Author: Trevor Berg

I am so excited to let you know that I have begun a new chapter of my life and am involved in ministry at Inner City Youth Alive (ICYA)!

For some of you this may be the first time that you have heard about this, so I will provide some background information. I have already begun my work at ICYA and I am so excited to be part of the team at this incredible place. It has only been a few days, but it really feels like home and these people feel like my people.

In 2020 I felt that it was the right time to leave my job as a Pastor at Winnipeg Evangelical Free Church and Grace Point. The past year-and-a-half I have been alternating between driving truck and working at Nicky’s family farm. I have enjoyed that work, and it was great to have the opportunity to do things that were less mentally and spiritually taxing. This summer however, I began to get the itch to get back to working with people. For the first time in a while, I felt ready to return to ministry. I sensed a renewed call to ministry and to working with people in need.

On “Linked In,”  a social media site for professionals, I had posted that I was looking for work. A friend of mine from Point Douglas, who happens to be an atheist, saw it. He took note and a week or so later he was with Kent Dueck, the founder and director of ICYA. He mentioned to him that I was looking for work and that he should get in touch with me. I also know Kent. He connected with me and we had breakfast together a week later. During our conversation he presented a job to me that seemed to really fit with how I am made and I knew the organization really lined up with what I value. After applying, interviewing and more it was determined that this was a good fit both for me and for ICYA. I think it is pretty cool how God used an atheist to get me a job at a Christian organization.

My role here is Director of Community Ministry. At this point Inner City Youth Alive has four Community Ministers. They are not directly tied to any one of the programs, but have a role of coming alongside people in the North End and caring for them.  In times of crisis they are there to mentor/disciple and be available for them when spiritual or mental care is needed.

During my time at Grace Point, a church that a group of us planted only a few blocks from ICYA more than ten years ago, I spent quite a bit of time doing this kind of community ministry, and  LOVED it. Now that my primary job is to support people who are doing this very important work, I feel as though my experience there and my heart for people in need will be put to good use. Another part of my job is to do the work of a Community Minister. This gives me the opportunity to connect with people from the North End, and even gives me time to continue some of the relationships I already have through Grace Point.

The Community Ministers have an important role. They are available to community members who are already involved with, or are at risk of getting involved with gangs, drugs, crime and other high risk behaviors. These community members desperately need stable people in their lives who can point them to hope and to a God who loves them dearly. Just recently there was a murder in our community, and  some of our Community Ministers knew the person who had been murdered. That is obviously a  painful situation.

Harvey, one of the Community Ministers, spent the next week connecting with the family, supporting them through this incredibly difficult time, and helping to arrange and officiate a funeral for the family. He made calls to the Reserve to help arrange funding, and made visits to the Mother, who is basically homeless and struggling with addiction. He also made calls to her brother who is in prison.

This family would not have had the ability to do these things, but it was so meaningful for them to have that service and the opportunity to say goodbye. The mother now considers getting into a treatment program for her addictions. Harvey did an amazing work to connect with these people in a very difficult time, and I am so proud to be part of the team that supports and encourages him in his work.

Besides the community ministry team, Inner City Youth Alive has many incredible programs:

1. Gem Lake Wilderness Camp – specifically for Inner City Youth
2. The Bridge Drop-In – open four nights a week for kids and youth
3. Step-up Construction – a social enterprise, teaching work skills
4. Engage Education – engaging young people and their families in their education
5. Meals 4 Kids – feeding children nutritious meals regularly
6. Leadership Initiative – developing Indigenous Leaders in the North End

Check out ICYA.ca for more information on these and other things they are doing. If you are interested and able to make a donation to ICYA or to my Support Fund, you can see the sidebar for more info or go to the ICYA donation page.

ICYA has been around for more than 35 years and is very well respected in the community. I value the opportunity to be part of this organization.

My friend, we’ll call him Larry, was living in this cool place, where a bunch of Christian people decided to live together and share their space. He loved living there, and loved the people, but every once in a while he would have arguments with them and get frustrated. I mean, who doesn’t have arguments with the people they live with, right?

