The Do’s and Don’ts of Opening Your Home to the Homeless  

What is the first thing that comes to your mind when you think of a homeless drug abuser? Invite him in to your home to live, or that he is filthy and unkempt, with a long scraggily beard? Fifty-two year old “Joseph” did not fit any of the stereotypes; he was clean-shaven, well-spoken, and proper gentleman who I picked up at a community meal to live with us. After my dad met him and talked for a while he said, “He seems like a good guy or a really good liar.”  He had a charming demeanor which had me fooled. Looks can be deceiving, especially when one is dealing with a psychopath.

Joseph had been living with me and my brother for a month. The adventure began with my suspicion when Joseph casually told me, “By the way, I lent a jack to a man that works at the Mel Trotter Ministries.” This seemed odd because the night before I saw him and a frightening large man covered in tattoos with a Pit Bull leave my garage, which contained none of his possessions. A few days later, my brother had some money disappear. The day the money was stolen, Joseph claimed his wallet was also stolen, which, again, I contemplated with suspicion.   

 It was 10:30 PM; my brother and I had just gotten home exhausted from a 14-hour day at school. As I turned the key in the lock of my one hundred year old house and pushed the door open, I was greeted with a plume of smoke that enveloped my face. This was a shock because I thought I told Joseph that this was a non-smoking area. But this was not the only rule that he would break that night.

My brother and I entered with an eerie feeling, not knowing what to expect. As soon as we got to the top of the stairs, I saw my large 80 pound miter saw in the kitchen. Joseph immediately told us, “Someone has entry to this house, and you need to find out who it is.”

I thought to myself, indeed, someone has entry, and I would love to find out whom. Someone had hauled the saw up the winding stairs of the basement into the kitchen. What an odd place! I thought to myself, had I left it there? I could not have because it takes two able-bodied men and a boy to get it out of the basement. I looked up, and there he was: the man for the job with the perfect look of a thief. I could scarcely make out the shape of his dark complexion in my dimly lit living room. He was hunched over with his hoodie pulled over his head and was breathing heavily while puffing on a cancer stick. His face was scarred, and I could make out a few tattoos on his weathered arms.

Who wants lights when one does not want people to see what he is doing? Joseph the – things-going-missing-man, – said, “This is Mack. He and I go to church together.” I thought, by the looks of old Mack I do not believe he has ever stepped foot into a church. My senses picked up the overpowering smell of alcohol mixed with the smoke. Then, I noticed sweat rolling down Joseph’s dark face as though he had just carried something vaguely saw-shaped up some stairs.

My mind was whirling like a top spun precariously by a small child. What should I do? How do I play this smart? Do I call the police right away or not? I had a hunch I was up against some bad dudes, and they were right in my house moving our belonging out – out and away. But who was I to judge? Maybe he did not know what was his? Yet, all of the valuables were placed right in front of the door, and that is when it hit me. Would these respectable gentlemen be stealing from a poor college student who works and studies 14-hours a day? No, it could not be. But the truth was coming forth. These men were not your “good old Joe” type fellows.

I went upstairs to see what all was missing and secretly called the police. I took a glance in my room only to see my brother’s $1,200 IMac missing. The computer must have gone with the first load; I say this because later after I searched the house for missing belongings I came up with a total of $3,000 worth of tools, money, and electronics. But we gained a crack pipe which the police pointed out to me later that night after they arrived. Mack said he needed to go to do something “very important,” so we said our farewells as he walked away with his pants hanging low and his hoody hiding his face.

Soon the police arrived and investigated the situation. Joseph went on with a long story that was considerably different than the one my brother and I were told moments before. He did all of this in such a cunning and sly way. Psychopaths are typically thought as ragingly insane, but many are incredible manipulators, and he was one of them. After the police kicked him out of our house, he sat on the ground crying and telling us, “I was so close”

My brother said, “So close to what?”

He replied, “So close to getting my life back together, and now I have lost it all”  He was pouring on the tears and using his tactics of manipulation to put the blame on us. But my brother and I did not fall for it. We put his stuff outside and screwed the doors to the frame because I did not know if he had made an extra key.

Looking back on the situation, I can laugh, and I hope you will too. However, in the moment, fear and apprehension gripped my heart. I learned three important principles. Rule number one: looks are deceiving, so do a background check. Rule number two: insure your home if you invite a crack-head to live with you. Rule number three: nail down anything that has a potential to walk away.

The Power of Love

            Countless studies show there are an estimated 7.3 million children with incarcerated parents. Without intervention, 70 percent of these children will follow their parent’s path into jail or prison.This statistic became real to me when I bought a house in one of the poorest neighborhoods in Grand Rapids, Michigan. From the first day of moving in, I was confronted with the needs of the children in my neighborhood. My experiences gave me this motto. I believe the power of love can transform a child’s life.

I bought a 1910 home in need of a lot of tender care and repair. The first day that my friends and I started to fix the place up, the banging and bashing attracted about ten of the neighborhood boys averaging in age from eight to eleven. Their need for attention and to do something drew them in. My mom took a break from her vigorous cleaning and said, “Do you strong boys want to help?”

Their reply in unison was, “Yes!”  What more would a ten year old boy want to do than to grab a sledgehammer and tear something down? In no time the boys had put themselves to good use, demolishing a wall.

