Pete's Corner

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Pete and his grandson delivering a bicycle.

May 2012

"Favorites"

I try not to have favorites, but sometimes is just not possible. When the combination of innocence and attitude, youth and humor, love and enthusiasm are on display nearly all of the time by a single person, I just can’t seem to help myself.

Picket is a nine year old boy who is just about the speed of my other young friend, River, who is eight years older. River follows Picket all over the forest when Picket isn’t at school.

Picket and River are two who have been at our Friday morning prayer services from the beginning. They love the stories from the bible and they love how Jesus was poor like them. They sit together and ask questions like: “Did Jesus live in the forest like us?”or “Jesus was poor like us –huh?” or “Can Jesus cure me?”

Picket was born with no leg below the knee. His daddy carved him a “Captain Hook” style prosthetic which seems to suit Picket just fine along with a “Tiny Tim” kind of crutch.

River likes taking care of Picket, but gets in his way more than he helps. Last week he reached for Picket’s hand to help him over a large decaying log and fell backwards pulling Picket along with him. You should have heard them laugh!

Picket loves music - any kind of music. Up until a month ago he had a pair of ear phones which he had in his ears all of the time. The ear phones had wires hanging down, but no CD player.

I asked: ”Picket, do you hear music playing with your ear phones?”

“Heck no! Not with the ear phones. I hear birds sing and people laugh and that’s kinda music to me.”

Two weeks ago I got him a used CD player and Samantha, my Grand-daughter, gave me some CD’s  she thought he would like. He loved them and has already gone through two sets of batteries.

After Picket got the CD player, I watched as he and River shared the ear pieces - one ear each -and walked away together off into the forest by themselves.

Our friends, River and Picket, want to live together someday in a house. They are the ones who always ask me if I have a bed that I sleep in.

Their dreams give me hope. It’s no wonder they are sort of my favorites.

Pete

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April 2012

"Courage"

I am blessed to meet so many incredible people. I am blessed that they let me into their lives. I learn so much from each person I come across.

The most recent person to reveal her story to me is a woman named Liz. I first met her because she would come to the Friday morning prayer services I have been asked to lead in the woods. She would sit quietly and then one morning after the group had dissipated she waited behind and said she’d like me to write down her story. 

The following Monday I was driving my truck filled with the personal belongings of several of my woodland friends. I was helping them move further into the woods where they will not be seen by casual hikers out for an adventure. Liz came along for the ride and the opportunity to talk.

Liz came to the forest to die. She has advanced case of cancer of the blood and does not expect to live through the summer. She asked me to write her story in order to help people understand there is life after being diagnosed with Leukemia. She really didn’t want me to get too much into her life style (which you can pretty well imagine), but into a brief history of her life.

As I drove toward the fire break Liz first words to me were: “So many sleepless nights.”   

She then went on to tell a life story of faith and tenacity shared by few.

”I was born the day the bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, Japan: August 6th, 1945.  

“I’m the oldest child of five. My mom died giving birth to me. My Dad’s sister came to live with us on the farm. As I grew up I was told by him that I should feel guilty because I was the one who had killed my Mom in childbirth. I did feel guilty for many years.

“Then my Dad remarried and he and my step mom had four more children – two boys and two girls. The first boy and girl were born when I was about six. I took care of them because my step mom worked. My Dad began to drink. He was a mean drunk and would regularly beat me. I wasn’t gonna let him know how much it hurt. So, when he saw that the beatings didn’t affect me, he started in on my brother and sister.

“I ran away when I was sixteen, but felt really bad because of the way he was treating my younger brothers and sisters. I felt helpless. I didn’t think there was anything I could do about it.

“I went back home after a month or so. I decided I’d take the beatings I had come to expect, but this time I wrote in my diary every time he hurt me or my brothers and sisters. It got so bad I couldn’t stand it anymore and, even though he had us all in terror, I notified the police.

“The police looked at our bruises and my diary and that was enough evidence to take him to jail and put the kids into good foster homes.

“I didn’t want to go into a foster home, so I took off. I lost track of all my family after that. It was a long time ago and I know they are grateful for what I did for them.

“The next few years I spent most of my time cold or hungry or both. I did anything I had to do to live, including prostitution. I met a man named Will who took me under his wing and protected me. He was old enough to be my dad, but that didn’t matter to me. He was good to me.

“One night Will came back to our motel room shot and bleeding and died that night of his wounds. The whole experience hurt so badly I couldn’t get together again with anyone for any reason. It just couldn’t happen.

“That was thirty eight years ago. I have been on my own making it ever since. I don’t know - maybe it was the lack of almost everything that is good for me or the hard living conditions that had something to do with me getting cancer - I just can’t wrap my mind around the situation.

“I came out here, on the suggestion of a friend-to die. Oh, I don’t mind dyin’ -it’s the two years of chemo that hurt.

“The doctors in Dayton, Ohio told me I was terminal and, since there was nothing to be done for me, I could live with the other charity patients till I died. That wasn’t going to happen!

“One of the good doctors told me I could get a second opinion but I never did. That was six months ago and I’m getting weaker every day. But’cha know! I’m not in any real pain, so I’m happy to get up every morning and enjoy what I have left.

“Your prayer services here in the woods are helpful and hopeful to me. Thanks for helping feed us all and for letting the world know about us.”

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March 2012

"Family is a Great Gift"

Remember last August in Pete’s Corner when I wrote about Lilly and Luke? Well, a couple of weeks ago, Luke asked me if I would lead a prayer service for the community in the woods. Of course I said yes, and asked what he had in mind. He wanted me to use “the Word of God” and he asked if I’d also read a story I’d read to the group already about Carnie (Pete’s Corner February 2012). I decided we’d also have a song “Amazing Grace”. We set up a time for two days hence and when I arrived there was no one there except Luke and Lilly.  Not to be deterred, Luke said he’d work on the people and we set up another meeting time for Friday.

Well, this turned out to be one of the most wonderful times I have had with my friends who live in the woods. They were intent on the scripture I chose, John 3:13-16, that ends with “Yes, God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not be lost but may have eternal life.” Everyone belted out “Amazing Grace” and there was rapt attention with a story I chose to read about Gilberto (GR in Pete’s Corner 10/13/2002) – a man I knew when we lived in San Jose, CA. 

After the service, I was asked to read the story of “Carnie” again – they really like the way it was written about one of their own. That story had prompted several of the people to ask me if I’d write down their stories. The services have been every Friday since then. What an honor.

So, I felt very blessed when one of the couples at the prayer service stayed behind because they wanted me to write down their story.

Camille and Jake are newcomers to the community. Here’s what they had to say:

“We’re from Baton Rouge, LA. We have two wonderful children which we haven’t seen in over eleven years.”

“Why not?” I asked.

”Jake and I gave up our two children to the care of my sister living in Baton Rouge, and then she moved to somewhere in Nebraska.”

They went on to tell me that they were in business for themselves and they made a choice that they couldn’t concentrate on building the business and raise a family. At the time, it seemed that if they could be successful in the business it would be best for all of them especially the childsren. So, they gave their children to Camille’s sister – for safe-keeping. “But…”

 Camille went on, “My mom told me that when the children got to freedom age they both decided my sister and brother-in-law were their real parents and wanted nothing to do with Jake and me. Jake and I were happy to know the children’s wellbeing was taken care of. But, now, in our later years we have decided we were entitled to know where they were.”

 Jake chimed in, “I’m not a religious man, but the whole situation just made Camille and me drift further apart. It wasn’t more than a year and a half ago we realized we had nothing at all to show for our lives.”

I asked if there was any way to settle the events they had left in the past.

Camille went on, “Life was going well for us up to about twenty years ago, but when we let my sister take our children everything started to deteriorate. The economy went downhill, and our business began to collapse.  Jake traveled making presentations on how self help was the real ticket to destiny. I was the office person who kept the books, travel arrangements and speaking engagements. I felt the twinges of loneliness every now and again, but kept working as a salve for my conscience.  We’ve shared years of wonderful luck in our business and invested everything we earned back into it with the hope of retiring by the time we were fifty.”

Jake chimed in, “After 9/11 no one wanted to talk self help and our business engagements went to zero. The land investments we had also evaporated. We spent the money we had saved and had to resort to selling Camille’s jewelry to keep the wolves from the door. We then had our car repossessed, and our home went into a short sale leaving us in a local motel for nearly two months while we tried to figure out what to do next.