One time, Larry came to see me, and he was really upset. I could not really figure out what he was so upset about, but he said he was never going back to living with those people again!

Larry held true to his word, he had a backpack with him, and he was out. I asked him where he would live, and he said he would live in the homeless shelters. Sure enough, that’s what he did, and he did that for quite a while, I think about a year.

I couldn’t fathom this idea of just up and moving out of a place without even having a plan as to where you would go, but I guess being homeless was a better option to him at that time than living with those Christians.

Sometimes it is difficult to be around certain people, it is hard to work things out after someone has done something wrong. Sometimes we will run away, and do anything we can to not have to deal with the other person’s issues or our own. This seems like an extreme example, but it’s not that different from the way I have avoided conflict in my own life, or the lengths to which I go to avoid dealing with my own problems.

Let’s resolve to face our problems, speak them out honestly, and to pursue forgiveness, from others and from God. God offers it freely, so let’s do our best to do the same when other people have issues too.

I cry every time I think of the one time I had this conversation about Grandma’s.

It occurred during a week that was very difficult, I was worn out from dealing with a number of different things, but especially trying to help one young woman. I’ll get back to the Grandma conversation in a bit.

On Saturday evening I got a text:

Um just wonderin if u r someone else kud take me 2 that program on archibold on wed I wana try n get in it

This was a cry for help from a young, single Mom of two young daughters aged 5 and 3.

Two of us decided that on Wednesday we would meet her at the school when she dropped off her daughter.  We showed up at 9 and waited for a while, we decided to go and check with the principal, I know her fairly well from other interactions.  I tell the principal who I’m looking for…I know she can’t tell me if she’s around, but she goes off looking for her to see what’s up.  As we step outside the office the Mom walks in the door.

We ask her if she was ready (as Nancy takes her daughter off to class), she says, “yeah, I guess.”  It feels a bit like an intervention, even though it was her idea.

We go visit the women’s program on Archibald.  They couldn’t allow us to look around until the ladies were gone off site, so we waited in the board room.  A lady drops off a pamphlet and a registration form.  The young mom reads over the pamphlet and immediately begins filling in the form.

We get a tour of the place, which is an incredible program that allows women to keep their children with them (in fact they often help women who have lost custody of their children to CFS to get their children back).  The young Mom doesn’t say much, but at the end of the tour the woman says to her, “I would like to get you in next Thursday, do you want to do that?” Our friend is clearly uneasy.  The woman says, “you would need to detox for the next 8 days, how would you handle that?”

There are a few detox programs in the city, but none of them would allow her to take her children with her.  We start to brainstorm about possibilities…could people from the church take care of her girls? Is there someone in your family that could? She doesn’t like any of the options, but in the end says that she would be there next Thursday.

The worker asks the young mom,

“when’s the last time you did any drugs?”

“Well, I took a pill this morning…”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know, the yellow one, with the house on it…?”

“Oh, I know which one you mean.” She writes something down.

She has been a drug addict since she was a preteen.  Her brothers are known as the big drug dealers in the Point Douglas area at the moment, and there has been drugs in her family throughout her whole life, her grandmother, her Dad, her brothers, they all are addicts…and dealers. Somehow she grew up in the midst of all that, trying to figure out what life is supposed to be all about.  She has always used drugs that she gets on the street to help her deal with her anxiety, depression and stress.  She self-medicates. To be honest, I’m not sure things would be much different for anyone in her situation.

The woman at the program tells her she should actually go to the Doctor to get prescribed medications instead of trying to figure it out herself…this is a bit of a novel idea for her.  She has thought of it before, but was scared to tell the Doctor that she has issues, because she was concerned that they may take her daughters away.  When she was still a teenager, she wound up in an abusive relationship, he took her away and locked her in a house in a small town, far away from anything familiar to her.  She was eventually able to get out of the relationship, but one of the results of it is two beautiful little girls.

We leave, but I am weighing all the options in my brain, trying to think how we can help her.  We take her off to the Doctor, to get prescribed some real medicine.  She is, rightfully probably, concerned that if she checks in to a detox, it will set off red flags at CFS.  She is paranoid about losing her girls.

