Jesus saw God and other folks saw Jesus, so I know they exist. Also my heart tells me they are real. But I have never heard anybody say they saw the holy spirit, or is it holy ghost? the holy ghost is not something I am sure I want to see anyway: ghosts have a different connotation in my mind than something pleasant to run into on your way to church.
I am becoming a responsible citizen and it is scaring me a bit. A couple of weeks back I organized a soup and sandwich Sunday through my tiny but beloved Unity church.
In order to use the building where we served the soup, which is owned by another church, I had to sign a Pledge of Faith and pass a background check. This kind of process and procedure used to bother me enough that I may not have done it had it been even a year ago.
The pledge asked in eight or nine different ways whether I loved Jesus or not. It also asked about my dedication to the trinity. I may have fudged a little, agreeing that I was, in fact, dedicated to it.
I was sweating the background check too. One, I wondered who was going to get to peruse it and, two, whether my arrest record while homeless might hold me back.
But I made it through that phase and I am proud to say me and my church folk got to break bread with around forty members of this community who were willing to join us.
Low income and homeless folk, well I do not think the food is all that important to them, it is just kind of an excuse to sit and visit with each other and we had a great time.
There was a tense moment or two after everybody was gone and I was kind of bullshitting with a couple of people who watch over the building. I got my manhood tested a little. During the dinner a couple of young girls, in their late teens I imagine, showed up wearing not much of anything. This got a couple of the younger fellas kind of wound up, if you follow me. Now as I have mentioned drugs are not unheard of in the homeless community.
Well sure enough one of the girls show up later with one of their fathers. The father is looking to beat up one of the young fellas for trying to sell his daughter drugs. Well they had a little tussle out back then the young kid comes running in with the dad chasing him around. I tried to promote the peace by keeping them separate and telling the kid to take off for a while. Well the dad wants to chase him down and I ask him not too. So he gets in my face and I mean right in my face and starts to challenge me. (He may have been drinking some) I say I am not going to fight and that it might be good if he took off for a while until he cooled down.
I was ok until he started using word like punk and bitch to describe me. This caused me to take off my jacket and I thought things might get ugly between us. But then I had a thought that brought me back to my peaceful spot, “your pride is at stake.” In this part of Idaho being called a punk and bitch generally mean you have to fight to keep your manhood, so to speak. But wherever that thought came from,(maybe it was the Holy Spirit) it was right. My pride said protect your name, my pride said whip his ass. But that is only pride. So I held my peace until he decided it was time for him to leave. His daughter even called me several names that I don’t want to repeat.
Now if I would have thrown a punch I doubt we could ever have used the building again, and I would have beaten myself up for allowing another person to get me to lose my temper. Besides the guy was only trying to protect his daughter, I may have done the same thing.
Since being on the streets I have sort of seen myself as a hobo, gypsy, vagabond type not wanting anything to tie me down. Being able to take off at any moment and go on an adventure is very appealing to me. But I am enjoying a deeper intimacy with my girlfriend and deepening friendships at my church. Plus I have a whole mess of friends here from my childhood and honestly I am starting to feel like I belong here and that is a very good feeling indeed.
The hobo community is in need of a permanent Sunday dinner in town as it is the only night of the week where those in need of a meal can not get one. I was kind of faltering as to whether or not to continue with it. I kept hearing the thought, “trapped” as I was making up my mind.
I was out at the homeless day center today when I decided to go ahead and make it a weekly dinner. Many of the people out there had been at the first dinner and looked sincerely happy it would be happening on a weekly basis. Not bad to be trapped by something that makes me feel this good. That dam Holy Ghost may be working his magic.
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