Shipwrecked Part 1

It's a calm night off-shore, a boat glistens in the moonlight as it sails out for the night's catch. A storm begins to brew, waves begin to show white caps as the wind picks up. The waves begin to swell, crashing into the side of the boat, rocking it from side to side. The violent storm grows, thrashing the boat from port to starboard, dipping the sides into the salty ocean. The contents of the kitchen and sleeping quarters are tossed from their neat and tidy storage, creating chaos. The ship can no longer stay upright, and is capsized in the cold, raging ocean.

As dawn breaks, the boat washes ashore. It's insides are worse for wear than it's outsides. The ship can be repaired, but it'll take some work (don't worry, the crew survived).

Shipwrecked is where I am today, my insides have been put through a blender (no, not physically) and though my outsides don't appear to have much wear other than some fatigue, there will be some time spent putting pieces back together in my heart and mind. When they are put back together, they'll be in a more efficient place. A place where my heart sees a need and understands what to do with it, a place where my personal life is reflective of what I've learned, witnessed, and been a part of for the last week.

From November 5th through November 11th, I spent time devoted to serving with the LA Dream Center in Los Angeles, California on a "short-term missions" trip with 18 of my friends from my church. When you hear "Los Angeles" and "Missions" most people think "not really much of a missions trip," because of all of the surrounding communities of wealth and stardom. It was more of a missions trip than I had even imagined myself. We didn't sleep on dirt floors, we didn't go without food, we didn't have to shower in a single plastic stall in the yard with only cold water. In our dorm style living, we had a mattress on a bunk bed. We had one toilet for 10 women and a community shower down the hall with 3 stalls and a toilet. We had a small air conditioner unit in our window, and not heat on the nights when it was 45 degrees outside of our leaky windows. We lived with the occasional cockroach, but had a vending machine down the hall and a great diner that served us 3 square meals a day. By missions standards, we were certainly not "roughing it" the way you would see if our trip had been to Indonesia, Honduras, or anywhere the culture is drastically different than our own within these borders. Though we weren't physically roughing it, our hearts would go through some dramatic explosions over the next 7 days.



"Dream Center programs have been designed for the purpose of changing lives. We want to reconnect people who have been isolated by poverty, substance abuse, gangs, imprisonment, homelessness, abuse, and neglect to God and to a community of support to meet their physical and spiritual needs."

*The Dream Center was established in 1994
*28 families housed monthly through transitional family housing
*180 families are helped annually through foster care intervention
*200 patients receive medical care monthly
*1,000 families receive product monthly through Adopt-A-Block
*15,000 pieces of clothing given away monthly
*36,000 hot meals served monthly
*40,000 families receive groceries monthly
*1,000,000 pounds of food distributed monthly

…..and over 100 other Dream Centers have been launched in cities around the world!



One part of the mission was the people in the area, not living in a million dollar high rise apartment, driving a mercedes. This mission was the forgotten. The 82,000 homeless on the streets of Los Angeles, tucked between two segments of the city full of people who have carpet more plush than the beds they sleep on. This population of homeless, are hidden. Hidden, squeezed into a section of the city and if they aren't "seen", they don't exist. Some are addicts, junkies, who at some point in history decided to get high, and now they are unable to kick their addiction. They live on the streets and feed it with every cent they can get their hands on. Some others live there because their parents made poor decisions. Their bathroom is the street corner; their home is either a pile of boxes or a bunch of blankets, or even the hard, cold, concrete; their meals might come from a dumpster next to a restaurant or gas station.

I anticipated going to skid row (30,000 homeless live there), before I ever even left my comfortable home in Kansas. I tried to envision what it would look like, what the people would be like, what it would smell like. The truth is, I had no concept of what it would be like because I had such minimal exposure to any of it. I grew up in a home, with running water, beds, clothes, and groceries. I never went without food, I never went without a place to rest my head, and I never went WITHOUT much of anything. So, when we pulled up in our van, I stepped out, placed my feet on the filthy concrete sidewalk. The sidewalk that looks like its never swept or washed. Stained with urine, and filth. There was suddenly a lump in my throat, this watery substance filled my eyes. I choked it down, because we had a mission. We were there to invite people to a hot meal that we would serve later that afternoon. We were there to pray for them, and people would line up desperate for the hope we wanted to share.

One man stood behind us waiting as we were praying for a middle-aged woman, addicted to drugs and alcohol, who's father had been an evangelist and her choices landed her on the streets. She desperately wanted to change, but her habits were her bondage. When we were done praying for her, this man approached and asked if we would pray. He knew we were from the Dream Center, was a young Hispanic man, who desperately wanted freedom from his drug addiction, from pornography, from everything that polluted his life. Whether he walked away renewed, I'll never know, but we didn't refuse him. We let him know that we cared, that God cared.

