So many amazing things happened in October; it may have been one of the most eventful months since we started our outreach in 2021. God showed up (as usual) and caused an explosion of supernatural events.  Not sure where to start, so we’ll begin with a testimony about our youth.

Valor Christian Academy is a local private school for kindergarten through twelfth grade. They contacted us and asked if we would talk to the children about our outreach. I felt so honored and knew it would be a good learning experience for the kids, so I humbly accepted their invitation. Little did I know what I was getting into.

Tom Bristow and I showed up the morning of to give our presentation.  Tom and his wife Karen have been involved in this outreach for quite some time.  I gave a short slide show highlighting the poverty and destitution in our city and a brief explanation of how we attempt to address that with our outreach.  Tom then knocked it out of the park with a powerful presentation about how Jesus would have treated those less fortunate in his time and how that translates into our responsibility to do likewise.  Tom raised the bar.  If we were ever asked to do that again, I’d have to put forth much more effort to top that.  Seriously, though, Tom did a great job.

Then, the unexpected happened.  I was told that the students had a surprise for us and proceeded to carry twelve totes into the sanctuary full of nonperishable food they had collected under the leadership of Lynsie Ferguson, who teaches ninth and tenth grade.  Having spoken with Mrs. Ferguson briefly, I believe it would be fair to say that she’s likely not the type who would want to draw attention to herself or seek recognition for her leadership and the amount of work it took to orchestrate this massive undertaking.  Somebody did their research, as the food was precisely what we would put into a food bag, plus tons of canned goods.  Not to mention, they used the same totes that we use.  Having been broadsided with this tremendous blessing, I didn’t know what to say.  Yes, all of that is just phenomenal by itself.

Fast-forward to Saturday, October 26th.  As with the last Saturday of every month, we arrive at the Cadillac Motel at 10:30 a.m.  As usual, there was a line of people eagerly awaiting our arrival.  Among them was a mother with her three children in their pajamas.  These children were hungry.  They had traveled across town from their home at Harry Smith Apartments for the food that she thought we would have available, which we were unloading onto our tables set up in the parking lot on the property adjacent to the Motel.  Out of nowhere, Matthew’s Table Church arrived with warm biscuits and gravy, sausages, scrambled eggs, and pancakes left over from their monthly Men’s Breakfast.  I’ve said it before, and I’ll repeat it: I do not believe in coincidences.  This was a Jesus thing.  These children were so hungry they attempted to grab the food before it hit the disposable plate but were lovingly redirected to be patient with their mother.  The family sat on the concrete and enjoyed a meal together while the line of people began moving in front of the tables.  The scene was heartbreaking and equally gratifying to witness.  We do not have the resources to offer a hot meal, so this was a real treat.  The warm food disappeared practically instantly.  And just the first few in line were able to enjoy.

We handed out our food bags that contained non-perishable food.  Each bag contains a protein, such as a tuna packet or Vienna sausages, a pack of peanut butter crackers, a fruit cup or apple sauce, one cup of peanut butter, a pack of oatmeal, and a treat, such as a Little Debbie snack.  We also hand out hygiene products such as soap, shampoo, toilet paper, and feminine hygiene products.  Additionally, we collect and distribute gently used clothes to keep people warm, such as coats, gloves, hats, hoodies, sweaters, socks, and shoes.  People like you donate all these goods, and we feel incredibly blessed to have so many people sympathetic to our cause.

It’s not uncommon when we are at the Cadillac Motel that we reach the conclusion that everyone who wanted something has come and gone, and we’ll load up and move to our next destination when someone arrives and asks if it’s too late.  As long as we’re in the parking lot, it’s not too late.  I see it as follows: God gives us temporary custody of His blessings once something is donated.  And since He has given us that responsibility, we are to manage these resources responsibly and faithfully, using them to serve others and share the love of God.  Therefore, when someone approaches us at the last minute, the answer is, “Yes, we have time for you.”

We arrived at Tent City, set up our tables, and set out the totes.  In short order, the residents begin loading up on their provisioning.  One of them, a man that we’ve seen for several months now, has a wagon with fabric sides that he has loaded down far beyond capacity.  Into the scene enters a couple of men who have volunteered for the first time.  And there was me.  We accompany this man and others walking down the railroad tracks toward the camp, assisting with carrying different items, when a wheel from the wagon pops off, and the contents spill out onto the ground.  I couldn’t help but notice one of the cans had “3^rd grade” marked on the top from the school kids.  How ironic that a part of them made it to this point.  One of the residents was walking back toward the area where we had set up with an empty tote, and she offered it for us to transfer his goods.  We loaded up the tote and asked the man if we could have permission to carry the tote for him down to the camp.  He excitedly agreed.  One of the men volunteering grabbed the other end of the now-heavy tote, and we started down the embankment toward Tent City.  What happened next was surreal, or to me anyway.  We were invited into their camp.  Into their homes.  I’ve been doing this for a few years, and while I have crossed the threshold of their camp, I’ve never been beyond that.

The two men who accompanied me had no idea what a privilege this was and metaphorically skipped along, seemingly oblivious to the rarity.  They accompanied another resident to the far end of the camp.  A new couple, maybe in their mid-twenties, had taken up residency there with just a tent that looked like something you’d have for children to play with.  And a broom.  The young man swept the bare ground as if attempting to normalize life there somehow.  I asked her what she needed that they did not have.  She looked at me distressed and said, “We’d like to have a pillow and a blanket to sleep on.” Unfortunately, we ran out of blankets at the Cadillac earlier.

