Almost all of my friends, associates, and people I come in contact with are middle class Americans. I may know a few in the upper class, and I know a few minorities. The only time I intentionally associate with lower income people is in intentional "ministry." I have visited some in prisons, missions trips, and acts of charity.

I have begun to realize that there is a lot that I don't understand about what it looks like to live in this environment. I don't understand what it feels like to have a car that doesn't run and then when it dies, to not have the money to fix it. I don't understand what it is to have a felony on my record. I don't understand not having insurance to get proper health care. I don't understand living in a place where there are sex offenders living around you. I don't understand having clothes that are not clean.

Working at a resale shop began to open my eyes to this world. These stories are very common to the people I see there. They are foreign to us, in the middle class of America, to some extent.

Even in the economic hard times we still have so much more and the possibility to bring our lives out of this pit.  Begin to think of your spheres of influence and your support system, what if that was taken away? What if your support system was in the same boat? What if they were also living in a trailer, with a felony, without any chance of a job?

When I talk about faith, and think of trusting in God I realize most of my requests are about my personal fulfillment and joy. I realize that I don't need much faith. I don't need to worry about survival. I don't worry that much about being taken care of. Middle class Americans are in the vast minority in this issue. Why do we read books on faith written by people coming from the same financial and social circles as us? Why don't we read from those who absolutely have to rely on God every day of their lives in order to survive?

Recently, I was thinking through some of this and thought about the trailer park across the road from my house. This really started weeks ago while reading a book and the thought came into my head to go and pray for the people of this neighborhood. A friend and I went through it with the goal of asking people there if they needed prayer.  I had never been in this neighborhood nor did I know anyone who lived there. I did not know the outcome but it was something I felt I should do.

After going and meeting a man there and then sharing the story to a few others who gathered in a local coffee shop, more people felt that maybe they should go to this neighborhood also. After talking with the maintenance man we realized that there was help that we could do. This is our side of the unfolding story. 

Day 1 in the Park

We had one 30-something named Jim invite us into his house. Over the next hour and a half he told us his story.

We listened with ears that have been influenced by our own experiences and culture.

We listened as Jim shared his struggles with substance abuse, time in jail, and suicidal thoughts. Jimmy is not a person we met on a missions trip, but Jim is a neighbor. There is a huge difference on missions trips when we can go and pray with someone, feel good about ourselves and then go return to safety. I am going to see Jim again, he lives across the street from me. Jim is also a sex offender. Jim really doesn't stand a chance in our society. I don't feel self righteous to say that I helped him, because I don't know what I could give him. We prayed with him, we talked with him, and over time we will offer him friendship.

It is easy to think that the white, middle class Americans will save the world from evils if you happen to be one. The reality is we may be more lost than all the rest of the world and we don't even realize it.

Day Two in the Park

We sat on the American flag blanket that Jimmy, the maintenance man, pointed out matched the one on my t-shirt, we heard about the individuals who live in the trailer park.

They were not referred to by names rather by number. It seemed to be 15 in all in this trailer park. Each trailer holds its own story. The park, hidden by many large trees, is tucked away from the road. Its residence have pasts that are checkered at best, have been abandoned and are in the struggle to survive rather than the struggle to succeed.

We are there to offer assistance, we are there to help the maintenance man with his winterizing of the trailers. Jimmy was pretty surprised when he heard a group from "the outside" wanted to come in and help. This is not a normal request, it seems the trailer functions on its own,away from the majority of society. After Jimmy realized our request was out of sincerity he began coming up with projects.  In his words, the landlord is the typical slumlord. The motivation is to make a quick buck off of people who are down on their luck.  As we began to hear stories, there was one trailer that caught my attention very quickly. It was trailer number 1.

Trailer number 1 has a minority family living in it, there is a husband and wife, two children that live with them full time and then a "few" who are joint custody. This trailer, like many of the others, is not well made nor has it weathered the years well. This one in particular doesn't have much of a floor. Jimmy has done his best to make sure the kids do not fall through the floor but it is pieced together. There are quite a few holes with others spots soon to become holes. As I sat there, I imagined trying to raise children in such an environment. The worry that the kids would fall through the floor at any time is a reality.