Five years ago, after I had pulled all my markers from business associates, Camille and I were truly broke and friendless. I used the computer at the library for making resumes to send out.

I was too old for any job offered and the stress was beginning to show on both Camille and me. I’m too old for hopeful living and now we’re living here. Got any ideas?”

Luke, who had been sitting nearby, listening to Jake and Camille got up and started over to sit next to Camille but stopped short. He put his hand on Jake’s shoulder and said:”What you need is Jesus Christ. Ya’ know the truth is, Faith ain’t charity, and it ain’t no shame to pray for it! What else ya’gonna do? Huh?!”

Camille gave a nod of approval toward Luke as he left the area and disappeared into the forest.

I promised to pray for them daily from this day forward. We ended our informal meeting with an Our Father.

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February 2012

"Carnie"

I meet so many good, generous and interesting people each day that I work in the woods. There
are lots of reasons for people taking up residence among the trees. I recently met a family of
three who shared their story with me.

Bobby was a carnie, a carnival barker, who ran several game booths at county fairs up and
down the east coast. He's big and handsome and strong and by his account was very good at
what he did. He worked regularly and so when he met Marie who was an exotic dancer he felt
secure enough to get married. Then they had a son about seven years ago.

Their son, Bradley, was born with a lung defect. As an infant he cried all the time, but Bobby
and Marie loved him and cared for him. Bobby loved the feeling of holding his baby boy in his
arms and comforting him.

Their life was difficult, but they loved their family and worked hard to make their life better.
Then one day Bobby was working a carnival where he was in charge of thirty-two games. He
had hired local workers to set up the booths, but he was unable to closely supervise them.
What he didn't know was that at one booth the workers had left off a critical piece of metal
that stabilized the booth. Bobby was standing near the booth when a big wind came up and the
booth collapsed on Bobby's foot severing his Achilles tendon. That was the end of his work as a
carnie.

Bobby was also a bouncer at a local club. That's how he had met his wife. He worked at the
club where she danced. She said she fell for him immediately because he was so big and
handsome and he easily threw the guys out of the club who were trying to grab her.

They scraped by for a few years until Bradley got sick and had to be hospitalized. That's when
they lost their jobs and a place to live. They were on the streets of Columbia until a friend told
them about the community living in the woods.

Until last week, Bobby's whole focus was on keeping his family warm and dry. He'd be up at
dawn to cut wood, making sure the fire didn't go out. He'd collect cans along the road for a few
extra dollars. He's been saving every penny to buy a bus ticket home to New Mexico.

In our conversations, it was clear that Bobby was becoming increasingly worried about
Bradley's health living out in the woods. The cold and the smoke from the constant fire were
not helping his breathing. Every time he had a little money saved it would go for medicine or a
taxi to the emergency room.

The people in the community agreed with me and Bobby that he had to go home. The people
contributed some of the money they earned collecting cans and Truck of Love pitched in the
rest for three bus tickets to Albuquerque, New Mexico.

They were like three excited kids as they boarded the bus for home and the start of their new
life back in the arms of their family. Bobby's final words to me: "Thanks, Truck of Love."

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January 2012

“Listening to Hugo”

I’ve always known that we, people, are hungry not only for bread, but hungry for love and care and compassion. I probably do as much listening to people’s stories as I do anything else.

A few weeks ago, as I was delivering a load of bread and canned food to the community living in the woods, a young man calmly walked into the campsite. He wore khaki pants and a clean brown shirt, but had no shoes. He sported a neatly cut beard and boyish smile. Though he was new to me, no one else seemed to take notice – he fit right in. I asked Lilly (my blind friend) where he came from. She told me a friend of a friend had told them he would be coming.

Each time I visit the woodland community, I now seek out this young man – Hugo is his name. He’s kind of sought me out too. I’ve begun to ask him questions - about how he got here and his life in general. This is the story he told me:

"I was about five years old, maybe a little younger, when I ran away from home. I‘member eatin’ out of garbage cans ‘til I met the man I now think of as my Dad. His name was Butch.

"Butch kind a adopted me. He gave me the name “Hugo” after I asked him over and over: “Hey, where you go?” He told me he was a hobo and lived in his own house on a train travelin’ from place to place. He asked if I wanted to come with him. I was so young and Butch was so friendly, I just tagged along with him after that.

"By the time I was ‘bout eight years old, Butch begun to tell me what he saw that time he picked me up. He said I was black and blue all over with cuts and scars all over me. He couldn’ believe my parents could do that to me. He thought they musta‘been crazy or somethin’.

"Butch had a smelly old dog he named Dusty that traveled with us. If Dusty went hungry, it meant we were hungry too. We shared everthin’. Dusty had pups and Butch gave me one to keep for my own. He gave the rest of‘em away. Not too long after that, Dusty died – I think she was too old to have pups.

"I named my pup Thumper cuz he scratched and pounded his leg all day an night. When Dusty died, I offered my pup to Butch, but he said, no – it was mine. I liked that.

"I think I was with Butch and Thumper, ridin’rail cars all over, for ‘bout ten years. Late one night when we was stopped in Lawrence, Kansas; Butch went out to find some food. He told me to “shut up and go to sleep.” Turned out to be the last thing I ever heard him say. He never came back. But he sure showed me how to survive.

"Thumper got run over by a car ‘bout two months after Butch left. I buried him by the tracks in Kansas. I never felt so alone. I started growin’my beard after Thumper died.

"Gittin’ hitched never really interested me. One time a girl ‘bout my age got on the train. She told me ‘bout Jesus Christ and read some stories from the bible. But then she jumped off the train and that was that. I’m not too old to find someone, but I guess I’m jes a loner.

"She did get me interested in the Word, but I can’t read. I listen to whoever knows anythin about Jesus who wants to tell me.

"I’ve had lots of close calls with the law, but I never gone to jail. I try not to steal or lie or cuss too much. Fer‘what it’s worth, I pray and listen to folks in trouble I met along the way.”

I asked Hugo if he wanted me to get a bible and read to him. He said that would be fine.

So, I’ve now delivered several Gideon bibles to the people in the community. I even found an illustrated children’s bible that is now brown with dirt and dog-eared from use. Hugo is even quoting some passages that he likes.

By his own admission, Hugo doesn’t stay anywhere too long. He’s been with this woodland community longer than he’s been with anyone for a very long time. I keep asking myself why this is. I do believe he has found a place with people who listen to him and care about him. They are showing him how the Word is lived out in real life.

Love, Pete

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December 2011

“Nativity is when Jesus is born and everyone pays attention to each other.”

There are thirty two people living in this one area where I take food and other necessities. Some of them are children. Some even go to school – they catch the bus up on the highway.

A couple of days ago, one of the teenage boys, River, motioned me over to where he was sitting with a couple of other kids on a stump in a cleared out area. He said: “You bin talkin to the folks here about how we all got here. Ya wan me to tell ya?”

Of course I said “Yes!”

He told me about his mom and dad’s “bad luck”. How two years ago their car broke down and they couldn’t afford to repair it. They both lost their jobs because they couldn’t get to work. The dad worked in a car wash and the mom had a job in a grocery store. Then they lost their apartment because they couldn’t pay the rent. So they started to walk down one of the local highways when they came upon some people in the woods who invited them to share their fire. He said it took some time to get used to living there, but they had nothing and they were cold and the people helped them get through the winter by sharing what they had.

He said the first Thanksgiving and Christmas they spent in the woods was just like any other day. They went along the highway picking up bottles and cans for the recycler – their only source of income.

I asked him if he thought the community would like some hot turkey dinners for Thanksgiving. He and the others were ecstatic! “Are you really gonna bring them, Mr. Pete?” (I don’t think he’d been let in on the discussions I’d been having with the adults in the group.)

I said, “I sure am. I’ll be here Thanksgiving morning. I’ll need your help to unload that morning. Can I count on you?”

They agreed to help.

Unknown to River, I had also been talking with the adults about Christmas. They said the kids had been asking if they could have Christmas ornaments for decorating. So I asked River “If you could have anything for Christmas, what would you like?”

“Oh, Mr. Pete, we’d like Christmas ornaments – so we could decorate these little trees. Do you think we could have some? And a star for the top?”

I told him I’d see what I could do – that I’d probably be able to arrange that.

He said, “Can I ask one more favor?”

“Sure”, I said.

“Do you think you could get us a Nativity? So we could put it out under the tree?”

By this time we’d drawn a few other kids to our group. One little boy asked: “What’s a Nativity?”