In the end, the young mom decides she will try to do the detox on her own.  I tell her,

“this is going to be really hard, do you think you will be able to do it?”

“I don’t know…maybe…?”

“When’s the last time you went eight days clean?”

“When I was a little kid…”

She decided to try for it anyway.  The other options just didn’t seem attractive, she didn’t want to leave her kids with people from the church, she didn’t trust any of her family…

Now, to the conversation that makes me cry when I think about it.

Later that same day, I was at WEFC, just checking in…an older gentleman happens by and asks me how I’m doing.  I tell him a bit about the young Mom (not using names or details), and I tell him of the conundrum.  He says, “that’s when someone needs a real good Grandma to help her out.”  I say, “Yeah…it’s too bad that her Grandma is the one who has been bringing her the pills…”

We look at each other, and the gentlemen says as tears well up in his eyes, “some of us just don’t know how good we have it…do we?!”

Tears begin streaming down my face and I can barely hold it together as I attempt a response “…no we don’t…”

Moving is one of those times where you might let people into your lives in a way that you normally wouldn’t. People see all your stuff, how clean you live, how poorly you are organized, and they see you on one of the most stressful days of your life. So, ask your close friends to help you move! Or better yet, family, they probably already know these things about you…and they will still be your family.

I have helped quite a few people move in my time in Point Douglas. I mean, people in the area tend to move a lot, plus they don’t have resources to move themselves in the way most of us do moving. Many people wind up moving with shopping carts and wagons. Some of the people I have helped to move could easily have moved with a shopping cart. I moved one woman who had a garbage bag and a box, and that was it! I have a large car, a 2004 Toyota Corolla, so it works well for me to help…

My favourite move had a few amazing moments. A single mom, we’ll call her Marilyn and her young daughter, were moving from a 4 plex, about a block and a half, to rent a cute little house.

The day they were moving was extremely hot and humid, and the second storey apartment they were moving from was sweltering! I noticed the cat was lying in her bed, and Marilyn said, “I sure hope she doesn’t have her kitties today!”

We started (and by ‘we’ I mean ‘me’ as Marilyn nor her daughter were doing anything) by hauling smaller items which she would take in a wagon to her new home. It wasn’t long before I started to look around at how the small apartment was constructed, and realized this move was going to be difficult. I asked, “how did you get this couch in here?!” She responded, “my son added this wall, while we lived here, so, you won’t get it out through that door.” I thought we should try anyway, she responded flatly, “just throw it out the window.”

“Throw your couch out the window, from the second storey?!” I asked.

“Yeah, we’ll put the mattress down there first, and it can land on that,” she coolly responded.

I thought to myself, ‘well, this is going to be fun!’ But, I started to wonder how I was going to do this all by myself. So far, I had been the only one to do any moving at all.

I got the mattress in place, hooked some straps around the couch, so I could keep it from falling head over heels out the window. I was concerned that the couch would rotate, and smash the window in the first story apartment! I took the window out, and set the edge of the couch on the inside of the window sill. I looked out the window, and heard the bell ring in the school across the street, and as the playground of the school filled with children and staff, I grabbed the straps and started to push the couch out the window. I had it cantilevered about 3/4 of the way out the window, when I let go a yell, and a grunt, and shoved the couch out the rest of the way out the window, praying that it wouldn’t tumble into the window in the first storey. I caught myself on the windowsill before I fell out the window, and watched as the made a perfect fall, dead centre on the mattress below! A mixture of cheering and laughing came from across the street in the schoolyard, apparently we had really grabbed their attention!

That was just the beginning of this move, as we still had a massive rear projection TV to get out of the place. Thankfully, part way through the move, Marilyn had hired a 14 year old boy to help me. He and I picked up this incredibly heavy tv, were able to maneuver it out of the apartment, and began moving down the stairs. We were sweating like crazy. I had been concerned that the tv wouldn’t fit around the corner of the stairwell, and as we edged closer to that corner, I realized that this corner would not be easy! But we kept inching our way towards it. I was on the lower step moving backwards and the 14 year old boy was at the top, hanging on to the tv as best as he could.

