I snapped this shot last week... his name is Samuel and this week he had his mom's email address and asked if I could take another picture and send it home. I quickly started digging through the photos in the memory of my phone- hoping I hadn't deleted this -thankfully, it was still there. Thankfully, because he looked so much worse this week. Looked as if he'd lost another 10 pounds, clothes more like rags, smile still shining but eyes just a little more wearied by another week on the streets. I'm new to emailing from my phone so I asked him to make his message brief. This is what he said, (a copy of every email I send from my phone goes directly to my email box):

I miss you mom and love you. I'm OK. Happy fathers day to dad. Sam

I'm OK. Guess everything's relative. Sam was excited to get the email out. The prospect of sending a picture of himself to his mom had him smiling all evening long. Kind of tough as a dad... I had to remind him to wish his dad "Happy Father's Day," getting something to his mom was definitely first priority. We both agreed that the most important part of the message was: "I'm OK." Thinking about this morning- his mom opening the email, seeing the picture of her son, hoping it lifts her spirits as much as the very thought of it encouraged Sam. Every face... every man or woman pushing a shopping cart, sitting on a bus bench, sleeping in the shelter of a building has a mom, a dad, a family... somewhere... Samuel told me he's named after his dad... today his dad may be called over to the monitor to sit next to his wife, they'll hold hands and wonder what will become of their son... wonder how he could be "OK." I'm hoping they respond to the email so I can take it back to the streets to share with Sam this Sunday night. Funny, 21 years ago when Jackets for Jesus first went to the streets email from a cell phone in the middle of the night would have been the stuff of science fiction. Last night, after emailing a photo home for Sam, I clicked on the video of my phone and shared home made movies from Friday nights Angel's/Dodger's game... techno outreach on the cheap! What fun.

A familiar face to many who've joined us on the streets across the years, Robert's been a Sunday night friend through more of his up's and down's then I can remember. Not long ago he used my phone to call his niece through a phone number he'd found. The neice called me during the week, passing my number along to Robert's sister, who gave the phone number to her neice: Robert's daughter, who he's been out of contact with for over 5 years. She called my phone and left a long message, leaving her number, the part that got me in her message was when she said: "I hear my dad is living at a place they call "The Streets." As if it were the name of a new condo development in Marina Del Rey: "Come enjoy the community, the nearby flexibility, everything we offer at The Streets." No clue where it is or what kind of life she imagines that her father lives. But when I told Robert his daughter had called, he didn't believe me: "You mean my neice? My sister? Not my daughter... we haven't spoken for over 5 years." I let him listen to the message in private. Then we played it outloud over the speaker phone as tears came to his eyes at the sound of her voice... finally, we punched in her number and waited for someone to answer, only to get a machine. Robert began to speak as soon as the beep gave permission: "Honey, this is Robert... your daddy... thanks for calling me... the best Father's Day present I could have ever got... I love you sweeet heart. I'll try calling again this week." Returning the phone, I snapped this photo as he held up his hand, telling me it had been over 5 years... he wasn't certain... the time had just slipped away... overwhelmed, he wrapped his long arms around me, eyes filled with tears.

I loved sharing the story with our workers before we prayed together. Robert's meant so much to each of us, been such a good friend: week in and week out a special word, a kind moment together, staying behind to clean up the streets... now something really good was happening to him... on Father's Day. These little miracles, I suspect minor moments in the darkness in the scheme of things, are big news on skid row. Families begin to recconect, barriers begin to break and hopefully the homeless, Robert, will begin to take his first step home. All of it is made possible by our workers who stay faithful when no one calls home, when it seems there are nothing but headaches and time away from the warmth and comfort of family. They work faithfully every Sunday: cooking, preparing, loading the trailer, driving the van, serving, sharing a kind word... making the way for miracles in the night. Thanks you guys. You give new meaning, bringing love and joy to someplace called "The Streets."

I don't know his name... though he's told me a hundred times or more across the years. Not a large man, generally very quiet, he slips through our line each week almost unnoticed. Last night, while I was talking to someone, he approached and asked if I'd take his picture. "Sure" I said, kind of surprised that he was interested. He buttoned his coat, leaned back and stood as if posing for an artist and held his proud gaze until I told him we were done. He said he didn't have anyone to send it to or any kind of email address... just wanted to see how he was looking... happy with the result on my little screen, he got back in line and I didn't see him again. He just wanted to see how he looked... makes me want to print the photo for him and get it back to him next week. We take such big things for granted: the people who love us, who carry a picture of us in their wallet or have one someplace at home, family that wants to take pictures at our birthday or other big event... couldn't help but wonder if anyone else ever takes his picture? Has it in their wallet or on a dresser? If someone went to bed on Father's Day and whispered his name... a name I can't even remember... in prayer? "Will you take my picture?" Such a simple request and yet such a purchase of trust. Samuel, Robert... they seem like the lucky ones this morning... they made a connection and had someone to reach out to... I remember their names. This quiet brother, the kind who easily gets lost in a crowd, wanted his picture taken... just to remember what it felt like, what he looked like, to be noticed.

Silent acts of grace... you can do them. Last night, before we left the church, after Jodi, Evelyn, Chris and Beatrice had unloaded the trailer and washed dishes, after Bart and Phil had moved a heavy barbecue, my father-in-law, Wil Sommer, one of our regular workers, pushing 80, mopped the kitchen floor because he wanted it to be clean for Vacation Bible School that started at the church this morning... silent acts of grace, in love... the keep us connected, remembered... You don't have to cook for 200 or mop kitchen floors in the middle of the night but will you pray for Samuel, Robert... my lonely friend? Will you pray for us in our work? Your loving, prayerful support makes all the difference in the world. Your financial support insures that Jodi has something to cook each week. We're all busy... thank God for being busy today... there are those who feel completely overlooked and wait for a silent act of grace to invade their night... it can begin with you. We're going to the streets this Sunday night. You're invited. You're needed. Now, more than ever.

for changing lives,

Eric M. Denton