River looked at him and said, “Nativity is when Jesus is born and everyone pays attention to each other.”

P.S. The community did get its Thanksgiving dinner as promised. The children did get their ornaments, and the star for their two little living trees, and River did get his Nativity scene. This is a happy Christmas.

Loving words, Pete

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November  2011

“The Throw away Kid”

It’s been a busy month. I am out in the woods several days each week.  

One morning recently, I was on my way to see my friends in the woods south of here. We’d had a cold snap and the trees were losing their leaves. The ground was becoming a red, yellow and golden brown mat. I arrived at the encampment and parked my car off the road where it cannot be seen by the occasional passing vehicle.

Luke and Lilly (his blind friend) were waiting for me. They knew I was bringing some clothes on this day. I greeted them and Luke began to unload the goodies I had brought for their community. I had bags of underwear, socks, shirts and pants; along with some shoes and coats. It was just like Christmas in October!

I noticed a small man sitting with his back to us a few hundred feet away. His legs were draped over a log and his bare feet were dangling near a small fire. I asked: “Luke, who’s that?

He said, “Don’t  know. He showed up late last night.”

Luke then left to get the other people from the other small camps to tell them I was there with some stuff. Lilly and I stayed behind to organize to storage boxes I had brought at an earlier time. Lilly (remember, she is blind) said to me, “What’s he wearing?”( Referring to the man across the meadow).

“It seems he has a ripped t-shirt and short pants. I don’t see any shoes. He’s gotta be cold. Let me go talk with him.” I walked across the meadow and into the trees where he was huddled.

Getting close, I saw he was pretty young, probably in his teens. His face was swollen and his eyes were black and blue. “Where’s your coat, young man?” I asked. He said nothing and I went on: “You ought to go over there and share some food and warmth with your neighbors. They are very friendly. I’ll introduce you – if you don’t mind.”

He began to shiver uncontrollably and then gave me what we call in our family “the naughty look”- that look that our three year old granddaughter has mastered. It’s that look that says you are very bad and I don’t want anything to do with you.

” Can’t you see, mister! I wanna be alone! Now – Go away!”

“If you change your mind I’ll be right over there across the field.” I said and I walked back toward Lilly.

When I was almost back to where she sat, she said: “I heard what you was a sayen to that feller over there. D’ya mind if I try talkin to ‘im?”

“Not at all”, I replied, “but let’s try finding a pair of shoes and some other things he needs.”

We walked together across the field with our arms laden with shoes, socks, shirt, pants, underwear, a blanket, and some food.

Lilly opened the conversation with “Hi, I’m Lilly. What’s yer name? Can I sit down?

The boy turned toward her and could see she was blind, but he seemed unmoved by this.

“We brotcha some shoes and some stuff we thought you might be able to use. Ya wan “em?

I guided Lilly to a place to sit and she talked non-stop for about ten minutes. I finally broke in to ask her if she’d be ok if I left her there. She said, “Yeah, fine – go on now.”

Luke was still off rounding up the other people in the area, so I left him a note telling him I’d be back with the rest of the food.

I returned a couple of hours later to find Luke and Lilly serving hot soup to three others and the young man was right there with them. Luke called out, “Hey, Pete, I want you to meet Elwood.” Luke was uncharacteristically upbeat when he said, “Elwood’s decided to sit here awhile and talk with us.”

I could see Elwood’s eyes were swollen even more from crying and the new shirt I’d given him had blood stains from where he’d wiped his face with it.

Luke went on, “We’ve given Elwood some coffee and some food and he’s feeling right at home.” Then Luke motioned me over to my truck under the guise of getting something else from it. That’s when he told me what he’d learned about this boy. “Elwood’s dad is a mean drunk and he beats him when he’s been drinkin, which is pretty much ev’ry day. He ran away two nights ago and landed here not knowin what to do or where else to go. That blanket you and Lilly give him ain’t nuff to keep him warm – he’s so skinny. Say’s he’s seventeen, but I don’t believe it. Says he ain’t gone to school since the seventh grade.”

It’s been several days now and I’m getting more of Elwood’s story. It seems he and his mom and dad were living in Tennessee. The dad has always been a drunk. The mom got fed up and left about two years ago. The dad got fed up, drove the family truck to a rest stop and left a note on the windshield that said “It’s yours”. He took the boy and hitch hiked to this area of South Carolina where the dad had some friends..When they arrived, the friends put them up in a broken down trailer and the dad proceeded to use what money he still had to buy liquor. I met him when Elwood had finally had enough and had left the dad.

Elwood can’t remember a time when he’s been happier than living here in the woods near Luke and Lilly. He is sixteen and doesn’t really read or write at all. He doesn’t want anything to do with any old people like his dad. He seems to have taken to the other people who make the woods their home.

I’m trying to gain his trust – so maybe, just maybe we can find a way to help him gain some skills that will help him in the future.

Pray for all of us.

Pete

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October 2011                                                  

"I don’t remember your name, but I’ll never forget what you just done"

Each Tuesday I pick up unsold bread and pastries from a local church here in Rock Hill, South Carolina.  One recent Tuesday I was not feeling well and I almost called on my alternate to say I could not get to the church. But I thought again and figured I’d feel better if I did something and – after all – they loaded the bags into my truck and I delivered them to my friends in the woods who unloaded the bounty. So, I dragged myself out of bed and got behind the wheel of my truck. Off I went in the direction of the church.

As I neared the church, I noticed a young man walking out of the parking lot, head down, going slowly – seemingly very depressed. I pulled into the loading area of the church bread “depot” and received my weekly allotment of goodies – filling the bed of my truck. As I was driving onto the main road, I noticed the same young man, this time standing at the stop light with a woman. They were headed toward the freeway.

As I often do, I parked my truck and walked to where the couple was standing. I introduced myself and asked if they were in need of help. I told them I had noticed the young man walking out of the church parking lot.

He proceeded to fill in the details: Out to have an adventure, they had arrived in Rock Hill the night before.  There were three of them: Gloria, her “boyfriend”, and himself. They were exhausted from walking and hitchhiking and found a dumpster behind a gas station where they rolled out their sleeping bags and collapsed for the night. When he and Gloria woke up the boyfriend was gone and so were their backpacks including their ID’s and money.

They waited for several hours thinking the boyfriend would return. Finally in desperation they started to walk along the road and had stopped at each church along the way. When I encountered them, they had just talked with the women at the bread depot who had said their church had no money, but they could have bread if they liked. He had refused – really wanting more substantial help. He really didn’t know what to do next.

I invited them to hop into my truck and we went to Burger King for breakfast. As we talked, I asked if they had any family that could help. The young man said he’d like to call his mother.

Using my cell phone he dialed the number and she answered. He told her where he was and I could hear her exclamation from across the table. She had a good friend who lives in Rock Hill. She gave her son the friend’s phone number and he dialed again.

After a few minutes we were on our way to the friend’s house where the two were promised a night’s rest and a ride to the bus station to go home.

As they said goodbye to me, I received very sweaty, smelly hugs. The young man said: “Mister, I don’t remember your name, but I’ll never forget what you just done for Gloria and me. I was about to give up and there you were.”

Needless to say, I was very happy that I had dragged myself out of bed.

Pete

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September 2011

Reflecting on fear and being called

When we arrived in South Carolina, I first got involved in the soup kitchen at our parish. Then as I drove around, I noticed there were encampments in the woods. I slowly managed to meet people who lived in these encampments and now I spend a part of most weekdays trying to meet some of the needs of these most forgotten of God’s creations.

When I tell people what I do, I get a variety of reactions. Some are amazed there are people actually living in the woods. Some think I’m very foolish to put myself in (what they perceive to be) danger. Frequently I am asked: “Aren’t you ever afraid?”

I have been thinking about these reactions in light of what I know and believe.

I ask myself about fear. I am not afraid, but where does fear come from? What are we afraid of? Being hurt? Dying? Rejection? Looking foolish? Losing what we have?

I meet people each day who live in horrendous of situations. They have lost jobs, spouses, children, cars, homes and friends. They get up each morning and face each day. They find others who live in similar circumstances and they work together to survive. So many times I find close communities in the most unlikely places-people who are brought together by mutual need.

They are not so different from me. They may be dirty. They may eat scraps that others have thrown out. They may collect can and recyclables to earn their little money. But they get up each day in the hope that today will be ok. That maybe today they will find that job, or get that place to live, or be reunited with their family.

