Yesterday

Wednesday, April 6, 9:05 am. Salvation Army Belkin House. I am one of 20 Salvation Army workers/employees attending a drug awareness seminar put on by the RCMP. They show some video clips of raves, drug 'labs' they've busted this year, pass around a few drug samples, talk about all the ramifications of each drug and what to do to test if someone is high. They show a video of people on the street in our neighborhood. They're all addicts. Some of them are my friends. One tall, lanky man is demonstrating how he injects his poison...everyone in the room recognizes him, and the difference only a year takes. In the video, he's skinney, malnourished, addicted, violent. Today he's clean, sober, and 150lbs heavier. He's also written a book, and started a new support group entitled 'Crime Addict's Anonymous' (CAA). The reason for all this change? He met Jesus!
One of the other stories from the seminar was not so encouraging. In talking about drugs, the topic shifts to drug-induced sexual assault. A 14year-old girl goes to a party with a friend. Having a blast, she decides to try a drink that is offered to her. Feeling woozy and blacking out, the next thing she knows it's the morning, she's in a strange house, and she feels very different. Violated. She cannot remember any of the events following that drink, a kind of amnesia that alcohol alone will not produce. She goes to the police, who assert that her situation sounds like a clear-cut example of drug-induced sexual assault. Her friend has to testify to the location of the house, since she can't remember where she was or how she got there. The police ask the girls, "Yes, we already have a file on this place. " So the case is strong. The victim has acted quickly, reported to the police, the place where her assailants live is not only identified, but there are other charges already on file. Surely justice will be done. The officer continues to talk with the young girl. "There have been several complaints about it already. Do you still want to press charges? You see, this house is run by the Asian mafia. If you were to pursue charges against these men we cannot ensure your safety." So the defenders of justice shy away once again, building their 'file' of report after report of verifiable, indictable offenses, while week after week, unsuspecting girls are raped.
The RCMP works together with the Health Department, local police department, fire department, waste removal and other agencies to properly clean out/document various labs. One lab in particular that was a successful bust was the third 'cook' for this particular individual. After thousands of dollars in clean-up costs, the judge sentenced this man for 5yrs imprisonment. This is his third offense. The maximum fine for manufacturing drugs is 10yrs. As soon as he gets out of jail, he will mosey on down to the next district, buy a few supplies from the local Canadian Tire, and set up shop again. Ridiculous.
4pm. End of seminar. Made a few contacts with people in the room. Outside, we meet two young men waiting to sign up for a bed. Their names are Nathan and Sheehan. Sheehan says he's 20, but he's obviously closer to 16. He got kicked out of his home two days ago because he's gay. Nathan is his 'partner' who he met at the shelter he is now staying at. It seems that relationships can form quickly on the street. They can also end quickly.

4pm. Cell meeting. This is our church. We meet together at a home, read the Bible and pray together. We are talking about suffering. I am learning to let people pray for me more. I am learning that my suffering, though probably not as severe as many people I know, is still just as real and needs to be dealt with. Things that happened that I had no control over in my past continue to form the reactions and choices I make now. God is healing me.....slowly. He is teaching me.....gently. He is loving me....unconditionally.

7pm. Heading over to our coffee bar. I'm late, but we all are tonight- had some trouble getting the keys to the right people today. We'll be closing up next week to re-paint and repair some holes/scuffs that have made their way into our space. There's a sign on the door, but my friends who have made the Crosswalk their nightly hang-out for over a year now are not impressed. We chat together, laugh and sing for a bit. The coffee goes quickly. We got bigger cups donated, so not everyone gets a cup this time. We'll have to make two pots tomorrow. The place clears out once the food is out, save a few old-faithfuls who have come to chat. They're the ones we do this for, anyway. One of my friends is receiving prayer. Another is playing checkers. Another is playing guitar. He's quite good. Another is reading his Bible. Shara tosses over a dress she found that she thought would be good for the Sunday school. She is awesome at finding stuff for others, and loves giving us craft supplies for the kids.

Midnight. Head to bed. My roommate is packing her bags to visit her family for a wedding. Sometimes I forget to remember the people I used to spend time with at home. I think sometimes they forget to remember me too, then don't feel as guilty. I know that God is there, and He is here, and that He hears the cries in our hearts that are too deep to express in words yet. "It's okay. I'm here, and I never forget," He says.