POOR BOBBY… written in 2016

Bobby is 11 until Tuesday when he’ll turn 12. Bobby lives with his mother most of the time. She’s a drug addict and she forgets about him when she’s high. Bobby’s home has been the floor of one his Mom’s boyfriends, until a number of months ago. They finally got an apartment. It’s $25/month plus electric. They are getting food stamps but his Mom doesn’t work so they get like $44/month.  After 3 months the electric has already been shut off and it’s winter. It gets really cold at night. Bobby grabs all of the dirty clothes and piles them on top of him to use for blankets because they don’t have any. The apartment has roaches and spiders and there’s always trash on the floor; there’s no trashcans and no cleaning supplies in the house. They can’t afford to buy them and he doesn’t know what cleaning the house is because his Mom doesn’t know.

Bobby isn’t sure who his father is. There’s this guy who comes around once in awhile and calls him “sonny boy,” but he’s not sure. The guy also punches him in the shoulder when he sees Bobby and tells him, “Gots to be the MAN of the house…” and then he laughs and hits him again. The guy gives Bobby’s Mom drugs. A church gave them some furniture but the beds had bed bugs so Bobby had to drag them out to the dumpster…and he’s back to sleeping on the floor.

His Mom sometimes gets him up for school. When he goes, he hates it. He’s been labeled a “problem child” since he was 7 when he was molested and started acting out at school. No one ever asked him why he was acting out or sitting in the bathroom crying during recess. Somewhere along the line he realized he’s alone so he’s gotten tougher. He pushed a little kid the other day so he could get the message out to leave him alone. He also got suspended again.

He was given some comic books and he likes to look through them but he can’t pronounce or understand some of the words. He says the words are blurry sometimes, but his Mom can’t keep his Sooner Care active so he doesn’t go to the doctor. He has a cold and his nose runs so he sucks snot and wipes it on his shirt because they don’t have paper towels, toilet paper or tissues in the house.

Most of the time he starts his day in the same clothes he’s worn all week. They never have quarters and the closest laundry is 2 miles away and they don’t have a car and can’t afford bus tokens. The grocery store is about as far away. Bobby spends most of the time hungry.  He goes to the nearest convenience store and steals chips and sodas; so far he hasn’t been caught.

He walks a lot but there are places he stays away from. He watches the gangs from a distance and part of him is starving for love and affection and he wonders if joining a gang would help. But, one of their initiations is raping girls. His Mom was raped once while he was in the bathroom. A drug dealer broke in and raped her because she didn’t pay him. Bobby tried to take care of her, but she told him to get the “f*** away.”

Bobby has a couple of friends who are just like him. One of his buddy’s Moms is an alcoholic and another lives with his Grandma who is “crazy.” They like hanging around the Grandma because she talks to people who aren’t there. They laugh at her. Sometimes all the grown up’s in their lives are messed up at the same time so they stay in a cubby hole outside the community center, which is closed up and not used anymore. They hear gunshots and couples yelling and cussing each other. They see drug deals and watch toddlers walking around in a diaper at 3 in the morning. They watch and when the drunken old man stumbles out of his apartment to yell at someone, they sneak in and hide his bottle. This is their entertainment.

Bobby had his 12th birthday and no one noticed. There was no cake or ice cream, no gifts, no underwear from Grandma, nothing. He kept crying off and on all day and he tried to stop but he couldn’t. He sees kids at school with new Nikes and IPhones and they talk about their X-box and Ripstick and he gets mad. His Mom got a big TV after she got her income taxes one year, but they pawned it after a month for her drugs and to pay rent.

If no one intervenes and loves on Bobby he’ll start having sex soon and probably get a girl pregnant. He’s likely to join the gang because he’ll drop out of school and need money. His heart will continue to grow harder because he has to do what is needed to survive. Eventually he’ll steal a car and get involved with juvy and once he has a criminal record, a kid he can’t take care of and the start of a drug habit…another generation of “the Bobby’s out there” starts all over again.

Every Sunday and most Wednesday evening’s variations of kids with Bobby’s story go to church. We’ve been taking them for over a year. During each trip in the van from the apartment complex to church, we’re praying for these kids. Praying for their salvation, for their safety, that people will be nice to them, that they’ll make friends, that they will learn about Jesus, that no one will say something to embarrass them, that they get why they’re going to church…that Jesus loves each one of them, individually, enough to die for them, that Jesus will be real to them.

