Last Post from Memoirs of Teen Challenge

Teen Challenge, a ministry dear to my heart, ia again featured in this week's blog. I worked in the heart of downtown Phoenix at Phoenix Teen Challenge from 1992 -2011.

There were also three Native American men who frequently dropped into the offices at Teen Challenge – Ralph, Dennis, and Virgil. My friend, Shelley Savage, who also worked there, had warned me, “Don’t give any money to Ralph or Dennis or Virgil no matter what sob story they tell you. They’re nice but they’re alcoholics and use their money for beer.”

            Okay! Well, I haven’t any money to give them anyway.

            I believe one, or perhaps all three, had checked into the program prior to my employment there. I know Virgil had, and Jeff Richards made the mistake of trying to get the street filth showered off of Virgil. Fortunately, Jeff lived to tell about it.

            Sadly, these men’s need for alcohol was stronger than any desire to surrender to Christ. But, for the most part, drunk or sober, they usually stopped by to talk with Jeff Richards, or to ask for food. They could occasionally be belligerent and itching to start trouble, although none of them was ever rude to me. Not even drunk Dennis who wanted to kiss me.

            It took Dennis a few minutes to maneuver himself through my doorway one morning because he was weaving so badly. He almost fell over once he was inside, but managed to grab the small ledge under the sliding window in front of my desk. He steadied himself and grinned. “Good morning,” he mumbled, his alcohol breath sending waves of foul odor over my desk

            “Hey, Dennis! What’s up?”

            “You’re purty.”

            “Uh, okay, thanks!”

            “Give me a kiss!”

            “No, Dennis.”

            “Why? A little kiss won’t hurt. I won’t tell.”

            “No, Dennis.”

            “You’re not married cause you don’t wear a ring, so it’s okay.”

            “I have a fiancé, Dennis, now go away.”

            “Your boyfriend won’t care. Don’t tell him.”  He then puckered his lips and made smacking sounds while he tried to push his upper torso through the window opening.

            “Stop it, Dennis, or I’ll call one of the men to come in here.”

            “Come on, give me some kisses.”

            He was through the window past his shoulders and still wiggling to get in so I pressed the intercom for the living area where the staff member and students were. “Hey, someone, I need help in the front office,” I announced, backing my chair up because Dennis’s hands were reaching for me.

            Ted, one of the male staff, came rushing through the door and into my office. He grabbed Dennis and pulled him out of the window opening. “Leave Leola alone, Dennis. Go on now, get out of here. You’re drunk. You can come back later.”

            Dennis swayed. “I just wanna kiss.”

            Ted grabbed Dennis’s shoulder and pushed him toward the door. Dennis turned and threw a limp punch in Ted’s direction. Faster than I could blink, Ted’s fist shot out and connected with Dennis’s nose.

            Dennis staggered back. He grabbed his nose which was spewing blood. “Ah, Ted, you gave me a bloody nose. What’d ya do that for?”

            Ted’s eyes were wider than mine. “Sorry, man.” He awkwardly patted Dennis’s shoulder. Turning to me, Ted mumbled, “It was a knee-jerk reaction. I should’nt have done that. You got some tissue?”

            I inhaled and handed Ted my box of Kleenex to give Ted. I’m sure somewhere in the Policies and Procedures Manuel for Teen Challenge, what Ted just did was a no-no. Although Dennis continued to stop by, he never tried to kiss me again.

            Happenings like this were the norm, not the exception – not staff members punching people in the nose, but similar things.

More Teen Challenge Stories

The following is another excerpt from my memoirs of working for 19 years at Phoenix Teen Challenge -- a ministry near and dear to my heart.

           I was looking forward to attending a Friday night church service, though. Every Friday night there was a regular church service followed by a meal served to the homeless. News of ministries and organizations that provided meals always spread rapidly throughout the community. The homeless walked from different locations to attend. We also sent a couple of busses to CASS – Central Arizona Shelter Services – to pick up the homeless every Friday night.

            Various churches and organizations volunteered to bring a prepared meal. They also served the meal and ministered in prayer or a listening ear to those attendees. It will always stand out in my mind as the epitome of a true servant heart to the less fortunate.

            Angel Rosa often had guest speakers for the Friday night, and I decided to go when Iverna Tompkins would be preaching. I had read several of her books, seen her on Christian television, and had heard glowing reports of her preaching and Bible teaching. I was excited, and just a tiny bit giddy with awe about getting to see and hear her. Her book How To Be Happy In No Man’s Land had ministered to me after my twenty-two year marriage ended in divorce. She had had a husband who left and divorced her.

            After leaving work that Friday, I went home to change clothes and grab a quick bite for dinner. Church had started by the time I arrived, so I slipped in and found a seat near the back. Eddie James, the Music Minister for Phoenix Inner City Church, was still leading. I loved his style of black gospel music. He was, and still is, a gifted, talented young man passionate about serving God through music.

