The Mountain We Must Climb

I believe that there is something of a significant paradigm shift taking place in this country regarding homelessness, and, for the most part, that young people are pushing that agenda.

However, passions and desires to do the right thing are often overwhelmed by the reality of just how difficult a task we face. 

The “mountain” just seems un-climbable.

In 1849, surveyors made a great discovery of Chomolungma, also known as Mount Everest - the tallest mountain in the world, at 29,029 feet.

Everest was also considered un-climbable. Anything over 24,000 feet was referred to as the “Death Zone”. Sadly, hundreds have died in the attempt to reach the top of Everest.

The first man to officially make it to the top of Everest was Sir Edmund Hillary.

Turns out, the mountain was climbable after all… it just took 100 years to do it.

Caring for the homelessness, social justice, justice ministry… call it whatever you want, but we can climb this mountain if we work together.

Homelessness is not just a mountain that we can observe from a distance. It’s not just a mountain that we attempt to climb, make it halfway up, and then turn around and go home. It’s a mountain that we can and need to intentionally climb and refuse to allow ourselves to not make it to the top.

At The Mustard Seed, with the help of literally thousands of volunteers and supporters, we will keep on climbing until we make it to the top. 

- Bill Nixon,  Director of Public Education, The Mustard Seed

@billbytheminute

Pain behind the Beauty

It was 38 degrees outside.  The sun beat down at every turn, perspiration soaked his t-shirt; Washington D.C. was bright and alive.  A visitor to the city, the American Rome appeared to hold some of the world’s most remarkable wonders and sights, a city full history and beauty.

It was 5 o’clock and his stomach was growling with hunger.  His mind spinning through the countless facts, figures and ideas downloaded from the conference; a gathering of 1,500 people to address an issue of on-going concern…homelessness.  As he and his colleagues stood outside of a seafood restaurant discussing the day’s findings, a woman approached.

She stood about 5’-2”, beads of sweat formed along her dark, wrinkled skin, her hands folded in a fearful respect, her eyes looked heavy yet held a certain hope in the goodness of humanity; there was remarkable beauty about her.  She cupped her hands and held them out.  After mustering every ounce of bravery in her she said, “Excuse me sirs…could you help me out with any change?”

Bam.

Like a freight train, reality struck him with an unexpected blow.  Immediately he left his mind and became fully present in the moment.  His eyes focused on her and he felt her pain.  Who is she?  Where is she from?  What led her to this point?  What has she been through?  What has she seen?

After a brief moment of hesitation, wondering if giving money was the right thing to do, the three men reached into their pockets and pulled out some change and placed it in her weathered palms.  As if in disbelief in what just happened, she covered her mouth and tears began forming in her eyes.  “People walk past me like I’m invisible…like I don’t exist.”

Thud.

Those words dropped heavy on his heart.   How could such a beautiful woman feel this way?  What has happened so that people walking past see her don't even acknowledge that she's there?  Is her existence important enough for people to take notice?

“What’s your name?” he asked.  “Shelia.”  The way she said her name showed she had no doubt in who she was, but she was filled with shame.   He took a step forward and asked, “Shelia, can I get a hug from you?”

Sigh.

He felt her entire weight sink into his arms.  She exhaled like she had been holding her breathe for years.  Salty tears streamed onto his shoulder as she said, “All I wanted was a hug.  All I’ve needed was a hug.”  He held her tighter.

“Shelia, you are loved.  You are beautiful.  God is on your side.  You are not invisible.”  He whispered these words into her ear in hope that they would sink deep into her soul and awaken her to the image of the Creator inside.

Sheila picked herself back up. She looked at them with grateful eyes and said “Thank you.”  She turned around and continued walking down the street.  The three men looked at each other, searching for words to describe what just happened, but couldn’t.   The words of Bob Dylan played through his mind, “Behind every beautiful thing, there’s some kind of pain.”

Can you see beauty in the pain you experience?

- Josh

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Terry

Photo by Susan Brandt

You know Terry. I know you do. But you don't yet know that you do. Terry was, as a friend states, "as much of the Calgary landscape as the tower itself."

How do I know you know Terry? Well, if you work, live or have ever been downtown, I bet you've seen him. Wait, you probably don't know Terry. But you should have.

Terry was the man who you might have seen on 1st SE or on 1St SW in his wheelchair. You might recognize him as the man who has the prosthetic legs with the Calgary Flames' logo at the top. He doesn't look like the type of person that people ever want to get to know. Ever. And the majority of people make zero effort. At first Terry would always remember me, and then he began to forget me a bit and eventually just asked me for change - but if I said "Hi Terry" in the morning as I walked past, the response was almost radiant.

A couple of years ago, I fell into stride, as you might say, beside Terry as he wheeled to his usual place and I walked to my bus stop after work. I chatted with him for a few moments before, daft as I am, realizing that he was struggling. "Can you help me out?" he asked, and I agreed and moved in behind his wheelchair to give him a push. And boy, it wasn't easy. I'm glad he asked because I am apparently so ridiculously clueless that I wouldn't have realized he had needed help with it. But pushing that chair in my dress coat and cowboy boots opened my eyes. Most people think Terry ended up the way he did because he was weak. It was clear that he was struggling, and was probably the type of "homeless" person that parents warn their children about. But Terry was anything but weak, and he was anything but scary. He was, hands down, one of the strongest men I've ever met. To push his chair for 3 minutes left me breathless. I can't imagine the persistent breathless feeling that his tumultuous life left him with. Terry was a strong man with a life full of struggles. I mean FULL of struggles. And as I struggled up that gentle incline, pushing his wheelchair and hoping I didn't lose my footing, I couldn't help but wonder how many times Terry had perhaps lost his footing, maybe even daily - and how important it is to have people to pick you up when you fall.

Last week I learned of Terry's passing through a colleague on Facebook. I watched the comment thread as many Mustard Seed staff and volunteers left their verbal respects for Terry. If you know him or saw him every day, this is your forum to perhaps leave him a few kind words. And remember Terry when you see someone alone and struggling. Don't be afraid to ask if they need help up the hill.

- Sarah