I bumped my back up against the wall, and realized that not only would the corner be difficult, it would be impossible…I could not move…and the boy on the stairs above me was struggling to hold on. Did I mention that it was 30 plus degrees celsius and super high humidity!

At just that moment, the young girl comes running out of the apartment onto the balcony yelling, “SHE’S HAVING HER KITTIES!” Marilyn was down in the yard and yelled back, “DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH THOSE KITTIES OR THE MOTHER WILL EAT THEM!!” The girl screeched, “BUT SHE NEEDS HEL-!” “SHE’S FINE,” Mom interrupted. “I ALREADY TOUCHED THEM!” she cried. The Mom came storming towards the balcony anger burning in her eyes, but I stood there, trapped behind a TV, while also blocking anyone from getting up and down the stairs…I imagined myself sweating so profusely that I completely dehydrated and shrivelled up, and then the TV made it out.

Eventually we did wriggle and wrench that TV around the corner, putting holes in the walls in the process, but we got it out.

That was an exciting move, and I loved doing it! It is an honour to help someone else, and to be allowed into their lives when things are not going well, and maybe when they are not at their best. It is an honour to help someone move…imagine how many stories you can tell about helping someone move…it’s always interesting. By the way, that is not me volunteering to help you move!

The cat, and it’s kitties made it to their new home, and wonderfully, against all science, the mother did not eat them.

Here is something I wrote back in November, 2014, on a Monday.

A bit of a draining night at Grace Point last night. Some of the kids showed up, and weren’t cooperating, and we were trying to kick them out, but they actually started physically beating on one of the women in our church. Eventually, their mom came and took them home.

Then a little later a man started having severe chest pains, and we called an ambulance. We all came around him and prayed for him, before he went to the hospital (this was in the middle of speaking time).

One of the other men in our church started crying because it reminded him of when he had a stroke.

Another woman really opened up and told the whole church that when her husband passed away, she wanted to kill herself. But Jesus put his hand on her shoulder and told her it wasn’t her time and she felt incredible peace. She said that this church is like her family, and she was so glad that she had it. She was also glad the man who had the chest pain came to church today, so he wouldn’t be alone when this happened…so he could be around family.

Then a man told me that he was walking away from his faith. He was really mad at God!

Then a woman shared with me that two of her best friends just died this week in separate circumstances.

I spoke to someone who told me they almost died because of taking bad drugs that week.

I talked with two separate people who were suicidal, and I really think at least one of them was quite serious!

It also was a friends first day back at church after being in an addictions program for 7 months, a little crazy for him, and now he’s wondering if this is the place for him.

So that was church yesterday…a little crazy…but that’s our group…seems like there’s always something going on, but I pray that somehow God is using his little church here to do something good for these people!

There was a young girl who encapsulated the response I felt as a Pastor in Point Douglas. 

We were holding a day camp for the kids in the community, and one of the little girls (about 8 years old) was having a hard time listening, and was causing all kinds of difficulty for our leaders. I took her aside and was talking to her for a while, but wasn’t getting anywhere, and eventually she ran away from me and out the door of the church, I took off after her, and she stood just down the stairs of the front porch, looked me in the eye, and yelled, “F-you Pastor Trevor!” except she didn’t say ‘F’, if you know what I mean.

I found it a little jarring to hear an 8 year old girl yell that word at me with such anger. But I took a moment, and thought to myself, ‘she called me Pastor!’ That’s a title that holds some respect.

When you work at an inner-city church you take respect any way you can get it.

The moment has stuck out to me for a few reasons. First of all, I find it funny, the juxtaposition of the diss and the respect in a short four word sentence. Second of all, it encapsulated what I felt many times over as a Pastor in Point Douglas. 

One moment I might feel great respect and appreciation for what I did, and the ministry that I was part of…and the next minute, someone might be cursing me out for something I did, or something I didn’t do, or won’t do. To be honest, it’s probably one of the qualities I love the most about the people I worked with…you always know where you stand, no appearances or pretences.