As we walked up and down the streets of Skid Row, the smell was worse than an outhouse in some areas. The city has strategically placed toilets available to the homeless to minimize the usage of the street corners and walls, but there are too many of them and not enough toilets. When you'd walk toward people, their heads were always hanging low. They are invisible to many, and they don't see why we'd be any different. Most times in my life, I walked by the homeless, because they made me nervous. They were invisible to me too, until that day on Skid Row. We'd talk to people, and come to find out, they're REAL people just like we are. They have a story. They have sorted pasts that have led them there, but no matter how they got there, they still live and breathe the same way we do. They HURT like we do, you can see the pain in their eyes. They're invisible, nobody wants them, they smell bad, they look bad, and they have nothing to offer. So, they hang their heads in shame and muddle through life one day at a time.

The Dream Center started in 1994 with a goal of finding needs and meeting them. This one facet of their ministry, where they feed the homeless population hot meals; pray with them; bus them to church where they "belong" no matter who they are, what they smell like, and what their addiction. The Dream Center's goal is to show the homeless population that they have just as much value as the next person, that they are loved, that they are worthy of opportunities to change their lives.

The homeless population changed my heart. One man, Murphy, who I met when we'd gone back that afternoon to serve our hot meal, was a Vietnam Veteran. He was a tall, maybe 6'3" African American man with the most striking blue eyes I'd ever seen. He was wearing a leather jacket decorated with all kinds of patches, and his Vietnam Veterans hat. Murphy just wanted to be heard, he wanted to dialogue and he wanted me to listen. I listened to Murphy, even if he was inclined to dominate the conversation and I never had the opportunity to find out where he'd come from and why he was on the streets of Skid Row. What I did learn about Murphy is that he just needed someone to value him enough to listen, to acknowledge that he has an opinion. Even if his opinion wasn't mine, I felt compelled to just be quiet and listen. In the end, it was listening that appeared to soften a corner of Murphy's heart. As the Dream Center continues to serve that area, I am sure Murphy will have more opportunities for that heart to be molded, to feel more valued.

While some of us had been talking to some of the people who had been in line for food, several of us were stricken by the looks of another man. Drawn in, if you will. Something about the way he gazed at our group from afar, screamed "HELP ME." A couple of us approached……cold, short, unreceptive to us trying to engage in conversation. We continued to be drawn to him, feeling like God was tapping on our shoulders saying "reach out again." Others approached, and after the 3rd group approached him (none of us having talked to the others about feeling this way), he cracked a smile and prayed with some of our team. His story? His name is Ryan. He was probably between 28-32 years old if I had to guess, and had traveled across the country because the "voices in his head" told him to.

There was another man, who looked as if he was nearing 60, but was hard to tell because he was high. Higher than a kite and passed out cold in his wheelchair. His legs were bent awkwardly, as if he had been born with a deformity, had an accident, or some kind of physical disease. When we walked up, our group leader from The Dream Center woke him. He slurred his speech, drooled some, and engaged her for a short time. He lifted his shirt to scratch himself, revealing a scar that went from sternum beyond the waist line. He had lost a lot of weight by the looks of the extra skin surrounding the scar. I wondered if perhaps a surgery and the pain medication afterward had led him down the road of addiction. He passed out shortly after the conversation he'd had with our group leader.

As we strolled down each block, sat in the corridor sharing a hot meal, it was evident that each person there had a different story. Some were completely delusional, daydreaming of other worlds. Paranoia, mental disease, and brokenness. Something in their past led them on a path to where they currently find themselves, and though it's not the place we all end up, many of us know what brokenness feels like. Helpless, hopeless, afraid, and living in a very dark place physically and emotionally. The Dream Center wants to change that. I want to change that. I want people to understand that while these people may have done something to end up on the street, while many of them are addicted because of their own choices, while we may be inclined to think they deserve to be there………..there is always GRACE. Sometimes, the only reason that someone becomes willing to change is because someone hands them grace when they don't deserve it. God handed me grace, and it's a free gift available to anyone who is willing to receive it. That's the message. No matter what YOU have done, there is life outside of your circumstances. There is healing, forgiveness, and transformation available….and it's cost is nothing. When we can extend that grace as ambassadors of Christ, show people no matter what they are loved and valuable, miraculous changes occur. If a homeless, addicted person isn't worthy enough for God's grace, or our grace, then neither am I. We are all human, all created equal in the eyes of God. Though our human processors say there is a value system on pitfalls, sin, or quality of a person….it simply is not truth. Our value isn't who we are, but who Christ was in our place and He wants to see each of us know our value, our love in Him.

Stay tuned for part 2 soon…..it's going to be a long few blogging sessions.