Mother's Day--Downtown 5/8/2011

I ended up going pretty early on Sunday. I think I was down there around 9 a.m. and since it was overcast it seemed even earlier. I went to Lincoln Park first in hopes of finding Phillip and Nancy (I haven't given up on them yet). I didn't find them, but did talk to a couple of people who had seen them fairly recently. The first guy was actually near where they used to stay. His name was Henry and he told me he had been staying there for about a week. He came here from Mexico about 40 years ago and works as a farm laborer. I couldn't believe it when he told me he was 79 years old. He looked to be in great health. He is out of work at this time, but he told me in another two months he would be able to work in the fields in Bakersfield. Do you know how hot it gets in Bakersfield in the summer? The other homeless man I found by Lincoln Park was a rather dimunitive man by the name of James. He was from Detroit, Michigan and was a Viet Nam veteran. He had been injured in several places on his body during the war (and showed them to me), yet he maintained a tremendous faith and love for God who saw him through many difficult circumstances. He was quite a talker and when I gave him a Guide Post magazine and a Gospel of John booklet he said, "I sure would like to have a full Bible." Well, I just happened to have an extra one in the car so I gave it to him also. He had me read Hebrews 2:13 and Titus 2:13 to him. They held special significance to him. It was a privilege to help and pray with both men.

I left Lincoln Park after this and headed up Alameda. I knew Robert would be somewhere on a side street off 4th. He was asleep when I pulled up and so I got out and brought him some food and water. He had slept through the night with just a blanket around him (see the photo).
I asked him if he knew it was Mother's Day. He indicated he didn't. He told me his Mother's name was Mary.

Another man on the other side of town, Dalton, told me his Mother's name was Maureen. I commented that that sounds like an Irish name and he proudly said, Irish and English. He was up early that day because as he said, "I gotta make some money." Hopefully, the bag of food I gave him took some of the pressure off the day.

I've also been looking for Doug for the last month. The last time I saw him he was looking to get checked into a hospital. I drove over to where I saw him last, but he wasn't around. I did see a man in shorts with no shirt or shoes on sleeping in a corner up against a chain link fence on the sidewalk. In talking with him he seemed somewhat delusional, although he did recognize the food in the bag I gave him. He said his name was Smitty and you had to see him to believe how dirty he was.

I had already prayer-walked on skid row at this point, so I headed over to Cloud Nine Alley. Nothing special happened at either place on Sunday, although I did talk to one of the men at Pastor Rodriguez's church who patrols the area when a service is going on. His name was Marbin (pronounced Mar-beene). He recognized me and remembered me when I spoke in their church last October. You might be wondering why I continue to prayer-walk in these places. As I stated, nothing special happened Sunday and probably more often than not that is the case. However, we are told by the Apostle Paul to "pray without ceasing." I ran across a short narrative written by a man named Derek Langran who lives in Ireland. This story was published in a missionary newsletter I saw several years ago. It is quite a remarkable story and makes the point about persevering in prayer and the amazing results that may take years to come to fruition. This was published in the winter of 2006 from a Greater Europe Mission Publication called Europe Today. The title was "Pray without Ceasing" and subtitled, 'God let me see an answer to the faithful prayers my father uttered so long ago.':

I can recall sitting on a horse-drawn wagon in 1943, rattling over the cobbles in Foley Street, beside a driver called Ned, en route to Fairview with a delivery of beds. I was eight years old. Twice a week I walked down Foley Street to meet my dad, who managed an upholstery factory there. It was an appalling street with terrible tenements and overcrowding that the Dublin of today knows nothing about. The cobbled street was neglected, filthy, and poorly lit.
Midway through 2005, I looked out from the top of the Ulysses House ministry and realized, with growing amazement, that I was standing on the very site of the premises managed by my father all those years ago. Dad worked in Foley Steet for more than 20 years. He prayed each day for the street and its poverty-stricken people. He often gave little tracts about Jesus to the children and paid them small sums of money to keep an eye on his bicycle.
Looking out from the Ulysses House, I thanked God that my father's prayers for the street and for Dublin had been answered. I hope this will encourage all prayer warriors. God inevitably hears and answers--in His own way and time. My dad died in 1988 without seeing his prayers answered, but the Irish Bible Institute now stands on the site, and that is an answer to prayer.

Amen to that.--Until next week. John