In May of 2017 I mentally broke down.

I would sit all day in my office and stare at my blank computer screen, knowing I should do something, wanting to do something, and just not being able to. Additionally, when I was alone in the building, I would lock the door to make sure nobody came in. I remember one particularly painful day where someone really wanted to get into the church, and they were banging, kicking the door, they were calling out, yelling my name, but I sat in my office panicked that I might have to interact with someone, and hoping they wouldn’t find out I was actually in the building.

This is not the natural state of mind for me, I was someone who started a church in Point Douglas and emphasized the idea that relationship was what we needed to have, in order to establish this church, and relationship had been established with many, many people…to my joy!

It took me a few weeks to take the step to talk to someone, and deal with this. I was afraid of so many things. I was afraid to look weak, I was afraid to admit that the things I was responsible to accomplish, were not being accomplished, I was afraid to admit that I needed help, and that I couldn’t do it on my own, I was afraid to show that I was weaker than I wanted to be. I WAS AFRAID!

If I had cancer, would I be afraid to admit I needed to get treatment?

My church was absolutely and stunningly supportive of me, and I was immediately granted a month off. I was diagnosed with Vicarious Trauma, which, I was told, had very similar symptoms to PTSD, it’s just that the trauma was trauma that I witnessed, not what I directly experienced. It was also suggested by my professional’s that I had compassion fatigue and burnout.

Thank the Lord, I have received good treatment for all of this, and even though it has seemed to take an eternity, I am getting back to feeling like myself. In fact, I think I am so much better! I have recognized so many things about myself over the last 1 and 1/2 years, and I have grown to be a more robust person thanks to the help of God, my family, my friends, my church, my mental health professionals and to a lot of grinding through some really hard days!

Let’s remember to talk about mental health as if it is any other kind of illness. I think this will help us to connect better as people, and to really understand one another. Let’s remove the barrier of fear, and replace it with care for one another.

Over the years of being at Grace Point and in the community of North Point Douglas, I have learned so much! I have seen a lot of things that I never thought I would see, and experienced things that would never happen to me living in the suburbs. At various times, I would write down some of these stories, but never knew how to share them. I have now decided that I will tell some of those stories, and post them here.

I hope that together we can learn more about and from the amazing people I get to encounter, I also hope to bridge the divide between “us” and “them.” Regardless of which “us” you identify with, and which side of “them” you look down on.

Many times I will just post the story, and not too much analysis, other times, I will let you in on what I have learned. Hopefully you will feel free to comment what you think, and interact with me.

Below you will find a few stories that I have already posted, and I will continue to regularly do so in this space. If you would like to follow along you can subscribe by email. If you think someone you know would benefit from these stories, I would be honoured if you shared a link on your social media.

I was driving down the street when I noticed two people lying on the sidewalk right in front of this building:

I was just considering keeping on going, when I noticed two things.  First of all, there was a little play structure in front of the building, second of all, a woman (presumably an employee, on a smoke break) was walking out towards them with a sideways look.

I decided to pull over and help.  We both got to the couple at about the same time and we tried to rouse them, at first by speaking loudly, then shouting, then shaking them.  The woman was lying on her side, the man on his back, she had her leg wrapped around his, and was resting her head on his chest.

Eventually, the man woke up.  I said, “are you OK?” “Yes,” he mumbled.  “Do you know where you are?” “Portage,” he said.  “Actually, no, you are in Winnipeg.” “What’s your name?” “Dougie.”

The woman from the building told them that they needed to leave, there would be kids there soon, and they didn’t want people passed out on the sidewalk when they showed up.

The woman on the ground woke up, “are you OK?” I asked.  “Yeah,” she says.  “Do you know where you are?” “No,” she says.  “You’re in Winnipeg.” “Winnipeg…” she says with a look of bewilderment through the haze of her chemically corrupted mind.  “When did I leave Ontario?”

