It seems to never fail that when I think I'm doing something for one reason, it ends up being for something totally unrelated and unexpected. Such was the case today. I've dedicated Fridays in August to finish up my CEU's for continued licensure. Today was Ethics: Duty to Warn and Ethics: First, Do No Harm. The classes were held in the MSU alumni services center in downtown Springfield in the artsy-fartsy district. If Springfield has a politically "blue" area, then this is it. Coffee shops, record shops, independent theaters, book stores, street vendors, you get the drill.
So I spent the better half of the morning listening to my fellow social workers, clinicians, and mental health professionals discuss and debate our code of ethics. Throw up in my mouth. It boils down to one professional from the top of our food chain telling us how it is and a room full of therapists who see no black and white and have myriad questions of "what if." How hard is it to remember and accept that you don't touch a client "there," you call for help if they're going to kill you, and it's not okay to date your clients? Ever! Apparently, it's a bit much to take in, though we all have these courses yearly. Inevitably, someone in the group thinks they'll stump the presenter with their impossible scenario, but little do they know that the presenter has a bedside copy of the Code that she meditates upon day and night like a Jesuit on the Holy Word or in Arkansas terms, like a duck on a junebug. Usually, me and one other person could thoroughly care less and think of ways to end it all . . .but Heather wasn't there today.
I had promised myself to walk the block several times for exercise before I chose a place for lunch. As well as needing to increase the endorphins and minimizing the future caloric damage of lunch, I was scanning the places to eat. Anyway, I hadn't rounded block one before I met Rob and Shane.
"Hey, man, anything you could do, anything at all, would really help us out," Shane called out to me. Rob glanced at me and immediately diverted eye-contact, probably not wanting to accept defeat.
These guys looked to be late teens, early 20s. I explained that I didn't carry cash, but if they were hungry that they were welcome to join me for lunch, my treat. They wasted no time accepting and thanked me all over themselves.
Maybe because it's natural. Maybe it's because I'm my mother's son. Maybe it's a spiritual gift. Maybe it's my inner-counselor, but I have this knack of hearing people's life stories. Today was no different. Shane shared his voluntarily and without little forethought. He was definitely the more confident of this twosome.
Shane's story was gut-wrenching and heart-breaking, that is, until I heard Rob's, at which point Shane looked like a trust-fund baby. To be fair, though, both of them had endured crappy childhoods. Divorced parents, single moms. Evil step-dads. Foster care, residential care. Substance abuse, illegal drugs. The streets.
Both swore that marijuana helpe them cope, that they both had been diagnosed with ADHD as kids and pumped full of meds from early childhood. They quit the prescriptions at their first opportunity in favor of cannabis, which they insisted truly calms them down and helps them survive life in the streets. I made no attempt to argue with them. In fact, it's probably healthier for them than Ritalin and the like.
Some of the lunch patrons stared or did a quick double-take, and honestly the b.o. was rough. Lunch conversation ranged from where we were all from, what we wanted out of life, and other things that interested us. I asked where they slept, and they laughed and responded that they didn't worry about that until they were tired. Ditto, eating. Sometimes, they went without both, someitmes they had plenty of both.
Both were apolitical, though Shane was generally in favor of Obama, while Rob was generally in disfavor, but they both explained that what happened in Washington made no difference for them. Neither of them has voted, nor do they plan to start. They're looking for the next meal and trying to decide when to hitch to Oregon because they hear the homeless are treated better there and they want to see the mountains and the ocean and maybe build a treehouse in the woods.
As you can imagine, I was waiting on an opportunity to talk with them about God. For me, it's not about another conversion notch in the belt, but I sat there thinking that this meal will fill them for a few hours and God is pleased with that, but what if no one ever tells them what Jesus did for them. It's not about proselytyzing. I don't care where or if they go to church or if they think like me. I just know the best thing that has ever happened to me was knowing God and I liked these guys who were natural wonderers and I wanted them to have the best thing that I had to offer. Ha.
So what about God, I asked? What do y'all believe? Wow, did I ever get a life lesson at lunch today from a couple of young homeless guys. Shane broke out a Bible from his pack that looked like it had barely survived Katrina and hunted his favorite verses. Rob told me how he'd have been dead years ago if not for God.
These two young men whose lives have been intertwined in public schools, substance abuse treatment centers, boys' homes, foster care, and the streets knew more about Jesus than I was going to be able to tell them over any lunch. They aren't going on overseas mission trips or writing blogs for their middle class friends to read, but they are living in a very real world. A world where church people feed them sometimes while at other times they pretend not to see them. A world where cops wake them up from sleep to run them out of town offering to buy them bus tickets. A world where college kids, their same-age peers, spit on them and tell them to get jobs. A world where no earthly dad has ever told them that they love them. A world where their beds are different every night, that is if you consider the ground to be a bed. A world where some of their meals come from dumpsters.
Yes, yes, why don't they just get jobs? Don't think I didn't wonder the same. They do work. Occasional day-labor jobs, but neither of them have high school diplomas or GEDs. They pick out the dead chickens out of chicken houses for some farmers sometimes, do yard work, but this isn't enough to pay rent in the nastiest of slumlord apartments. Honestly, I'm not certain that they could stay off substances long enough to pass a drug screen to get hired in many places. I'm also not sure that either is emotionally stable enough to hold down a traditional job. If I was their social worker, friend, mentor, whomever, I would definitely encourage them to work, but if I had their past, their issues, and limitations I would have to do some serious mental gymnastics to get to a place where I would be considered employable.
But back to Jesus. One of Shane's favorite verses is also one of mine. II Timothy 1:7, "For God has not given us a spirit of fear; but of power, love, and a sound mind." Rob says that he tries to follow the Lord's instruction to think like a child because, as he shared, "somebody will usually feed a kid and they might even let a kid take a nap." He went on, "Kids laugh a lot and they don't worry about things to come."
Both explained that they were living their answered prayers. By escaping their pasts of evil step-dads and "the system", they had been granted their answers. Both shared with me the pros and cons of foster care, residential care, and treatment centers. Neither of them had forgotten the case-workers, social workers, and counselors who treated them respectfully. Likewise, both remembered in detail those who had talked down to them, made fun of them, and those whom they could discern just really didn't care.
I could tell you more about Rob and Shane. I could put a political or a religious spin on this. To the liberals, I could say throw more tax money at this as the well-being of some our citizens is at stake. To the conservatives, I could insist the need for more faith-based programs for those most in need. It's so much more than that, though. God can be glorified and young people like these can be helped in any number of ways, but what I believe we all need to remember is that homeless people and all of our disenfranchised citizens are some mommas' babies. I don't for a minute believe these boys' mommas' wanted this outcome. I don't think they are living God's best life for them, but Satan has not managed to kill their dreams. They live in filth, but they have more happiness now than they've ever had. They're each other's best friend and they have hope in God and His people.
I went to Springfield today to get trained in social work ethics, but one walk around the block at lunch taught me more than I've ever learned in a classroom. I opened my mouth to talk to them about God, but when I opened my mind and my ears I learned more about God than I have from all the praying and studying I've done this week. I was challenged to hold tight to my favorite Scripture verses and to have faith like a child.
I couldn't help but notice the paradox as I left the homeless guys who knew Jesus behind and then drove through crucifix skyline and the million dollar sanctuaries as I left town. God, help us all.
