No miracles to report. Just the slow daily struggle to progress and see something, even just a little something, be better.
Last week, just two hours after a good friend got out of rehab, he chose “street” life again, not being able to handle the challenge of a changed life. Old habits do die hard. One councilor of mine likened it to water that runs on stone and for years it cuts a path until soon water flows down that path very easily. My friend needs a new stone.
Some kids we’re working with may have been taken from their mother down at the motes this week. Hopefully, CPS will work with us to let us stay in touch with them.
Our physical labor seems to never end. The property here is constantly springing leaks and messes pop up out of no where.
This morning is new and so is God’s mercy. There is good work to my hand to and good friends to do it with. There is provision and good food. There is a baby in my wife’s womb kicking and moving around with life that I could never give. There are two boys still asleep in their beds that make me laugh every day. There is never a lost hope as long as there is breath. The poor still need the dignity of being human. The homeless are my flesh and blood that I cannot turn away from. Healing and reconciliation are possible. Anthelono, a man who we share bread with, helped us start our van yesterday when it seemed we were gonna be stuck down on 9th St. A big youth group committed yesterday to serve our mission as their own and work with us at least once a month to refresh the heart of the poor and forgotten in Modesto. All I have and experience is from a grace too immense for me to understand. All I can do is be thankful.