaks a sweet prayer from the heart to which all answered…amen!
I wanted
to minister to all of them and take some pictures and hear their stories. Bill took over the serving of the pizza, as
everyone got in line to be served. Thank
God Bill has the gift of helps. He’s
always there when you need him. I, and
all the homeless, thank the Lord for this man of God.
He didn’t need the pizza cutter I so graciously offered him, as he told
me the pizza slices separated easily in his gloved hands. You got it, Brother Bill, run with it…you
know what you’re doing…and he busily served everyone with a smile on his face
and love in his heart!
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| Dinner after church, with Hanna, the dog, waiting for handouts |
“Theresa,
how are you coping?” Her husband,
Jersey, is the one who is in jail, this week. Though they are homeless and
sleep in the car, she works in a nursing home as a Nurse’s Assistant. There are many homeless who do not drink at
all, and Theresa is one of them.
“I have
to go to work right after I eat.”
“You like
what you’re doing?” I ask.
She
proceeds to explain an important part of herself. “I love old people and old veterans.” she says
emphatically, “It is my mission from God, my Lord and Savior, to take care of
our seniors. The Lord has put deep
compassion in my heart for them. I love
to take care of them.” She says this
plainly and simply, very becoming of a humble servant of the Lord. In the service, I had talked about them being
discipled; about their “ministry.” As a
soft spoken, humble sweetheart in Christ, she exemplified service to Jesus.
“When
will Jersey be out of jail?” I asked.
“That
should just be a three-day thing.”
Then she
briefly tells me how people around her give her a hard time about being with
him.
“They don’t
understand that I love him so much.”
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| Theresa and Jersey |
Sitting
at the same table with Theresa is Alice, who is writing in her notebook. She is deaf.
I come up behind her and give her a great big hug and bless her in the
name of Jesus. While I’m hugging her, I
notice that her shoes are totally worn out and falling off her feet.
“Do you
need some shoes?”
She
looked at me quizzically. I write the
question in her book. She nods her head
in agreement – size 8 she writes next to my question. O.K. we’ll have to put her on the list.
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| L. to R.: Shy Suzanne with staph infection on leg, Theresa, Alice (who is deaf) |
The other
lady at the table has her head bowed down, reading her bible. A man approaches me and tells me that she has
a “staph” infection and cannot afford the six dollar antibiotic
prescription. She shows me her red lower
leg which is inflamed.
“Do you
drink?” I asked her.
“No, I
don’t,” she quietly answered.
“I don’t
want the money to go to anything else – not beer or anything like that.
“It
won’t,” she whispered. She pulls out the
doctor’s notes and the prescription for the antibiotic and hands them to
me. I look them over and ask her, “I
can’t take you right now – maybe in an hour.
Do you have someone to take you to the pharmacy?”
“Yes, I
can go right now” she answers softly.
I don’t
normally hand out cash, but I give her a ten dollar bill. Then I lay my hand on her shoulder and pray
for her healing right there and then.
God bless her.
I quietly
go over to Mari. “Mari, how’s your
kidney and your side, now?”
“I’ll be
fine…”
“How’s
Robert (her 21-year old son) doing?”
“He’ll be
in jail until the 29th. It’s
kind of good for him to be in there and sober up. He’s going to have to do something with his
life when he comes out.
She
pauses for a moment and then adds, “Sometimes I want to cry, but mostly I
pray.”
After
about a couple hours of eating and fellowshipping, it’s time to go. I’m going to miss them until I see them next
time. John will be riding with me and I
will drop him off near his camp by the railroad tracks. He shares with me that he has lost his
glasses, which makes it hard for him to work, as he is legally blind and can’t
see much! His two bosses will chip in to
get him a new pair.
I drop
him off at Jack’s camp, which is near the railroad tracks. Beaming, he showed
me the new pair of jeans Bill had given him.
“Is there
anything else you need, John?”
“I sure
could use some bug spray.” The
mosquitoes are plentiful and very active in these woods.
“Sure,
John.” As I went back in my truck, the
mosquitoes were already biting me. I
thought I would not wait to get him the bug spray next week, but would come
back and bring him some today.
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| John (left), Jack the Intellectual (center), Patrick (right) |
I left
Walmart with the bug spray and went back to John’s camp. I turned off the main road unto a
neighborhood road and then drove for a quarter mile along the railroad tracks
to the camp, which is well hidden in the trees.
“Hello!” I always announce myself before walking in a
camp. This is somebody’s home. John wasn’t there but Patrick was, and I
handed him the bug spray, as they all share.