We often used the word “called”. We feel God has called us to this work. For me, that means listening to that inner voice that compels me to go places and do things that involves helping another human being. It is a compulsion in my life as essential as breathing. If I did not listen to this voice, this compulsion, this calling – Truck of Love would not exist.

I spent many years working with a wonderful mentor, Gordon Stewart. He began Truck of Love. After his death I kept on the work he had begun. I did it because I believed in Jesus’ message of loving thy neighbor. My neighbor is the person I meet on the street, in church, or in the woods.

I realized early on that I needed to dive into the world and be open to the people I would find. In California, it often meant working with homeless people on the street. Here, in South Carolina, it means working with the people in the soup kitchen as well as the families living in the woods, and in local motels.

As a result of saying yes to this calling, I have been privileged to meet some strong, amazing people. This work is a gift. It has enabled me to see the world in ever new and exciting ways. I thank God each day for being able to continue to do what we call the work of Truck of Love. I thank God each day for you, who support this work with your prayers and donations.

Peace be with you,
Pete

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August 2011

Today I met Lilly. She loves flowers. But it is a long story – one that began about three months ago.

I was on my way to deliver some food and water to a couple of communities of people in the woods when a tattooed man with no teeth flagged me down from the side of the road. He introduced himself as Luke and told me that the Foleys had told him about me. (Check out Pete's Corner for November 2010.)

I asked Luke how I could be of help. He said he and his friends could use some water and tarps and anything else I could get for them. I told him I'd go to the store and return to him in about an hour.

After a short excursion to the local store, I returned to find Luke sitting near the spot where he had flagged me down. He got into my truck and we drove the short distance to his encampment. He had a blanket under some trees with a fire pit a short distance away in a clearing. I dropped off the water, some tarps and a little food and told him I'd check in on him in a few days.

I have visited each week and brought Luke a few essentials for survival. I have noticed his tattoos – big spider webs on both elbows indicating a long time in prison; and two teardrops under his left eye. He is a kind and gentle man who seems to be the leader among a group of people living near him in these woods.

I saw Lilly for the first time about a month ago. She was sitting under a tree near Luke. She held her hands up to her mouth. I thought she was a simple woman who needed to be watched because of her apparent simple ways.

Another day I watched her wander from the hidden camp through the nearby lovely meadow that was filled with wild flowers (mostly dandelions). She walked all hunched over caressing the flowers before she picked them. She'd bring each flower to her nose, sniff their fragrance and then bunch them together in a kind of bouquet.

Last week when I was delivering more food and water, Lilly was sitting under the tree – just like the first time I saw her. She was wearing the same dirty faded blue checkered dress I'd seen her wearing each time I visited. Over the dress she ties an apron that must have been white some time long ago. It has a border of Easter lilies outlined with red piping.

I hadn't paid much attention to Lilly until today. As she watched Luke unload my truck, it occurred to me that I had never really talked with her. I wondered how she managed out in the woods – in her apparent state of innocence. I asked Luke if I could go over and say hello to his girlfriend.

As soon as he agreed, I heard Lilly say: "C'mon over."

I walked to her and sat down on the ground by her side. Before I could say hello she said, "I could hear you talking to Luke from over here. You smell nice."

A little flustered by her comment, I replied: "How are you?"

She launched, into her story: "I've been blind since birth and Luke ain't my boyfriend, he's my partner. We been together since I was young. Luke tells me when I can go out into the meadow here and pick flowers for us to smell while we sit around and talk - that's my job. Ya' know Luke's a lot older than me and some people think I'm his daughter, but I'm not. You must be somethin' to have Luke let you come in and out of here so freely. He never let's anyone know what we need or where we are. How'd you find us anyhow?"

I began to answer her question when Luke came over and stepped between us saying that he had unloaded the water and food. He thanked me and asked when I would be back again.

"Next week." I answered.

Luke is very protective of Lilly. He says she doesn't mind about her clothes being tattered because she is blind. He cares for her the best he can. She does her best to do her job – picking flowers for them both to enjoy.

Peace be with you,
Pete

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June 2011

 WWJD

A few years ago, there were popular bracelets worn among our teenaged friends. They had the letters: “WWJD?” or: What would Jesus do? I find myself asking that question over and over as I encounter people. I’m especially thinking of the folks who make the woods their home.

The other day a man approached me, appearing from under some pine boughs – his home. He shouted “Howdy!”

And I shouted back a similar greeting.

He said: “A guy came through here yesterday, just kind a stumbled on our camp. When he saw we was livin here, he said, ‘I’m gonna call the police on you.’ “

Taking this threat seriously, I asked, “Where will you go?”

He said, “We ain’t goin no place.”

I said, “Aren’t you afraid the police will come? Then what will happen to you!”

He gave me a sly smile and stated very simply: “Nah! There’s those who say they’ll do somethin and then there’s them who do. I figer he’s the first kind.”

 He then went on to ask me: “Why do you do what you do for me and everyone else around here?”

I told him I ask myself that same question and I usually follow it with another question: “What would Jesus do?”

“So, you’re a do gooder who does?”

I replied: ”As opposed to those who say they will, but don’t?”

“Yea, you know, they say they’ll help, but you never see ‘em agin.”

I had to stop and think for a moment so I could understand what he was getting at. “So, what you’re saying is, that guy who came walking through your camp and stumbled on you by mistake yesterday isn’t going to go to the police and that your camp is safe?”

“Yup! The man just wanted to seer us!  It didn’t work though.  I’ve been living out in these woods for a long time, helping folks in my situation, and I can tell when someone is honest or just a bunch of wind.”

Many years ago, Martin Rauch, Sue, and I sat down and wrote our Truck of Love mission statement. Only seventeen words, but it still applies: ”Love: Always watching, Always caring, Reaching out to a hurting world, Seeking justice, and praying for strength”.  

In other words: What would Jesus do?

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May 2011

The Trophy

Today, I was given a priceless thank you gift, a saucepan. It was a gift from a man named Mark who I have been helping the past few weeks.

Mark and his wife, Shelby, have been living in the woods since their life fell apart in 2007. But their story goes back to 1986 when they met in swimming class in high school.

They married immediately after high school and lived with Mark’s parents. Shelby came from an abusive family and never wanted children.  Mark was fine with that. Neither of them cared about school so Mark went to work driving a forklift and Shelby got a job waitressing.

Life was smooth. They helped Mark’s parents with food money and everything was fine until Mark’s parents got wind that they had no intention of providing them with grandchildren. Their living situation was immediately gone and they had to completely support themselves. They lived in a $25.00 a night motel room and were managing ok until Mark lost his job in 2004. Shelby tried to get more hours of work, but it just didn’t cover their expenses. Her boss would give her food to take home and some days they would eat in the local soup kitchen.

Shelby had a good friend who had moved to South Carolina and she encouraged Shelby and Mark to leave Memphis, Tennessee and relocate here. The friend assured them there was work here. They saved what little money they earned and bought a bus ticket. They moved in with Shelby’s friend and Shelby went to work with her in a local restaurant.

It took the friend about two weeks to get tired of having them living underfoot and she asked them to get their own place. Not having transportation, Shelby lost her job. They soon ended up in the woods – because there is always someone who knows of a place where people can stay.

When I was introduced to Mark and Shelby, they were wary of strangers. They really didn’t want anyone making more false promises to them. They had been living off the grid for some time. After many weeks and several visits, I finally gained their trust.

Today Mark decided he is ready to get back into the system and try to get work. The first step was to get a South Carolina ID card and a Social Security card. Because he has no current ID from any state, we have to begin by getting a copy of his birth certificate. He has just finished filling out that form. Now we wait until we can take the next step - together.

After our trip to the DMV, Mark said: ”I never met no one like you before now. All I got to pay you back with is my cooking pot. It’s yours! You take it now!”

Today, I was given a priceless gift.

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April 2011

“This is the day the Lord has made. Let us be glad, and rejoice in it.”

As I drive out of town into the woods I always have my eyes open for “encampments”, places where it looks as if there might be one or more people living among the trees in the underbrush. My eyes have gotten pretty good. When I see an encampment, I approach slowly and try to let the people know I am not there to hurt them, but I am looking to help if I can.

Today I say good-bye to a delightful young couple, Roger and Renee, who I discovered nearly a month ago near an abandoned house in the woods. They were from Tulsa, Oklahoma and came here because of a man who promised them a job in South Carolina.  