Over the course of the year we have had folks ask how we could bring the kids to church in flip flops when it’s cold outside or why they’re not wearing coats. They want to know why they make such a mess when they eat dinner on Wednesday night. They want to know why we don’t keep them quiet and teach them to behave; they run in church and climb on the building.  We’ve been asked why the kids come to church dirty and smelly.

One man asked why we bring drug addicts to church. When we figured out who he was talking about, he was told the young man only has part of his brain so he’s slow in speech and processing. His reply was, “Oh. Well how am I supposed to know that?” 

He’s right, how is he supposed to know that? Middle class pew sitters have no idea how hard it is for poor kids and families because we rarely if ever socialize with them. We read the rhetoric in the news and we establish assumptions about poor people that are often very wrong.  In fact, we often become indignant and tell them to get their lives together, go to work and do what’s right. We judge them with gusto. We also tend to forget they don’t know Jesus and they don’t have a support system or the resources we do, but we sure do expect a lot from them.

We also tell poor people to forget the past; it has no effect on their future. When Bobby was molested, he remembers every moment of the nightmare. He remembers the smells, the sounds and the man’s voice. He’s never been seen by a counselor so he hasn’t learned coping skills, life skills, problem solving skills and he doesn’t know what to do when he smells the same after shave the man was wearing two years later. All he knows is that all of those disgusting memories come crashing into his mind and he has to do something so he yells or he breaks something or he runs until he falls to the ground sobbing. He doesn’t talk to anyone because no one cares.

Many of these kids don’t know Jesus and the few that do, don’t see Him in their homes, or the neighborhoods, or in their neighbors and they don’t have anyone teaching them life through the lens of the Bible. They are lost and learning life skills from the lost.

We don’t want to know the gory truth about Bobby’s life because we don’t want to believe horrible things happen to kids. We don’t want God to give us a burden to step into that gutter and love these kids unconditionally and make them a part of our lives. That’s too difficult and messy and it’s too painful. The kids will screw up or Heaven forbid we do get involved and they won’t turn out “right.”  People tell us to make the kids “more normal” and presentable because the way they look and how they act make US too uncomfortable.

Isaiah 58, In His service is trying to give the kids some hope and let them experience things that they could not afford to do. We are trying to show them life without crisis. We try to give them birthdays with cake and gifts and candles. We try to keep the heat on and the water running and groceries in their fridge. We try to make sure they aren’t sleeping on the floor. We take them to church praying they’ll meet Jesus…

But, it’s not enough. We’ve been asked what church goers can do to make a difference in these kid’s lives.

Talk to them. They need stable, caring adults to be interested in their lives. They will be bluntly honest about the horrors of their lives but they still have dreams for their future and they want to believe they could come true. They need to hear praise and encouragement. They need to know what real love looks like.

Talk to your kids. As far as we know none of our kids have been invited to a “rich kid’s house.”  They haven’t made many friends in church. They think some of the “rich kids” are mean and don’t like them. Teach your kids how to love on poor kids. Learn about poverty so you can teach your kids what poverty really is. Teach your kids to reach out and get to know our kids.

Invite them out. Get to know the kids, especially if you have a child the age of one of our kids. The best way to teach is to mirror the behaviors. Let them see how you eat a meal; praying before eating, asking someone to pass the pepper, please and thank you. Take them to your home. Show them how you live. Give them an experience they’ve never had before. We took some kids to a concert at the BOK and they’d never been to a concert before. Wide eyes and lots of WOWS. It was really cool. A new experience opens the door to possibilities.

Volunteer. We often make 2 or more trips to church on Sunday. Offer to go pick some of the kids up. We pay for them to eat on Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights at church because we want to make sure they have something to eat. When you drop them off, sit with them, eat a donut and listen to their stories. Ask them to sit with you in church. Mirror Godly behavior in God’s house.

Pray.  Before and after you talk with them, learn their names and a little about their lives and pray for them by name. Ask the Father to bring workers to the harvest. Pray for the end to generational poverty. Pray that God will use you.

Be willing to learn. We had our first LOVE GOES - Faith Based Social Services Conference in 2015. We had professionals talk about the tough stuff: Mental Illness, Homelessness, Substance Abuse, Foster Care, Suicide, Domestic Violence. We talked about the role of the church and how our churches need to take an active role in helping our non-profits meet more needs. We have tons of gaps that our churches could fill. We asked churches to do capital campaigns for people instead of buildings.

