This is Craig Parsons. The dumpster he's leaning on...that's where he lives - inside of it. Every night he climbs the ladder on the outside of the dumpster and sleeps under the cardboard and rubbish in the dumpster. He's been on the streets for several years, but has been free from addiction for 2.5 years, dry from being an alcoholic. Three of his buddies have died in the last year on the streets. He's on dialysis for his kidneys. He doesn't sleep in shelters because his things get stolen; the mattress are filled with bed bugs, and the smell of alcohol on the breath of others triggers a desire for alcohol which he is trying to avoid at all costs. He rides the bus to a city hospital two times a weeks to get his dialysis. He told me he wished he had a bike, so he could ride to the hospital and get there quicker when his body starts cramping before his next session. For Christmas, he wanted a cup of hot chocolate and bagel with cream cheese at Tim Horton's (my 14 yr daughter works at a Tim Horton's).
I couldn't believe my ears as I heard him tell his story. I was getting a crash course in street life and hearing it from one of the "village chiefs." I met Craig today because our familiy was assisting in a Christmas day outreach to the homeless on Vancouver's notorious Downtown Eastside. Craig was different from the rest. Instead of being one of the needy waiting or grabbing for what we were distributing, he jumped in instead to be a helper, calling the other homeless people by name, getting them in line, telling them to behave, and helping us keep things moving along smoothly. He had a focus on helping others, not himself.
While he clearly looked like a street person, he didn't have the hardened lines in his face of an addict. There was a different sense about him. There were no track marks on his hands or open sores from years of drug abuse. He was gaunt, but it seemed more medically based and not drug rooted.
I felt drawn to him, and he seemed to intuitively reciprocate. As I asked him about his life, he told me he had been an alcoholic since 14. He had been married, and presently had a step daughter finishing college. Craig is 44. He was kicked out of his house by his wife after being an uncontrollable drunk. Relieving himself inside the four corners of the house was the last straw for his wife. He migrated from Nova Scotia to Vancouver several years back. Then he got dry over two years ago. Began making bits of money here and there, but never enough to leave the streets.
I asked him to name two things I could pray for him right then and there. He asked that I pray he might live until next Christmas. The reality that this guy might be gone in a few months hit me hard. And here I was talking to him. I noticed he had lit up a cigarette, so I told him God wanted to free him from cigarettes, and as soon as I finished my prayer, he threw down his unfinished, still lit cigarette. He was believing what I said.
During my prayer, he started to cry, and he said, "I can't let other guys see I'm crying. They'll see it as a sign of weakness and call me a cry baby. Then I'll be marked as a weak guy, and they'll try to exploit me, rob me and take advantage of me." Lesson number... what was it by now that I was getting about life on the streets?
I asked him if he was a Christian. He told me he was born-again in his early 20's but hadn't been to church in nearly 20 years, but he wanted to come to our church next Sunday. I told him we needed to take things a step at a time, but in all honesty my mind was elsewhere. I was trying to figure out how to get some money to him without others seeing and creating a scene where they thought money was being handed out. I was thinking about breaking a key rule when interacting with street people: don't give them money.
Craig told me he could get a bike for $37 from a pawn shop down the street. In fact, he started walking me down towards the store, but I declined, not wanting to get separated from my group, and not fully sure yet if I was being set up to be robbed or something of the like. But on my inside, I felt his story was true; it had an authentic ring to it. Having ministered to vagrants and street people in my early 20's some of my instincts were still with me. I didn't want to be taken and let them manipulate my compassion for them. I was testing him and probing him to see where he was really at. In my mind, it was adding up.
Before I left the house, I had pocketed $45, my drivers license and a credit card. Left the rest of my wallet behind. I thought if I get robbed, at least have some money on you. You need your license to drive, and if you get in trouble, and you're cashless, at least a credit card might help.
Now my mind was churning. $37 for a bike, and $5 at Tim Horton's for hot chocolate and a bagel with cream cheese. $42. Just the amount I had brought. Did God have a bigger plan for my $45 than just risk management? I sure felt like it. During my conversation, my mind had drifted to James 2:15-16 about not closing your heart to someone in need. I had already given my gloves to him (the green ones you see on me in the picture above ended up on his hands; temperature was around 35 deg. Fahrenheit). Now i was praying about giving him my $45 dollars.
My opportunity came. Amidst all this dialogue, one of the teens in our group passed out and was unconscious for about 30 seconds. Thankfully, his parents was there, but I was the one that called 911 for an ambulance. Craig, again showing himself helpful, flagged the approaching ambulance from over a block away. He knew exactly what direction the ambulances came from and the time frame in which they usually responded. He even told me what to say to the dispatch to get them here quicker.
As the focus was on getting the boy into the ambulance, I slipped $45 into Craig's hand. I told him to not let me down and use the money wrongly. I told him to get his bike and his hot chocolate and bagel. He was clearly touched. After the ambulance was off, Craig began rummaging in his backpack and showed me some wrenches he had found. He wanted to give them to me for payment. Of course I declined.
By this time, all our goods were handed out, and all the homeless were dispersed. I told him I wanted to visit him again and check up on him. I told him I'd bring some bungie cords so he could attach his wordly belongings to the bike, and I wanted to see his bike. I asked when he would be around, and he said the corner we were at was his corner. But if he wasn't there --- he walked me over to a wall, and pointed to a white space on it ---he would write where he was at on the wall so I could find him.
I left part of my heart on that corner. I can't wait to see him again.
But here's the thing. We've been praying for Downtown Eastside at our church. In fact, a week earlier the Lord spoke to us to start fasting according to Is. 58: 6-8. This was a divine appointment. I'm hoping Craig is an answer to prayer, and a way we can tangible reach into the Downtown Eastside to ignite a revolution.