This man required a payment of $400.00 up front. Then he gave them information about the promised job and guaranteed food and lodging. All they had to do was get to Lancaster County, South Carolina. They were told to be at the crossroads of Highway 9 and 521 at 9am on Tuesday, February 23. A man named Jim, driving a green station wagon would be there to pick them up and take them to the promised job and living quarters. 

After giving the Tulsa connection the $400.00 in cash, Roger and Renee had $50.00 left of their savings. They are young and healthy and so they hitchhiked from Oklahoma to South Carolina. They got here with two days to spare. Having slept under the stars on their trip, they continued to do so here. They were ready for work and waited at the appointed time and the appointed place. The man named Jim never came. Day after day they waited, then they tried getting work on their own. They found the small abandoned house and started sleeping there.

By the time I met them, they were very discouraged. All they wanted was to work, save some money and get married. They were living with another couple in the abandoned house. The other couple had a similar story – paying for work only to find it was an empty promise. I helped them out with some food and tarps for the leaky roof. I found some used bikes so they could widen their job search.

Then one day last week I arrived at their home to hear that they had managed to call Roger’s Dad who told them he wanted Roger to bring Renee home to meet the family before they got married. Roger hesitantly asked me if he could borrow some money to get home.

Today they left from Columbia, South Carolina on the bus to their family in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

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March 2011

There’s got to be a better way to deal with people than I witnessed one morning last week.

I was aiming to visit with a couple I had met a few days before. As I pulled into the yard of my destination I saw a couple of county Sherriff’s cars. Two officers were out of their cars, writing in their journals. I turned off my engine and waited to see what was going on.

The man and woman I had intended to visit had been handcuffed were being led to the back seat of the Sherriff’s car. They were looking pretty forlorn.

As the Sherriff was closing the back door to the patrol car they noticed me and said something to the officer.

The officer came to my truck and asked what my business was with these two. I told him I was just there to bring them some food and other things they had need for.

He told me that the couple was not supposed to be living in this place and that I needed to leave and not interfere with what he was doing. As they drove away, I began to follow the Sherriff’s cars. I wanted to see where they were taking the couple so I could follow up and see if I could help them in some way.

One of the Sherriff’s cars pulled into the left lane and then came up behind me with his lights flashing me over to the side of the road. I pulled over and rolled down my window. The officer asked to see my South Carolina license. He took it back to his car to check me out as the other car took off with the couple.

I was detained for around fifteen minutes. The officer told me this was my second warning: “Either go home or go to jail.”   

I had one last question for the officer.”Where are they being taken?”

“To county jail.” was the reply.

Thank God for cell phones. I called Sue who gave me the address of the county jail. Of course when I got there I found it had been closed since 1971. Another call home to Sue and I had the new address. About an hour later I arrived at the county detention center only to be greeted by a very friendly officer who said they were probably at the city jail! He said I’d have to wait about a week to get a booking number. He also told me they were probably picked up for an outstanding warrant – not because they were living in a building without running water or electricity like the Sherriff had originally told me.

It’s a week later and I returned to get the booking number only to hear that they had been moved to the state facility and that information was not available.

Yesterday I went to visit some of their friends who live in similar situations. I was accosted by some really angry attitudes. They thought I had turned the couple in to the Sherriff and that I was going to harm them.

It’s going to take some time to build the trust again.

 

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February 6, 2011     

"Delight in all things great and small"

When Mr. and Mrs. Foley were planning to leave the area, they asked me if I would mind helping people who were Chinese. And so I was introduced to Mr. & Mrs. Sing.

 Mr. Bo Sing and Mrs. Ma Sing are living behind a church deep in the woods of South Carolina. When I was introduced to this physically tiny Asian couple, they were digging with their bare hands in the soil behind a church. According to Bo he and his wife have done farm work all their lives in China and desire nothing more than to continue to do the same here in the United States.

Mr. and Mrs. Sing came to the USA on a visa which expired some time ago. They landed in New York City and waited for their son who also was supposed to be coming from China.

The details of their story are hard for me to gather – mostly because of their limited understanding of the English language. So the timeline is a little sketchy.

In China they lived with their families and other farmers growing tea.  Bo confesses his childhood was a happy one with lots of playing, celebrating, singing and work. Bo’s mother and father died of ‘fever’ which had ravaged his small village when he was fourteen (he can’t say for sure). Bo Sing lived in poor surroundings on what he had always considered his familys’ tea plantation, but when all that changed he was lost and broke. The Chinese government made it clear to him that he and the families working the land were guests now, and were welcome to continue growing the green (gold) plants as long as they wanted. 

Bo Sing met Ma in a relocation camp where they had been sent to live while the government decided what to do with them. All the young people were put to work as laborers in the fields growing whatever they were told to grow. There, Ma’s farm specialty happened to be growing tea, so they were bunked in the same camp where they were ultimately coupled and had a son.

Bo was taught English in this camp by some Catholic nuns. Many years passed and he got connected with another Christian group who got him and Ma a visa into the USA. He was told their son would follow. But after waiting for some time in New York the son never arrived. So Bo and Ma started to travel south. They encountered a small church in the countryside here and are living on the church land. Bo and Ma came here looking for a better life than they could offer their son while living in China. Now Bo and Ma are having trouble just surviving here in the land of plenty.

Tao-te-Ching, also known as "The Way of Life," is the Taoist form of religion which Bo and Ma continue to follow living in South Carolina. They pray every day for the return of their son to them from wherever he might be.

Last week I took them some clothing and short grain rice (their preferred type of rice). Bo tried on a jacket that was so big on him it literally hung to the mid-calf region of his legs.  Ma put on a pair of mittens and went directly over to Bo and patted him on the head then said something in Chinese. The both laughed and hugged each other. Sometimes it’s the simplest things that bring joy and hope to people.

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January 2011

  "Called To Preach, But No One Listened"

Since moving to Rock Hill, South Carolina, I have ventured into the woods whenever I see what appears to be an encampment where people might live. That’s how I met the Foley’s over six months ago. It now looks like our brief encounter of friendship is about over. They told me they have to move.

I have had a very interesting relationship with them, from our first meeting when Mr. Foley had an infected tooth and Mrs. Foley was gumming (she has no teeth) bread for him to eat. It was then he told me he was Seventh Day Adventist and didn’t believe in doctors. I have since done some research and come to find that is not a doctrine of that church and in fact the SDA have a worldwide interest in clinics and healing through proper medicine. It seems Mr. Foley is not a mainstream SDA.

However, Mr. Foley and the people living with him have needed lots of help during this very cold part of winter. Tarps, water, bread, coats, sleeping bags and other necessities have been provided by Truck of Love for the 28 or so people living out there in the woods.

Now that the Foleys and their band of followers are moving away from the area, Mr. Foley seems to have decided it’s time to tell me about his history – so here it is:

Mr. Foley believes in Revelation 14:6-12. He has been living under this scripture for many years. He says he is called to preach. After this confession, he talked to me about his beginnings and subsequent life with Mrs. Foley. I’ve done my best to put the pieces of his story together so it is somewhat understandable.

In the words of Mr. Foley:  “When Mrs., Foley and I was first married we was living in Salt Lake City, Utah. We had a son right off, Ted, then later two more sons we named Jake and Simon. I worked on roads. The Mrs. took care of the children and at the same time had a job sellin beauty stuff from our home, but we had to have help with the kids when she got busy doin her sellin.

When it all started out we was livin with the Mrs.’ uncle and aunt. When Ted started school at six and the two young uns got taken care of by Mrs. Foley’s aunt Priscilla, life got a little hard. Uncle Ralph and Aunt Priscilla were friendly people even though we didn’t have money to help them with their bills or pay them rent. Then things just got tighter and our tempers started to get bad with each other. Even though we didn’t have to pay rent we just couldn’t make it even with a second income. The Mrs. uncle and aunt got tired of me trying to preach to people and not taking more overtime to support my growing family. To be honest, I didn’t have much luck preachin and had about the same luck gettin more work.

After six years living from their kindness they really needed more help with the bills. We was building up a real debt with them and with the stores we shopped at. We knew we had outstayed our welcome when they finally asked us to leave cause finances’ was just gettin from bad to worse. I told uncle Ralph I would try to find a job to pay him back and that we were movin to Kentucky where I had a job offer preachin in a small church.

It was hard to say goodbye, but living in Salt Lake City, Utah was hard on the Mrs., what with no money and not having a good job to fall back on. So we took a chance with my cousin livin in Madisonville, KT.