Watch all of the speaker's videos at www.isaiah58ihs.org. Learning more about these topics can take away the fear of the unknown and once the fear disappears, you’ll be nudged into action and you’ll be more willing to go because you’ll have a better understanding. Knowledge builds bridges, ignorance builds walls.

Learn more. If you truly want to make a difference, a restorative difference, talk with deni. Isaiah 58, In His service has professionals ready to teach. If you really want to learn about poverty, mental illness, homelessness so that you can beseech the Father to take you to where He’s working, we can help get you prepared. Just remember, we all have been or will be touched by mental illness, substance abuse, domestic violence, etc. It is better to be prepared than to react in crisis.

Vision  Isaiah’s Neighborhood – A Place to Belong! Our prayer is to provide an affordable, permanent supportive housing complex of 20 apartments for folks who can no longer live alone, seniors, single parent, disabled, homeless, etc. with a community center, a safe place for pets, an infirmary, Hospice, emergency housing, Mission House, Chapel, garden, Mercy ministry and transportation available by donations 24/7.

Know that you are prayed for.

In His service,

deni A. fholer, LMSW, CCFP

We can do more. We can do better.

“Whoever claims to live in Him must walk as Jesus did.” 1st John 1:6

Looking back. Trying to remember when we first met. She just had a stroke and she and her husband were in the Day Center. She, Cherokee. He, Creek. Elders in their tribes. He never could explain exactly why they were homeless. He said it all happened so fast. They were doing fine and then she had the stroke and was in the hospital for a long time. He was trying to understand why she couldn’t remember things or talked about things that he didn’t remember. He was by her side, holding her hand every day.

Life had changed and he couldn’t catch up. He said he went home to shower and change his clothes and the doors were locked. “I guess I just forgot about rent, I was so, so worried.” Marriage was just a natural step for them. He’s a big robust guy, usually wearing a ball cap, rolling his cigarettes.  She was petite, “I fit in his side.”

They’d leave the shelter early and walk all over downtown Tulsa, she was on her third rollator. They walked so she could exercise her left leg and, “I can’t get my arms around him, he needs to lose some weight.” We took them to church. She was hard of hearing and said she loved the music because she could hear it. “That preacher needs to raise it a notch.”

The ‘old couple’ of the shelters. She finally got disability and with income, they got housing. But, it was an apartment complex way out south, away from everything. He said he’d make it work. They longed to sleep in a bed and brew a cup of coffee and watch Andy Griffith on TV.

They needed everything. We invited them to the ministry to pick out what they wanted. She was hesitant at first because she didn’t think they had enough money. Then she didn’t like charity and didn’t want to get anything for free.  I told her that her husband took care of the bill and she could shop with abandon.

She walked around for the longest time, just looking. Finally she started pointing at things, smiling and putting her hands over her face. By the time we loaded up, the back of a pick-up truck was piled high. They still needed a bed. We prayed. Two days later a family took one to their apartment. YES!

Pandemic. I hadn’t seen them in awhile. I called to see how they were doing. They needed groceries. I filled some boxes and went to see them. She had lost weight. He had gained. He was anxious and she was talkative. Telling me stories I’d heard before and updating me about her dialysis. “I go to work three times a week, I’m off on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

I got to their apartment late one evening. Apologetically I said the meal could be a midnight snack. She said I shouldn’t be out so late. She pointed to a picture of Jesus on a shelf then she looked at her husband. He handed it to her and she handed it to me. She reminded me Easter was coming and because it is, "We're gonna all be alright." Then she handed me the picture of Jesus and said it was a gift.

"I know you have Him in your heart but you need to set it on your desk so He can watch over you." Indeed. I did.

He asked for batteries for her blood pressure cuff. He said she hasn’t been feeling well. We began delivering dinner every evening. Sometimes she’d be asleep, other times she was complaining of pain. He was drinking, a lot.

He called me. He said her BP dropped to 84/40. She was in the hospital and they were doing emergency surgery. They told him he couldn’t see her. He was so scared. So was I.

I saw him on Monday evening. He said they let him stand outside of her ICU room and look at her through glass. “They wouldn’t let me touch her. She didn’t know I was there. But I was. I was there.” We wept. I held him and prayed for him, for her, over the injustice , for the stupid virus to go away….

