Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Last week I joined our youth group, and many others, in helping with a downtown Portland ministry that provides services and a human touch for homeless folks. The operation is called "Night Strike". You can read about it at bridgetowninc.org. The local leaders tabbed our group to do a "Walk About", which involves patrolling the streets in the Burnside Bridge vicinity for folks who may not make it to a big service mall under the bridge. We met interesting human beings as our feet carried us up and down city streets, offering conversation, PBJ sandwiches, socks, and a drink. The talking part meant the most to me, as we didn't just hand out gifts but some effort to hand out caring, as well. That all felt really good. After a couple of hours, we met back at the somewhat ramshackle downtown church that serves as the headquarters -- all of us except my friend, Rhoda, who did in fact go the bridge, several blocks away, to apply her sewing skills to help mend clothes. I left the group at one point, venturing out in the dark street outside the church, to watch for Rhoda, worried a bit that she might have to walk back by herself. Something in my demeanor or my dress attracted a couple of large, youngish black men. It might help to know I wore ratty, paint-stained blue jeans, a purple sweater vest, and a neon chartreuse running cap -- thinking that would help me fit in the setting, which it did, but more effectively than I anticipated, as things developed . . . As these guys passed our eyes met and they stopped in front of me. I just smiled and held out my hand as I had been doing all evening, and got big smiles and handshakes back. Then I got an offer to purchase what sounded like Chardonnay. Hmm. Well, I didn't tell the honest truth, that Chard is not my favorite wine, so simply smiled and insisted I was fine and didn't need any tonight. No, really, I'm good. Well, OK, take it easy then. You too, good night. You've probably already figured out that I was being offered the opportunity to buy street drugs of some kind. Well, Rhoda came ambling along shortly after that and home we all went. As soon as I got back to my computer I looked up "Chardonnay" as a code word for a drug, and sure enough "shard" is street slang for meth. So now we all know. Bad things are easier to get than good things, sometimes; all the more reason to do good things, as often as possible, I think.
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What an experience! How did it feel to be offered drugs? I know you are exceptionally aware, but that had to be a new one. Have I told you lately how proud of you I am?
ReplyDeleteThe offer reminded me of times I was offered drugs in high school; pretty thick in the environment then. Never very tempting, based on the dullness of the eyes of the sellers. & Thanks, that means a ton to me. : )
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