The move from the Mrs.’ uncle in Salt Lake City to my cousin’s little house in Kentucky was a mess from the start. My cousin didn’t really have a job for me with the church like he said he had - and he did’n have enough money to support me and my preachin work. Even though the Mrs. got a job right away working in the mining office, the upshot of the whole thing is I had to work in the mines. I’d go door to door on weekends with my preachin.  

My two older boys got to be 16 and 15 and I had to get them working in the mines somehow so I could do what I was called to do with my preachin. I was called to preach! I just couldn’t work a job and do my preachin on the side.

I would go door to door askin people to pray with me, but just got the doors slammed in my face most of the time. I was pretty down and my two boys was gettin sick from the coal dust then the Mrs. health started gettin bad. A member of the church in Madisonville became a friend and helped me to look out for my family.

When my cousin got tired of us livin with him, we got ourselves a little rented house from the coal mine. Had one room - was all we could afford, but we had plenty of coal in the winter to keep us warm. Time went on and we couldn’t even afford that. The roof leaked and the coal company never got it fixed. My little congregation I’d collected started to lose membership and we just kept on getting’ broker and broker.

My oldest boy got to enlistin in the army and went off to the Gulf in ’91. Got killed there almos right off.

I borrowed the money from my church members whenever I could and got more and more fed up with being forced into the life we were in. These were real hard years for the Mrs. She isn’t healthy ya’know, but we keep praying for her come back. I blame the government for our problems cuz ev’rythin we ever loved was gettin taken from us - startin with our own son.

When I lost my boy there in the middle east and we had so much trouble with the government trying to find out what happened to him, I just got real mad and I burned my driver’s license , Social Security card, and anything that could identify me or my family – that was it! No more! I was fed up to here!

Finally, we had no choice but to leave. Well, my boys was just about the age for us to leave any way. I worked in the mines and kept my job until my kids was old enough to go out on their own. My youngest was fourteen, but he was smart. That was just about three years ago.

We left the boys the Mrs. and I moved out of Kentucky and we just took the clothes on our backs and went in search of other believers. I had made some members, you’ve met some of them here, and we traveled together until now. First we went to Tennessee then I had a bug to preach further south.

A year and a half ago we came here to the woods of South Carolina.”

I asked him why South Carolina?

”We got a few members of our flock working for the forestry who found this place for us.  It was these same members who told me that on January 18th, 2011, the state is going to clear cut right where we’re livin. I’d like for you to pray for us if you will.”

I asked Mr. Foley if he or his members minded me coming back to visit before they leave.

”No… You’re of a different faith than us, but there’s always hope, and you've been able to keep your mouth shut about where we are, and you help us a lot. You’ll always be welcome with me and my flock, Mr. Pete.”

With a random question he said:”Do you mind working with Chinese people?”

”No, not at all.  Why, do you have some people living near here who need help?”

“Yup!  They’re poorer than we are. Do you think you can see clear to help them when we’re gone?”

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November 2010

When I was introduced to Mrs. Foley, I couldn't see her husband who was standing behind a tree. The young man who introduced her to me was almost reverent in his approach to her. She appeared to be in her mid-sixties and was toothless. Her gaunt face showed many years of hardship and neglect.

"Who are you?" she asked me.

I said hello and introduced myself. I explained what I'd been doing with people who live in the woods.

She gave me a slow shallow grunt then stuffed her mouth with an enormous amount of white bread and walked behind a large tree. An older man came into the open from behind that tree and faced me as his wife disappeared. Mr. Foley wasn't able to talk very well, so the young man who had introduced me to Mrs. Foley took up the conversation.

"Mr. Foley's been sick and can't talk too good, mister. What'cha think's wrong with 'im?"

The entire right side of Mr. Foley's face was swollen and his eye was shut. He was holding his jaw as though he was in pain. What he had looked like a tooth ache, but I am no doctor, so I couldn't diagnose his malady.

"Can you talk?" I asked Mr. Foley.

He nodded his head and said: "I've got a toof ache."

I offered to take him to a dentist to have the tooth looked at, but he declined saying he was a Seventh Day Adventist, and that he did not believe in doctors or medicine.

"Well then, what if I go to the health food store and see what I can get to help you?" I asked.

Mr. Foley thought that would be alright then added, "But no doctors!"

Mrs. Foley came from her hiding place behind the tree. Her cheeks were bulging with the bread she had been chewing. She quietly removed the mass of soft dough from her mouth and fed it gently to her husband who could barely swallow it. She fully intended that he not die of starvation.

I left them to eat and went off to the store. After getting advice from a helpful pharmacist, I returned armed with three bee pollen and clove oil and passed on the pharmacist's instructions.

Three days later I went back into the forest with high hopes and I was not disappointed. Mr. Foley had undergone a remarkable healing. His demeanor was jubilant, and he was dancing around like a little boy.

I am now accepted as a member of this small community living on their own, off the grid, in the forest. I am learning things every day I would never have known about forest living or about the people living there.

A few days ago I was sitting with the Foleys. I watched as they lifted rocks from the fire pit with sticks and placed them in a large pot of water. Soon the water was boiling. Silent couples came through the surrounding trees to sit and wait. They each carried small bundles. One couple brought an onion. Another pair brought celery. Several more added carrots, potatoes and anything else they had retrieved from various dumpsters located behind local grocery stores. Finally after several more rounds of hot rocks, the soup was hot and the vegetables were cooked and all began to eat.

I've been making regular trips to these woods with tarps, blankets, water, bread and whatever other small needs the people have. My reward came as a complete surprise when Mr. Foley who is feeling so good joyfully exclaimed to me one day, "I think I will become a Catholic!"

We are reminded once again: "Preach the Gospel always: when necessary use words."

 

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Aug 24th, 2010

I like to drive around the outskirts of Rock Hill, looking into the woods for signs of life. A couple of days ago, I did just that. The heat had subsided and it was another beautiful day in paradise.

Driving along, I saw two mopeds, partially hidden, parked next to the side of the road along the woods. The treed area hid most of a camp site which was visible only to the occupants and to those of us whose eyes are honed to spot distress.  

I stumped through the undergrowth toward the “squat”.  Getting closer I could see two young people, possibly in their early twenties, hunched over toward each other. It looked as though they were trying to make themselves invisible.

The young woman was as filthy as anyone I had ever met. Her hair was matted on one side and sticking out into deep space on the other. She had the look of a hundred year old woman. She was fanning herself with a cardboard sign that read: “Please help”.  

The young man’s arms and hands were grease filled from working on the chain of his moped. He looked up as I got close and decided it was ok to shake my hand. I could feel the cares of the world in our contact and see the worry in the expression on his face.    

I introduced myself and said that I didn’t want to intrude. I told them I had seen their mopeds parked next to the woods.  I went on to explain that I had just stopped to see what I could do to help.

There was a very long moment of silence.  With a scowl the young man replied with a slow drawl, ”Who are you anyway?”  

I answered the best that I could; stating that I was by myself and that there was no need to be afraid.

He let me know that they did not need me and they did not trust me and they did not have any use for me or anyone like me. They wanted to be left alone. The world was a no good place and the people in it weren’t any better. 

I listened to their rant and then told them I would be back with some food.

A little talk and some food in the belly do miraculous things to a person’s demeanor. I learned their names were Arlene and Allen. After an hour or so they trusted me enough to follow me to a local motel where I booked them for a two night stay. (The motel owner knows me and gave me a cut rate for the second night.)They needed a place to wash their clothes, a place to clean up and get some rest. I got them some gas and oil plus a safety chain for both mopeds.  

When I said goodbye to them Arlene had tears in her eyes as she hugged me. She said:”We’d just about give up. It’s been a long while since anyone cared for us like you have.”

Allen hugged me and said, “We’ll never forget what’cha done for us here.”  It wasn’t much – just a little push on the path of God’s grace.

 

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July 2010

"In God's Time"

I really believe that God puts us in situations where we can truly be His instrument.

One morning last winter, I was walking into the building that houses our parish soup kitchen. A skinny youngish man was sitting in the hallway. He showed no response when I said: ”Good morning.”

He did not look at me. He kept his eyes focused on an area of the floor somewhere in front of where he was sitting. I continued on my way through the church hall and beyond to the offices.

A few minutes later I returned the way I had come. The young man was still sitting with downcast eyes on the old church pew outside of the dining room of the Dorothy Day Soup Kitchen. When I paused, he looked at me and asked: “You the owner of the pick-up truck outside?”

I answered:”Yes.” I continued: “Come on and get in line for lunch with me.”