I went by on Tuesday. He had a coffee cup in his hand. He said the hospital called him at 12:30am and said she was critical. At 4:30am, she was getting worse. At 7:30am they said she wouldn’t make it through the day. He called her daughter and she was on her way to get him. She was coming from out of town.

We wept. We hurt. We knew.

I called out to Jesus for mercy. I asked for prayer support. God please, please let him be bedside when you take her. Father, I’m begging you.

He called. I answered and he didn’t speak. I lost my breath. She’s gone. God please. He said his daughter was there too.  

“I was holding her hand when she left me.”

Jesus. Oh, Jesus. Thank you!

I went into a restaurant to see if they were serving. They said yes so, I placed my order and waited. I looked across the dining room to see a table of 5 in the corner and an elderly gentleman sitting alone not far from me. I waved and said ‘hi.’ He was a World War II Navy Veteran. I know because his ball cap and his torn and stained sweatshirt said so. I thanked him for his service. He began to talk, and I listened.

He’s lived 2 blocks from the restaurant for the last 20 years. His wife died 3 years ago, and he lives in their 5-bedroom house alone. After leaving the service, he did sales manufacturing for many years. Then “For the sake of doing something different” he and his wife opened a donut shop. Up at 3:30am every morning to make donuts. He crossed his arms, tugged on the brim of his hat, smiled and winked at me, “They were really good.”  

Oh, he and his wife? They opened the skating rink in town too. Seems his daughter was a “firecracker” of a skater, “Would have won the gold in the Olympics too, if it had been a sport.” Another smile and a wink. His daughter runs the skating rink now. She lives 2 blocks from him. They talk every day on the phone.

His son ran the skating rink with his daughter, but he died when he was 50. “Diabetes and those damn cigarettes, packs, packs of ‘em every day. Just like me, stubborn.” He glanced at me and his eyes glistened with tears. He asked me what I did and how long I lived in town. I reminded him more than once that I was just visiting. He’d lean forward now and again, “Whad you say?” I’d repeat.

He drives his 1999 Lincoln to the restaurant 3 days a week and parks against the building, close to the door, no need for a parking space. He walks in, no cane or walker needed, thank you. And the girls greet him with smiles, and then he sits at his table. They bring him a bowl of potato soup, oyster crackers, and sweet tea. When he’s almost finished the soup, out comes a hot plate of onion rings. He could depend on them. He could trust the routine. He wasn’t there for the food, he was there to push back suffocating loneliness.

His son bought him a computer, but he couldn’t figure it out, so he watches TV and “piddles.” He looks forward to driving to this restaurant 3 times a week. “So, I can meet nice people like you.” Arms crossed, smile, wink.

I asked him if He knows my friend, Jesus. He said he and the Mrs. go to the Methodist Church, “Well, I go by myself now.” Then he remembered when he and his wife started attending. The church events he’s been to, potluck dinners, children’s programs. “We had a good time together. The house isn’t the same without her.” We looked into each other’s eyes as we fought back tears. “I really miss her.”

In this chaotic time of confusion and uncertainty, may we find it in ourselves to love and be kind and listen. Our goal is to “flatten the line” but as we do so we can’t cut the thread of life that some of our neighbors are barely hanging on with.

Know that on the other side of this we will see higher rates of child abuse and domestic violence and depression, addiction, homelessness and suicide. I ask that we remember we have a population of our neighbors who need interaction and assistance and encouragement and love just to survive any day, much less a pandemic.

I’ve talked with people in dire straits over the last few days and after I’ve explained about Covid 19 the response has been, “I’m ready just let it take me.” Listen, we had desperate people before all of this and now everything is worse for them. We weren’t ready for the pandemic and we certainly aren’t ready for the fall out after it.

A reminder that ministries, churches, agencies, restaurants that provided a sit-down meal, showers, conversation, life skills, services, resources and hope aren’t accessible anymore. Our compassion, empathy, patience and kindness have been buried long enough. May we resurrect the personal aspiration to go above and beyond what is needed. May we make personal sacrifices to ensure the basic needs of another. May we look back with thankfulness because we did everything we could to give another person’s life value and meaning, even when it cost us something. May we put others first.

One of my guys is lost, completely lost in his alcoholism. We have told him how much we love him and how we’re ready to help him. But, he says he doesn’t need our help. Our collective prayer is for him to hit bottom. Because from there the only place to look is up.

Up is Jesus.

Maybe we as a country have finally hit bottom. Now the only place to look is up to Jesus.