  Of all the boys who came to help, nine year old Jay was the one who stood out to me with his wonderful smile. I could see his heart cried out for love and acceptance. When he opened up to me some time later, his story gripped my heart. I asked him about his family, and he replied, “My dad is in jail.” It was said without any emotion as if it were the norm. It was similar when I asked, “Do you have grandparents?”

“Yes, my grandma is in Indiana and my grandpa stays up in the Mel Trotter Ministries” (a homeless shelter).

“Does he work there?”

“No he just stays up there.”

 A few months later his mother and the only sense of safety drowned right before his watching eyes. He now lives with his Aunty and her seven children all from different fathers. These children grow up without a father in the home thus lack the affection and attention they need. Jay and the other boys in the household learn the ways of life in the streets and look up to gang members as the way to be “real men.”  Jay is continually bombarded with negative influences.

With all the evil pressing its way into jay’s life I knew I had to do something. My hope is to bring a constructive change in his life by being his mentor and friend, and possibly his only positive male influence. I believe by showing him love his life will be changed forever. Every Thursday we go to a park to talk and play games, we often get something to eat. I want to be a part of his life, so he will not become a part of the state penitentiary.

Therefore, every Sunday I go pick up Jay and two or three of the other boys in my neighborhood to go to church. Every week after church we come back to my house, and have lunch with eight to ten of the other boys in my hood. The boys join my brother and friends, and we all pitch in making the meal, typically hamburgers with all the fixings. The boys have so much fun and learn so much. I believe every moment is a teachable moment. We talk about everything, family problems, morality, and school. But most of all, these boys know they are loved and have a refuge any hour of the day or night.

My friend Jay finds it normal when all of his siblings come from a different father. He does not know his own father and has lost his mother. The gangs and most all male influence in his life say tough men go to jail and do their time. He feels he is destined for jail.  I am not willing to let him call this life normal.

 I believe all children need a chance at life, I believe in the power of love. Jay’s story is ongoing. Each day we spend time together we will learn more about how transforming love can be. After one of our Sunday meal with the boys, I said over the commotion, “After we clean up, you all need to go home early.”

 “We are Home!” Jay exclaimed.

Living Life Differently

       Jesus Has called us to live life differently. By our life of love for one another the world can see that in all sanity their lives should not be the ones that are looked at as normal. Laid before you in this blog are some of the experiences of living life differently at Ben and Jason's the House on 815 Henry. I purchased the House on 815 Henry. One of the first goals in buying this house, was for the house to be a place for young men to become Godly men. The goal is to encourage one another to press for the mark, the calling of God. But that is not all God had in store. Right from the first day God put in our lives the young boys in our hood.  

This weeks experience of living life differently started with Jason and I taking three of “our” boys from GR to Ludington to get them, the boys JJ ten, JC nine, and Khem fifteen, out of their life style and into living life differently. Loving some one, is all about  stepping into their lives, and looking through their eyes to see how they see the world, so you can know what they are going through. When I step in to their world and look though their eyes, I see the lies their culture is telling then but the children see it as normal. But when I look in to their eye I see the suffering they can’t disguise. It is hard to understand that for an eight year old childs mind it is completely normal for all of his siblings to come from different fathers and the one, their Mom is now with is never their real dad, he only shows them how to think of ones self and sell drugs. This is the cycle that I see over and over, are we willing to let these children call this normal, are we to busy playing Church.

After returning to our home-land GR the boys stayed to "help us" prepare for sushi night, they are most often more harm then help.  After sushi  we went out to the front porch to say farewell to our last guests. As we stepped out on the porch we see this woman and a man walking fast, the woman in front, and the man gaining on her when she sees us she cries out, “HELP ME, PLEASE CALL THE POLICE, PLEASE HELP ME, DON'T LEAVE ME!!” My thought was, they must be drunk and they would keep on going. But she came running over, and up into our porch crying saying, “PLEASE HELP PROTECT ME FROM HIM, He has been beating me” as I could see she had bruises on her face and hands, her ear was also cut up. As she cried franticly the man approached us. As he came to the steps I felt a shiver run though my back and thought, this is real. When he realized we cared about the situation and she had stepped behind us, he ran to her van, as she says, and took off. She called the police, as we were waiting for the police this van with no Windows came driving up and stopped at the corner. A burly man jumps out of the van, and starts walking towards us and I think O boy this might get hairy She let out a scream and started going for the house, as he walks past us he says "was’up" and walked down the street to do some illegal transaction as I perceived, with a man that walked around the corner. I thought wow, it feels like Sodom and Gomorrah with all these evil spirits that were swirling around. I began talking with my Father. To end the story. The police came and talked to us, and took her away.

To top the night off a woman and to boys probably 13 and 16 come walking down the street as they pass the police, the lady says "I'm theys mama we's fittin to go to the gas station,,, They-my body guards." Jason’s question was why were they walking to the gas station at 4:30am in the morning in the first place, couldn't this be done in the day time????? I thought his Conclusion was legitimate. Just imagine if your mother got you up to go down to get some alcohol, or maybe they were just getting some candy? These children’s mothers fight in the street and the children look on betting their mother will win. To me that should not be normal. Wow,,, the things these children grow up with as normal.