“Hey,
thanks a lot, Jean-Luc. Most of my money
goes to bug spray!” We chit-chat for a
couple of minutes and then I leave. I
back up to a gravel railroad crossover, and head back down along the railroad
tracks to the main highway.
I had not
driven a block on the main, four-lane highway when a police cruiser’s blue lights
came up behind me and he pulls me over. By
the time I pull over and stop, there were three cruisers with all blue lights
flashing surrounding my truck! It was an
impressive show of our men in blue – well…green in this
case.
One
officer slowly comes up along my truck and cautiously eases himself up to my
window. With his
hand on his holstered
hand gun he nervously asked, “What were you doing on the railroad tracks?”
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| The scene of the crime! |
So that’s
what was bothering them, I thought. I
simply answered, “Visiting the homeless.”
“What?” That didn’t seem to register with him.
“I
brought this homeless man some bug spray.”
“What?” He clearly had not thought of such a reason
to be on the tracks.
“And…where
are you going next?”
“To the
next camp, to give them some bug spray.” I simply answered.
Still
with his hand on his holstered gun, “It’s a Federal Law…you can’t drive on the
tracks.”
“I didn’t
know that, officer.”
Again, he
asked, “What were you doing on the tracks?”
I point at the plastic Walmart bag next to me
on the truck seat before reaching for it so he wouldn’t get nervous and take
his gun out of his holster and hurt someone.
I take out a couple cans of bug spray out of the bag. As I reached for the bag, I look around and
notice that my truck was surrounded by a half dozen men in green, all with
their hands on their holstered guns.
“I give
these to the homeless, and I’m going to the next camp to give these out.”
“You
drove on the tracks, right?” he insisted.
“Yes, to
get to John’s camp.”
“You
drove OVER the tracks, is that right?”
“Officer,
I’ve been driving over railroad tracks all my life. I didn’t know that was a problem.”
“I mean…at
crossings…you can.”
Then I
thought of showing him the book I had written about the homeless. I point to my glove box so none of the
officers with their hands on their holstered guns would be spooked and take
their guns out of their holsters and hurt each other. As I reach for the glove box, I notice a sizable
female officer at my passager window with her hand on her holstered gun. She is looking at me and smiling, as if all
this was comical to her.
I carefully take my book out of the glove
box and hand it to the officer at my driver’s side window.
“I wrote
the book on how to minister to the homeless, The Spark in the Street.”
He took
the book. “You wrote this book?” he
asked, surprised.
“Yes.”
Gazing at
the front cover of the book, he asks again, “You’re the author of this book?”
“Yes, officer,
I wrote the book about our ministry to the homeless in our city…Pensacola. It’s our manual of sorts.”
He stares
at the front cover for a while before briefly looking at the back cover.
He
finally releases his grip on his holstered gun and starts looking at the book,
now firmly in both hands. He carefully
looks at the table of contents. This
must have taken him by surprise because he slowly thumbs through the book,
stopping at a page now and then and reading a few lines of it. It appears as if he hadn’t seen a real book
in quite a long time. He stops at a page
near the back of the book and becomes quite involved in reading it. His facial tension relaxes, somewhat, and he becomes
calmer and more relaxed overall.
“Officer,
you can have this book if you wish. It’s
my gift to you.”
He looks
at me for a moment, blinks his eyes twice, and slowly hands me back the book.
“Let me
see your driver’s license.” I hand it to
him. “Is this your truck?”
“Yes.” He did not ask for my registration. He carries my driver’s license back to his
cruiser to check things out. The other
officers start relaxing a little and begin speaking amongst each other as if
they all enjoyed seeing each other again.
“So, Jim, how’s your wife doing…?”
After a
couple of minutes, the officer comes out of his cruiser. I could hear them and I could see them all in
my rear view mirror.
Thinking he was speaking in a whisper I
could not hear, another officer asked him, “So, whadaya think?”
“I’m
gonna let him go.”
“What! He was on the tracks!”
“I
believe him,” he simply said.
“It’s a
federal law. Why do you believe him?”
“He wrote
the book…” the officer pensively answered, “…he wrote the book.”
He walks
back to my window, looks at me for a couple of seconds, gives me back my
license and quickly asks,
“Where do
you live…what is your date of birth…who is the truck registered to?”
I gave
him the answers as fast as he asks them.
I think he just needed to assert himself one more time…because…well…that’s
what police officers do.
He
reminds me one more time about the Federal Law of the Tracks and after about
five seconds of staring at me, says, “You can go.”
Which I
did.
God bless
America.
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| Hey, guys, looky here - pizza pizza! |
Good night, folks, and God bless y'all.
CONTINUE ON TO THE NEXT SURPRISING BLOG!
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