The man wants a cab, I help him get up off the ground, the woman from the building asks if they have money, he says they do.  At that moment, a cab pulls out of the back lane 15 feet from us.  The man starts waving the cab down.  The cabbie stops, hesitates, looks at the man, assesses the situation, and peels out of there.  “C’mon, don’t be a prick!” says the woman from the building.  I can identify with the cabbie.

Now we help the woman get up, but I realize that she will not let me take her by one of her hands. “I cut my cast off last night,” she says, it’s not supposed to come off until June 22nd (it’s May 30th).  The woman from the building says, “well you need to get to the doctor.”  We begin to discuss the possibility of going to Mt. Carmel clinic…half a block away.  Eventually they agree that they will go, although, I’m not really sure they agreed, but they started slowly, unsteadily walking with me to the clinic.  It takes about 15 minutes to walk the half block.  They were easily distracted and we were behind a bar.

As we get close to the clinic the woman (Susan) pulls me aside and points at her face (she had two black eyes and blood under her nose), then turns her body so that the man can’t see her hands, and with this incredibly dark fear in her eyes she points to him.  She is telling me that he did this to her.  Then she points to her hand (the broken one) and does the same thing.

We get into the clinic, and they kind of give us the run around, and make us wait for a bit, Dougie heads to the bathroom at one point when Susan doesn’t see him.  Eventually she is wondering where he is and starts to panic.  She does not want to be without this man who apparently beats her badly.

We find him as he comes out of the bathroom, and they start to head for the door against my protests.  We head outside, and I am about to just let them wander off and do their own thing.  Susan sees a man walking towards us, she gets that same crazy fear in her eyes and starts to run the other direction and crashes straight into Dougie, she bounces off him and falls flat on her back.  Her glasses go flying and I am not sure if she cracked her head on the ground.  I go to her and ask her if she is ok.  Eventually she gets up (the man just walks by as if nothing was going on – I’m sure he’s an innocent bystander).

We decide to go back into the clinic.  Eventually, a nurse (or someone) comes to talk to Susan, and I notice and come join the conversation.  We get talking and she tells me that she used to go to Church of the Open Door.  Then we meet the nurse that we were supposed to, she basically tells us that we need to go to the hospital, emergency.

Susan is upset, and can’t figure out why these people wouldn’t give her a cast.  By this time there are nurses and receptionists watching our whole drama unfold.  The security guy appears and is standing there making sure there is no trouble.  Susan says to me, “can’t they just give me some cement, and I’ll pour it over my arm?!” I responded with, “well, if you want, I can take you to Home Depot and we can pick up some cement…”  all the people watching the situation laugh loudly.

We walk out, and I am trying to figure out what to do next, call a cab to bring them to HSC? Just leave them to their own devices?

My heart settles on giving them a ride, although I am not convinced I really want that.  As we are walking over they began to have a small spat, I wasn’t even looking, but then I heard a sound, turned to look and Dougie’s hat is flying off his head as Susan retracts her good hand from his facial area.  Dougie goes down on one knee, holding his nose.  Susan is saying things like, “Oh, what, you can do this to me? and nobody cares, and now your doing this? Get up you faker!”  Dougie is down for a good while, and I begin to wonder if he is OK.  He gets up, and Susan gets that look of fear in her eyes again and moves so that I am between her and him.  He isn’t responding with violence, but I do notice that blood is beginning to trickle down from his nose.

I start to wonder if maybe Susan’s black eyes and broken hand were from a different source than Dougie…if she is so violent why couldn’t she have broken her hand on his face…or someone else’s and gotten into a big fight.

“Do I really want this in my car?” I think to myself.  We get to my car and Dougie gets in the back behind the passenger seat.  Susan doesn’t want to get in the front, “He’s gonna strangle me!” she says.  I ask Dougie to move over to sit behind me, he does, Susan get’s in and we drive over to HSC.

When we get there, I pull in beside the Emergency and let them out.  They say “thanks,” and walk towards the door.  I pull away and head on with my day, wondering what this all means and if I did anything right in that situation.

