Fractured Friday: Ten Thousand Hands Project

It was Saturday and James had been working in the chapel for several hours, since the early morning. He was nearly finished with the elevated flooring, and about to pound another nail, when a strong hand came down on his shoulder. Dropping the hammer to the floor with a clatter, James jerked around to see the face attached to the hand. 

A large man in his late forties, with an unkempt head of wiry gray hair and beard, peered down at him with sparkling blue eyes. His checkered, button down shirt, with a torn pocket, was covered with dirt. His crumpled khakis bore stains of food from several meals, spotting them from waist to cuff. He wore his brown loafers with srtark white socks.
“Freddy. My name is Freddy.” The man said with a broad smile that revealed missing front teeth – top and bottom.

James rose to his feet wiping his hands on his faded blue jeans. “Nice to meet you, Freddy,” he said reaching for Freddy’s hand.

Freddy emanated a light air about him with a true joyousness in his spirit. “Can I help you with that?  I don’t know a lot about carpentry, but I know the son of a carpenter. Used to hang out with him a lot back in the day. We helped his dad build boats, boxes, and buildings when he needed the extra hands.”

James smiled at Freddy and handed him the hammer from the floor. “Sure, I need all the help I can get. If you have questions just ask.”

James and Freddy laughed and joked through the rest of the morning stopping only to have lunch in the dining room with the rest of the homeless population. They sat at the table and as they ate Freddy began to speak.

“You know, I heard once that ‘where God builds a church, the devil builds a chapel next door’, what do you think about that?”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that Freddy, but I don’t think that is so much true, in that it’s not the devil, himself, but people influenced by evil ways.”

“Well, I think it is true. I think that the devil is working his way through this place, and he’s not gonna stop until he has every last one of us on a chain.”

The conversation was getting a little weird and deep for James after expending all of his energy in the morning, nailing boards together and measuring for the carpet that would need to be laid overtop.  He was tired and his mind was not anywhere near the realm of philosophical or theological topics, but he asked anyway, “What do you mean by that, Freddy? What place? The shelter?”

“If only it was just the shelter. No, James, I mean this whole city. Nobody seems to care about anything, or anyone anymore.  It’s so devoid of all hope. Even the rich bastards that go to your church are feeling it. You’re feeling it too. You can’t deny it.”

What Freddy had said was very true. James was definitely feeling it, and was aware of the complete lack of care and concern in the community.  He felt it everyday with an increasing sense of despair in his own heart.  He prayed hard every day and night for understanding, strength of faith, and courage of spirit, but it never seemed to come.  He was slowly being worn down to a shell of the man he was in Los Angeles.  Los Angeles, the City of Angels.  How he missed her.

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Today's Fractured Friday is an excerpt from 'The Ten Thousand Hands Project', a work in progress.

Monday Musings: A Christmas Snow

I wrote this some time ago, in 2010. As my home state of North Dakota is consumed by the frigid artic air, dropping down from the artic circle, the plight of the homeless becomes a serious concern. There was much conversation regarding previous years of unfortuante incidents of homeless people freezing to death in the streets of our cities; particularly Fargo. I am glad to know today eight churches in Fargo have opened their doors, taking part in an emergency shelter program through Churches United for the Homeless, as well as other shelters in the community.

The following was an exercise in understanding homelessness, as I have never been homeless. As you read through the paragraphs below put yourself in the shoes of the woman seeking shelter from an approaching blizzard.

A Christmas Snow

The world lay in silent anticipation of the coming storm. The air was heavy, causing me to take a single, moisture laden breath, that was let out with a humbled gasp. The stillness of the silence shattered my ear drums as I looked across the plains and saw the darkness overtaking the blueness of the sun-filled sky. It was only a matter of time before the clouds, in the far off distance, would reach down and touch the frozen earth enveloping the world with a blinding whiteness. Daytime; no light would penetrate that whiteness as the strong winds carried it across the land.

I pulled my parka close to my body. The frigid temperatures, foretold by the weatherman, were slowly creeping into the nooks and crannies of the city. I searched for protection from the sure death that was approaching. I pulled and pulled on the sidewalk grate, as people passed me by without a single glance, or question. Finally, it came loose and I lowered myself down, down into the underbelly of the city, where the stench hung frozen in the air, but the wind no longer bit my cheeks and nose. My fingers began to melt into the warmth of the material surrounding all but one. I could hear the hustle and bustle of the traffic on the street high above me. The sounds of gentle, merry-filled voices drifted down through the tunnels, carrying the sounds of well-wishing for a good holiday. I wanted to wish those above me a good holiday in return, but my voice only traveled through the darkness of the tunnels before me.

Darkness fell, and the sounds above me dwindled into silence, with only the ocassional howl of the wind that had arrived in the city. Snow lilted down through the holes of the grate, lit only by the street light above, some distance down the tunnel, creating a tiny snowglobe effect. The cold sunk into the tunnels wrapping its icy fingers around me as I drifted off to sleep. My mind wandered back to the days when I lay in my childhood bed shaking the snowy mountain scene, watching as the snow twisted and twirled in a world of fancy and imagination. Such peace that was beheld in that one tiny scene.

It is Christmas morning, the sun is shining and I am alone and warm. I see her lying there still asleep and wonder if she will ever awaken. It is Christmas morning and I am alone and warm. I am alone and warm. It is Christmas morning and the sun is shining. The winds have passed over and the snow has ceased its descent. I am alone and warm. My parka is shared with the sleeping woman just feet away; and I am warm. A single light shines some distance away as she lies sleeping; dreaming of a snowy mountain scene. I cannot stay, and move into the light wondering if she will ever awaken.