After being served our food and cool-aid, we sat across from one another at a Formica folding table. 

I asked, ”Why did you ask me if I own the pick up?”

“I got me a load of scrap iron to take to the junk yard. The scrap pays my rent for the week and I need a ride.”

 “Come on and we’ll get the job done in no time.” was my reply. (Though I could not help him with lifting, I was more than willing to help with the truck.)

That was the beginning of a relationship that has lasted through winter into spring and now summer.

RQ is one of the hardest working young men I have had the grace to work with here in Rock Hill. Since the day we met RQ and I have been doing a weekly journey to the various junk yards where he is recognized by each of the owners as a hard-working, self sufficient man.

His life has been filled with obstacles and limitations-some self made and some imposed by society. His health has suffered because in this work of recycling large metal pieces, he is forced to lift items many times his weight – often with little or no help

All was going well until last week when he dropped a large piece of iron and doubled over in pain -complaining that his side hurt. I took a look at where he was pointing and placed my finger on the front of his shirt. I asked him to lift his shirt so I could give it a closer examination and saw he has a hernia. He insisted on continuing to work. No work, no money for rent.

I sat him down and assured him that this week his rent would be paid and he would have food to eat (Thanks to our faithful donors to Truck of Love). As he relaxed, he began to share his story of a dope dealing past and a long stint in jail. Five years in prison has created a resolve in him to turn his life around.

When he first got out of prison, he couldn’t get a job. He blamed himself for what he had done. He believed that hard work would get him what he needed. He was determined not to allow his past history bury his spirit.

After week of inactivity due to the hernia, RQ’s faith was beginning to get a little shaky. I suggested that maybe he could ask a friend to help him with the lifting and in turn offer him a piece of the profits. It took all of fifteen minutes until we discovered a friend of RQ’s willing to share in the day’s labor. We used my truck and took our time getting the heavy job done. Both men were satisfied with their work and also the new business partnership that was created.

I love being an instrument working in God’s time.

 

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March 2010

"Keith"

Keith has been spending much of his time sitting in the dining room of the Dorothy Day Center which is across the street from the church that Sue and I attend. He wiles away the hours reading novels he picks up from the York County Library in downtown Rock Hill. His energy has been sapped and he can’t seem to remember his goals. He surely doesn’t buy into God’s promise that “We are never given more than we can handle”.

Keith is divorced and out of work. He lives in a local men’s shelter.   He keeps telling me he is in the shelter for a short time while he considers his options. What Keith says he really wants is to  get a car so he can get back into his life in sales. He says he can sell anything.

Keith and I have tried several ways to get him back into the work force including making flyers advertising he will do yard work. He spent days riding his bike and leaving flyers in neighborhoods. He got some yard work, but it was exhausting. And then the rain kept interrupting the days he could work.  

For the two months I have known Keith he has been on a gradual downward spiral. He had entered into the pit of inertia that steals a person’s hope; the hope that is necessary for him to make a transition back into a productive lifestyle.

I had been praying for him to allow God into the equation so he wouldn’t feel so alone in his hour of need.

A couple of weeks ago, in a final trough of depression, Keith came out with the answer: ”Well,” he said, “I think the only thing I have left to do is to put the whole matter into God’s hands and back away from the problem!”

As soon as he made that statement two things happened to him. The first effect was that he stopped worrying about what was to become of him. The second thing that happened was that he surrendered to God – he put his life squarely in God’s hands and his energy and personality took a major turn toward hope.

A week later he got a message from a friend asking him to come look at a car that a person was giving away – not selling, giving away.

A few days ago I asked Keith if there was anything I could help him with now that he has a car, and he said: ”Pete, you have done so much for me… You’ll never know how much!”

In reality our God did the work of the miracle.  The only thing I did was show Keith there were people who care enough to be a companion on the journey.  He was the one who realized God has been there all along.

Hope almost never costs money, just a little time and prayer will do.

 

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December 16, 2009                                                                                            

I am used to meeting people in need and giving them something to take with them – sometimes money for food or a cup of coffee or a gift card for clothes. One day recently when I was sitting on a bench in Glencairn Garden, here in Rock Hill, I was pleasantly surprised out of this routine.

It was a rainy day and I had stopped by the Garden to spend a little time saying my Rosary. As I sat and prayed, my attention was directed to the tap-tap of a cane. Down the path, coming toward me was a blind man searching with his cane for bumps and irregularities in the path. He walked like he was very familiar with the Garden. His head bobbed from side to side as he listened to the enchanting sounds about him.

Coming near my bench, he sensed my presence and politely asked: “May I sit down?”

I sprang to my feet and wiped the rain soaked leaves off the other side of the bench. “By all means,” I said, “please join me!”

As he lowered himself to the bench, his cane knocked against my prosthetic leg. “What’s that I hit?” he said.

I told him it was a prosthetic leg. It was apparent that he wasn’t sure to what I was referring, so I explained to him that I had fallen from a cliff and my foot was shattered beyond repair. It was amputated and I had a “fake” foot.

After a few minutes of pleasant conversation, I asked the man how he had lost his eyesight.

”I don’t recall the exact age I was at the time.  All I remember is that I was living on a farm here in Rock Hill and that there was no place to go for help in the 1940s.”

I focused on the sun glasses which covered his eyes. They were sand blasted from years of constant use.  As I watched him, his head was continually moving and bobbing. I wondered if he was hearing music or the rhythm of the rain.

 “Oh,” he said. “I’m just fine thank you.”

I knew I had not spoken my thought out loud and wondered to what he was referring.

He continued: “I can see just fine, through what I hear.  No one should feel sorry for an old blind man like me.”

I giggled quietly, remembering being in Mexico a few years before. I told the man how one of the teenagers who was with me in a very poor colonia outside Tijuana commented on how good the people’s eyesight must be – she had not noticed anyone wearing glasses!  It was fun to see her realization as she put “two and two” together: they didn’t wear glasses because they could not afford them.

It was his turn to giggle.

By now I had abandoned my Rosary and just enjoyed the moment – a shared bench, some stories, some laughter.  We sat for a while on the park bench in silence.  The words to the song “Mr. Bo jangles” came into my mind: “He looked at me to be the eyes of age as he spoke right out.”

And that is exactly what happened next. He spoke out: “I’m glad to have met you, Sir:”

“Pete.”  I said. (I’m not used to Southern manners!) I continued: “It’s been a real pleasure talking to you.”

“Ya know,” he said, “I just like comin' to the park to see who I might meet and talk to. You have yourself a wonderful day, Sir, and I hope I can meet you again.”

He got up and tapped his way out of the park.  

I do go to Glencairn Garden fairly often, so the prospects of seeing him are good. I gave the old man nothing but conversation, and we shared a little bit about our lives, and that was plenty for him.

 

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August 14, 2009
Rock Hill, South Carolina

So far here in Rock Hill, SC I have met with some pretty sweet and organized people working for the betterment of our poor brothers and sisters.

For instance, the Dorothy Day center gives a square meal to anyone who shows up to its food line. The people are served with dignity, and without question. How do I know this? I have been through the line twice - before asked by Brother David how I could be part of their great work.

The Dorothy Day Center serves from the social hall across the street from St. Mary’s Church, which now happens to be Sue’s and my home parish. There are many such centers here in our little town of Rock Hill that are doing truly blessed and valuable work with people lost due to our faltering economy.  But these are ‘centers’, and centers are places where people need to come to be served.  For a moment think outside the box of center life, and come with me where concern can be sought out in the high ways and by ways of America.

It is Friday, August 14th, 2009.

I am happily driving toward Main Street in Rock Hill, South Carolina, listening to an oldies station when I see a group of children walking along a set of the many strands of rail road tracks lining and defining the boundaries of our little berg. I could see they were not like any children out to play. They were walking with a purpose.

I turned my truck around to meet them as they crossed the trestle going over the main highway. I got out of the truck and stood watching them. As they approached they looked at me apprehensively, but noticed I was fat and had a prosthetic leg; so their alarm bells stopped long enough for me to get a good look.

They were six boys ranging in age from twelve to fourteen with black garbage bags slung over their shoulders. They continued to walk toward me and eventually came right up to me and said: “Hello.”

They were extremely dirty and their clothing was completely tattered. One had a pair of shoes held together by duct tape.

I told the boys my name and without another word the oldest boy told me:”We don’t need evangelizing!”  

I acted as though I didn’t hear his comment, then I took the offensive: “Are you hungry, or thirsty?” I asked.