I felt like that was the lowest I had seen someone.  It had to be such a horrible place to be.  Such a desperate situation, such a hopeless time in order to end up that rough, and that out of it.  I began to hope well for them, and especially that the cycle of violence, and hurt would end for them soon…but not really being all that hopeful…

I went for lunch at the Yale with a friend, and we had an incredibly honest conversation, it was amazing to be able to hear honestly about how he was doing. We used to do that quite often, but it had been a while, a I realized how much I missed that.  He had been struggling lately, but really not wanting to admit that he was, now he was facing some trouble with the law again, and his probation was in breech.  We had a great discussion about what to do, and how to own up to his mistakes and we talked about howto walk through some of the troubles he was going to face.

After lunch I went to pay and realized that I didn’t have any cash on me! I felt horrible, and asked the lady if I could run over to Mount Carmel Clinic to the ATM to get some money…she said that was fine…I could pay her back next time (sometimes I am amazed at the trust in the North End!). I said I would be right back with the money.

We walked over to Mt. Carmel, and when we got there we noticed a very intoxicated man who had a bike rigged up with lots of bags, and about 7-8 layers of clothing on, all very dirty…all signs that he had been sleeping on the streets. He was speaking very animatedly to a security guard outside the clinic.  The guard looked a little troubled by the conversation, but the man seemed harmless to me, so we went inside and got some money from the machine.

When we came out I interrupted the conversation between the intoxicated man and the security guard to say hello, I asked how he was doing.  He talked about sleeping on the streets the last while and how he had been very cold.  “It has been very cold lately,” I said.  The security guard was antsy, and I could tell he wanted the man to leave, so I asked him if he would come walk with me over to the Yale.  The man said yes and started to come with us, but then turned back at the security guard and said, “but I am not finished with him yet!” I tried to convince him to come, but he wasn’t, he said to the security guard, “I am going to hurt you!” “C”MON,” I said, “You don’t have to talk like that!” He persisted, “I am going to cut you open and have you for a BBQ!” he said in his slurred tones.  “ENOUGH of that,” I said, “come with me, I will buy you a burger at the Yale.”  “But I’m not finished with him yet,” he muttered.  “Go with the man,” the security guard said, “he will buy you a burger.”

After more ridiculous (and horrifying) threats, he started to get his stuff together to come with us, Don pulled me aside and said, “Trevor, are you sure you want to do this?” in a nervous tone.  “It’ll be fine,” I said.  We walked over to the Yale, as I carried a couple of his bags and Daniel (the man’s name) pushed his bike along.  I found myself trying to hold the bags away from my legs as I walked, unsure about what contaminating substance might be on them! We got to the Yale and I put down his bags outside and said, “why don’t you wait out here while I get a burger?”  We went inside, paid our bill and ordered another burger.

When I went outside to give Daniel his burger I hoped the whole episode would be over. He said, “thanks,” then tears started to well up in his eyes, “My mother passed away today, ” he blubbered. I was so done with him, and I couldn’t tell if this was actually what happened today, or if his intoxicated state was bringing him back to that time and place.  “I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said.  I could tell he wanted to talk some more, but I was getting uneasy and ready to move on.  I said, “Can I pray for you?” a Pastor’s go-to when wanting to be done the conversation. I did, I put my hand on Daniels shoulder and stood in front of the Yale and prayed for Daniel, and the passing of his Mom, for the hope that he could have in Jesus, and said “Amen.”  He also said, “Amen,” and thanked me for the prayer.

Daniel leaned over to give me a hug.  I could smell the smell of alcohol, tobacco, B.O. and dirty clothes mingled together as I hesitantly returned the hug, “Goodbye,” I said, as I walked away.  I felt as though what I should have done, was not done – which is who knows what, but I walked away anyway.  Daniel was muttering something, I’m not sure what it was, but I imagined him mumbling, “Oh you Christians, all you do is try to get rid of people like me, screw all of you and your God too if that’s the way his followers treat me, I need some help, my Mom, she just died! Help me!”

As we walked away my friend  shared with me how impressed he was with me and how I handled this, this was a street hardened young man who was scared while I was calm.  However, I did not receive his compliments well, I was racked with guilt over not responding when I should have.