Another resident, who lives secluded from the camp, approached me and introduced me to a man I had not seen before.  Let’s call him Charles.  Charles invites me into his home.  Before we go any further, let me be clear about what I call a “home.”  They each have constructed some shelter out of a combination of tarps and tents, surrounded by a boundary that denotes “their home.”  Charles, for example, had what appeared to be the most established place in Tent City.  His home is surrounded by a beautiful fence he constructed from driftwood.  The fence wasn’t designed to keep anyone out or anything in.  It’s just a boundary that says, “This is my home.”  The fence wrapped around and formed a door frame, symbolizing his “front door.” Charles has a job, I was told, that allowed him to have some luxuries that the others did not have.  Charles had built, from lumber, a deck set up off the ground to keep his belongings dry when the river swelled.  He and I sat on his deck and looked at one of the most stunning views in Owensboro, or so it seemed at that moment.  The wooded area opens up and gives a breathtaking sight, with autumn colors in the background of a barge slowly traveling upstream.  A tattered American flag waves in the gentle wind, and Charles and I sit there and talk.  Out of the corner of my eye, I am mindful that the two men who accompanied me are off at the edge of the camp.  They had been invited into another resident’s home and were then departing, giving me my sign that it was time to leave.

On our way back up the embankment, I noticed something that I did not see on the way in.  A cross constructed from treated lumber had been placed firmly into the ground like you would expect a fence post to be.  On the front of it, facing the river, is a marker with someone’s name.  The cross is adorned with a decorative ribbon.  The surrounding area is cleared and clean and respectfully maintained if you will.  I don’t believe taking photographs in Tent City would be appropriate, but I couldn’t resist capturing this image.  Perhaps some might assume that the people here are “sub-human.”  That wood represents a person who must have been loved and missed.  Someone grieved, just like everyone else, like you and I.

We walked back to where we were set up and drove to our next stop, Dixiana Court Apartments.  It was business as usual, as the residents were encouraged to take food portions appropriate for their family size.  We had some clothes and shoes left over from our previous stops that they helped themselves to.  We were wiped out of hygiene products when we finished at this stop, which is what we’re after.  These provisions aren’t doing us much good sitting on a shelf.  We closed our day with Pastor Tony praying with a visitor who had collected some canned food.  One of those cans had “3^rd Grade” marked on the top.  These kids from Valor made it everywhere.

We’re seeing an overall decrease in attendance when we visit Dixiana Court Apartments.  As I’ve mentioned, I think it’s because people are less interested in what we offer after repeatedly experiencing our visits.  In other words, perhaps it just got old.  We’re called to be good stewards; unfortunately, that means making tough decisions.  I don’t want to make decisions.

Something bothered me for about half the month.  I could not figure out why those children (or whomever the responsible adults were) would choose our outreach.  In other words, why me?  I question this because, honestly, I do not believe that I deserve that.  I allowed it to eat at me for a little while.  Eventually, it occurred to me that if my Heavenly Father sees fit that these gifts are to be placed into my (our) stewardship, what am I to say to that?  Why do I continually struggle to believe I deserve God’s love?  A child getting a gift from their father ought to be a smooth transaction.

I have something a million more times important than that to close with.  And it ought to make more sense if you know that I believe God chooses to put specific people in my path.  And yours, too.  The reason why is typically scattered about whatever timeline He has in mind.  And here’s an excellent example of one of those moments.  Tom and I are driving back from Valor that morning, and we’re talking.  We both use the same word to describe how we felt at that moment: numb.  And then Tom, with a tear in his eye, talks about how our world has such a negative outlook on our youth today.  And then he said something like, “If those kids are our future, then we’re going to be okay. I don’t care what anyone says.”  I’ve given that a lot of thought.  And I’d have to agree.  Maybe we ought to pay better mind what we speak into existence in our schools and homes.  I don’t know what they’re teaching those kids at their school.  But it sure walks and talks like something you’d read in the bible.

Finally, we welcome Stephanie and Kevin Johnson to our outreach. They contacted me expressing an interest in volunteering, which isn’t unusual. What is uncommon is that they showed up one Saturday morning and just kept coming back.  Volunteers are challenging to find, and as our outreach grows, we become increasingly desperate for help.  Time is the most valuable commodity that you and I have.  And it’s a lot to ask for.  The reward comes to the heart, and it’s not meant for everybody.  If you’re even remotely interested, give me a call.  You don’t have to be in the field; you can help organize food and clothes even if you do it just one time.  It’s an experience you won’t soon forget.

 

All of the real names used here were with permission. Otherwise, the names have been changed. To protect the identity of those photographed, they have been blurred intentionally unless consent was given before publishing.

The Safer Kentucky Act, which went into effect on July 15, 2024, makes sleeping or camping in public areas illegal, including on sidewalks, roadsides, under bridges, or in parks, parking lots, garages, or doorways. The law creates a new offense called “unlawful camping” that can result in arrest and fines.  Assisting those individuals is considered to be aiding and abetting, which is a legal doctrine that refers to the act of helping or encouraging someone to commit a crime. The person who aids and abets is generally held to the same degree of criminal liability as the person who commits the crime.  We ask that you please not attempt to locate or visit Tent City.