They unanimously agreed that they were. I told them that if they could just wait where they were for an hour, I would continue into town and get them something to eat and drink. I added: “Free of charge.”

I found a Subway Sandwich shop where I purchased their lunch. I returned to the railroad tracks and there they were – sitting by the tracks, hitting the blades of grass with their hands - just waiting for me to return.

I smiled and held up the bag of food toward them and greeted them with: “I’m back.”

They all jumped up as I handed the bag to the oldest boy. He gave each one a sandwich and a drink. They dug into the food eagerly and then each one took a portion of their sandwich and wrapped it up and put it in their bag for later.

I asked the oldest boy where they were from. He said: “up north.”

I asked how old they were. The oldest boy said he was fourteen and the youngest said he was twelve (but he looked to be about ten).

I asked them if I could help them get into a shelter for the night. The oldest boy said: “No thanks we’re on our way.”

 They all politely said: “Thank you, mister,” and then they each got up and resumed walking along the railroad tracks – continuing their journey south.

I was touched by them. I was touched by the sight of them and by meeting them. It made me think about how much I miss by not paying attention.

These children are still walking to somewhere I will never know. As I write this the sun is going down on a fairly mild day here in South Carolina. Where are they now? Where will they sleep tonight? What more could I have done? Why were six barely pubescent teenage boys walking together today? What kind of family life they were running from?

For a moment today they were treated with kindness.  Most likely they didn’t need to steal for their next meal. I was meant to be where I was today to meet these blessed children. I am thankful I was paying attention today.

Pete

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September 2008

Unconditional Love

I couldn’t stop thinking about a conversation I had recently with an old friend, Elizabeth T. She had just finished reading ”Old Men Dream”. She needed to tell me how the book affected her. I was so moved by what she said that I thought it was important to record our conversation. With her permission here it is.

“I just finished reading your book. I truly don't have words to describe it. My head hurts from thinking and I have a knot in my throat that is holding back deep tears. I have so much to tell you. For so long, you and Sue have been in my heart as one of the most important examples of unconditional love and true Christianity I have ever encountered. I have clung to my memory of our three weeks in Arizona as though it has just happened. [She made a trip with us to the Tohono O’Odham Nation when she was in high school many years ago.] It feels like I can reach out and touch my experiences with you, and yet, after so many summers having passed from that time, my heart is moved at the nearness of those few weeks when God put you and Sue in my life for me to learn to see His unconditional love.

I recently confronted both my parents to tell them that I have been hung up on the fact that I could not unconditionally love myself, because I didn't truly feel that love growing up nor do I feel it to this day. Unfortunately, I still see this playing out with my brother, who is still very much in emotional pain. For the first time, my parents are listening.

Only now that I have children of my own, who challenge me every day to remember who I am, and who help me play this dance of love more clearly; am I beginning to understand unconditional love. In my heart I know the only gift I can give to them is unconditional love. It breaks my heart to think that so many years have passed since my trip with you – years when I have not felt this love.

I don't think I knew that I was so starving for this love until you sent me your book: ”Old Men Dream”.  After having read the book, I see the immense irony of my 'service trip' to help the children on the reservation in Arizona and then what my parents called: ’my return to real life, in the real world’.

As a teen, I felt I could relate to the people on the reservation. At the time, my desire to help was so clear to me. After my trip with you, I fought with my parents every day until they threatened to take away my funding to go to college. Daily I had to put up with their utter distain for you and what trouble you had caused them over the summer that year [because of the trip to the Tohono O’Odham Nation].

My confusion about the path I chose at that time has finally stopped. I see now that my choice was not my choice at all, but my parent’s choice in their attempt to control my life. Please don’t get me wrong on this point. I would probably have done the same thing for my children when they become teens-at least I might have, if you hadn’t left the book:”Old Men Dream” in my mail box last week.

The life I will try to live now will be more in the line of simple and unconditional respect and love for myself and my fellow man- including my children.

Thank you for reminding me of so many good and meaningful times so many years ago. Your book has given me the chance to rethink the joys and sufferings of that trip. I finally have a place to plant my feet in order to start my quest.

I trust God will help me find my path in the right time. I am changed and I feel the courage to continue searching for my answers.

Congratulations, Pete, and thank you for sharing your story with me and with the world. I, for one, needed to hear it. It gave me a kick start.”

All that can be said to such high praise is Thanks Be Unto God! Pete

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August 2008

No, Thank You, Just Water

On one of the hottest days we’ve recently had in the bay area, I went into my home office to retrieve my phone calls. It must have been 98 degrees on this day as I sat sweating in the comfort of my little nest listening to my answer machine messages.

The first message was a typical request for food, but the next request was very different from any calls I had received during the summer months or for that matter anytime. The call went something like this.” Hello, my name is Elva B. and I would appreciate a call back as soon as you can. I don’t have transportation, and my neighbor is elderly. She is not able to drink the city water with her medicine, and will not ask anyone to help her get any bottled water. Can you please call me back and let me know if you provide this service? Thank you.” I listened to the tape again then took down her phone number and address.

I had to take another woman to the store and while I was there I picked up three cases of bottled water for the elderly woman that Elva B. had told me about. I returned the lady and her groceries to her home and then headed directly to Elva B’s home in San Jose. I did not call I just took the water with me in the back of my little Toyota pickup truck.

I just showed up on her front porch. She opened the front door and I introduced myself and told her I had water. I asked where she wanted it.

She said, “ Put it next door to Mrs. A’s apartment. She won’t come to the door though. I have a key and can let you in.”

“Is there anything else you need?” I asked.

“No, thank you. Just the water will do.” She responded.

“Are you sure there is nothing else? I will be glad to come tomorrow and help out if you need groceries or anything.” I actually began arguing with Elva thinking that she must want more from me. But she did not want a thing.

It was wonderful to meet Elva. I sometimes get a little disillusioned because so many people ask for something and then try to take advantage of my goodwill and especially the good will of the people serving Truck Of Love.  I believe God sent this good and honest woman to help me restore my trust in people that can  sometimes be lost in the course of my day. And, oh yes- by the way, Elva B. and I are now friends.

 

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July 2008

A Band of Brothers

There are several people doing Mike’s job, but Mike is the only one I have met and talked with. Mike has somehow captured my heart more than most.  He picks up the recyclables from the containers set out on our block each Wednesday evening.  

I met Mike early one Thursday morning when I was coming out of my house to get into my truck. Mike was picking through the recycle bin.

I asked: ”Would you like me to save my recyclables for you during the week?”

Mike’s big smile was enough answer.

Over the months, Mike and I have shared a few words each week. Then one recent morning, I decided it was time for me to get to know him better.

Mike told me he slept on the “Hotel 22” (the bus that traverses Santa Clara St. ) for a long time. He met Morg on that bus and later they met Bert at a bus stop where they were all exiting at the same time. Mike offered to help Bert with his wheel chair and, as Mike says, ”We were fast friends from then on.”

They formed a kind of business arrangement. Mike knows the route of the pick-ups for bottles and cans and so he was the logical choice of the three to be the one who walks and walks and walks to make the collections for the other two. The competition for recyclables is severe. Mike knows that if he is even a little late for his routine collections they will be gone. Someone else will have gotten to the treasure first.

Mike’s friends wait for him by Guadalupe creek, where they now share a tent.  

Bert is handicapped and gets around in his wheel chair very well. He can’t do the job Mike does of foraging for the recyclables. Bert’s job is to take the incoming recyclables from Mike and to separate them into bags that can be taken in a shopping cart to the recyclers by Morg.  Then Morg and  Bert go to the store to buy provisions of the night.

Mike took me to visit their creek side home – their “Squat”. Their living space is meager but, they have a tent and a simple cooking arrangement. They are inventive and resourceful. They are proud of their living situation. It works quite well for them. None of them drink, smoke, or use other drugs so their overhead is low.

They know the police will raid them and throw out all their belongings if they get sloppy and leave dirt and refuse around.  Mike has gotten to know the police and he’s clear on the unwritten rules. He told me how some of the guys who live by the creek don’t keep their squats clean and they all suffer. He says that if the guys living in the squats behave well and keep their areas clean the police won’t bother them.   

These three men living next to Guadalupe creek have a job to do every day, and according to Mike: ”We makes  it work.”

Mike final words to me are: ”It works out just fine. I like to walk, and they like doing what they do, so everybody is happy.”

I fell blessed to have been invited into their lives. These are three special men who are doing the best they can in this world.

Pete