After talking about number 1 he shifted to number 11. Number 11 is an older gentleman, in Jimmy's words, that is close to death. Jimmy and another man in the park check on him daily. It seems that all but one of his close family has died. Number 11 spends most of his day in bed. We could see that Jimmy cared for this man like his own family.

Jimmy went on tell us stories of the others, some worked late hours to provide for their families, some had disabilities, and one was trying to add space to his trailer to help his family.

I don't know what ideal community is. I don't know what the Acts 2 church looked like in practicality, day-in and day-out. I do know that I saw a glimpse into the community of this trailer park. I saw and heard the tenderness in Jimmy's voice as he talked about the "good people" in the park. Even as we have a group that physically helps in the coming days, we may be the ones who get the lesson into how to live as a community.

Day 3 in the Park

I do not believe that any of us who have begun serving in the trailer park think of ourselves as any better or different than the people we have been serving. These people we are serving are not charity cases. We do not feel sorry for them nor do we want to think of them as projects, like we were tempted to do at first. They are people who we long to help and develop relationships with and show the love of God as it has been shown to us.

So in this context we actively search to help others.

On this day, one of the volunteers that came with us met Flo. Flo lives in this neighborhood and goes to church semi regularly. Her boyfriend does not. He has been working on their home for quite some time. There is currently a hole in their trailer while he tries to add on. He began to realize that this was a much bigger project than he could handle. In almost a mocking manner he said to Flo, "Why don't you have some of your church friends come and help us out?" Well Flo was sick last week and did not attend church, but she prayed that God would bring someone here to help her boyfriend out. Her thought was that some of her church friends would come to help.

Well that church group didn't show up but "coincidentally" we did. The conversation conveyed to me between Flo and her boyfriend ended something like this, "See! I told you prayer worked."

Her boyfriend, dumbfounded, agreed to start attending church with her.

I have no idea if this is the way prayer always works. I just know in this case obedience led to faith. It is crazy to think that because of my willingness to obey the nudge to go to this neighborhood in the first place, Flo's prayer was answered and it changed her boyfriend's view of God. Crazy.

Day 4 in the Park

Yesterday Doug and I received a call from the trailer park. There was a women who lived by herself with two small children, and she was over dosing on heroin. Doug and I tried to get some women to go with us but no one could so it was us. The reason we were called was that our new friend Jimmy was the only one there but he knew we could convince her to go get help. We arrive and the trailer is dark. The mother is in an almost-comatose state with the kids and dog running around the trailer. The mother was passing in and out of consciousness. In the middle of this she was trying to cut the little 3 year old's hair. So here is this kid with only patches of hair while the mother is close to death. Our only thought going in was to get her to the hospital.

The older of the two boys was special needs and functioned at about a 2 year old level. The mother was pretty insistent that she was not going to the hospital until the younger boy's hair was cut. So Doug went into their bathroom and proceeded to shave the rest of the boy's hair. While he was doing that, I was helping the special needs boy and the mother gather clothes so they could go to the grandmother's house. The grandmother didn't know her daughter had a heroin addiction so mom was very worried about having her find out.

It took about half an hour to get the hair cut and get the boys shoes on and contact the grandmother. As we are about to get everyone into the car, the mother decided the dog needed to go outside. So she is getting ready to get into Doug's car when she passes out on Doug. Doug puts her in the fireman's carry and brings her to the car. Meanwhile, I am trying to catch the dog and coral the children.

We did finally make it to the hospital, and I talked to the grandmother while Doug helped the woman check into the hospital.

It was probably the saddest sight I have ever seen, and I was pretty emotionally drained.

Now, this woman has been released from the hospital and she talked with some counselors from the church for over two hours. We have met some of her immediate needs and given her some more resources. She wants to start the journey to recovery. It is going to be a long road but a friend of mine with experience recently told me that the greatest success in these stories is when a church community comes along side a person like this. This is the process we are going to try. It is her addiction and her fight, but we are going to give her all the support we can.

That night, as we were driving her to the hospital, I had her two boys pray for her. I lost it when I began thinking that this could be the last conversation they ever had with their mom. I am so thankful it wasn't.

This is going to be a long path to recovery but she has begun the process.