            When Iverna stepped behind the pulpit, I leaned forward with expectation. Because I was seated in the back where most of the homeless sat, I soon discovered they could be very distracting. They shuffled, wiggled, talked to each other, and hollered out responses to the preaching. The constant commotion would be unnerving to many preachers, but Iverna never missed a beat. I don’t recall what she preached about, but I do remember being riveted by it – or as riveted as I could be with all the distractions.

            They’re not paying any attention at all. They’re only here to eat a meal afterwards. They don’t care about Jesus.  I felt sad as those thoughts ran through my mind. I could see the Teen Challenge students seated on the front row. They were paying avid attention, and taking notes. Taking notes was something they were required to do. Their notes were turned in to a staff member. Rehabilitation, as Teen Challenge viewed it, isn’t for the non-committed, or just-biding-my-time person.

            Surrounded by the disruptions, the thought came to me that if Jesus walked in at that moment, he would find great delight in sitting among these poor souls. In fact, it would be his preference for where to sit. Jesus would have probably smiled with compassion when one of the men waved his arms and yelled, “Uncle Sam took our jobs,” in response to Iverna saying that God would meet our needs.

            The outburst startled me, and I jerked, but neither Iverna nor anyone else seemed disturbed by it. I guess you just get used to it.

            When Iverna Tompkins asked that we all bow our head for prayer as she gave the altar call, I dutifully bowed my head. As she asked for those to come forward who wanted prayer or wanted to surrender their hearts and lives to the Lord, I was pleasantly surprised to hear the shuffling of bodies and the stampeding of feet.

            They were listening after all! They’re going to the altar. When I opened my eyes, I was disappointed to see only a couple of homeless people at the altar.  Most of those who responded to the altar call were a few church members and several students. The stampede I’d heard was the rush to get in line outside the dining hall for the meal. 

Another Day At Teen Challenge

In keeping with this month's blog posts, here's another excerpt from my memoirs of working for 19 years at Phoenix Teen Challenge

                                                               ~~~~~

            There were several homeless people – some called them street people – who frequented our doors.  It’s easy to label all such persons in this category as a certain stereotype – mental illness, drug and/or alcohol addictions, no desire to get off the streets, deviants – but some sincerely were caught up in situations beyond their control. Most, however, that were frequent visitors at Teen Challenge did fit into one of the mentioned stereotypes.

            There was the lady who came in at least once a week demanding food. The kitchen workers – and by kitchen workers, these were mostly students assigned to kitchen detail –  usually gave her a donut, or a piece of fruit. Our policy was that we didn’t give away food because it wasn’t always easy to provide meals for the students and live-in staff.

            If this lady didn’t like what they gave her, or if they had nothing to give her, she would curse, stomp off, slam doors, and occasionally throw something. I had finally given up on greeting her with a cheerful hello because she just snarled at me. I would simply smile politely if she looked my way.

            Summer heat in Phoenix is brutal, especially for those who worked or stayed outdoors. The homeless are particularly vulnerable. Many organizations such as the Salvation Army set up stations around the downtown area to give out cold bottled water.

            It was on one of those scorching days of temperatures over one hundred ten degrees that I had an encounter with this snarky woman.

            Using the restroom was not a simple task for me. I usually would page into someone else’s office and ask them to answer the phone for a few minutes, or snag an intern as he walked by. This particular day, I couldn’t rouse anyone to help me, and I had to go. Since the restrooms were located in the breezeway in front of my office door, I decided to make a mad dash.

            When I flung open the restroom door, there stood snarky lady. She was nude from the waist up, splashing water over her head and soaking her blouse and bra in the sink. Fire spit from her eyes as she let loose a stream of obscenities and kicked the door shut in my face.

            I stumbled backwards, my mouth agape, and slunk back into my office, only to have her slam my door open in a few minutes, hair and clothes dripping water, and call me a foul name. Although I was compassionate toward her need to cool off, I knew I would not want to run into her in a dark alley. 

A Day At Teen Challenge

In 2011 I retired after 19 years at Phoenix Teen Challenge. Since then, I fill in for a few weeks every summer while the director and his wife -- who replaced me at my position -- go on vacation. The ministry of Teen Challenge is dear to my heart. I started writing my memoirs of my time there, so for the next few weeks my blog will be excerpts from that memoir.

            I chuckled about Jeff’s remark regarding my boyfriend. Before I could think about it, though, I took several incoming calls. Once there was a lull, my thoughts went back to the elderly gentleman Jeff referred to as my boyfriend. I did have a boyfriend but that man definitely wasn’t him. The old fellow had come into the office several days prior. Being in the heart of downtown Phoenix, and because of the type of ministry we were, the homeless and indigent were frequent visitors. Some wanted help with their drug and alcohol addictions. Some wanted money, food or clothing. Some just wanted to cause trouble.

            This particular guy was older. I guessed he was about sixty, but life on the streets is harsh, so he could’ve been younger. He was obviously homeless. He wasn’t too dirty or smelly, but he was shabby, with unkempt hair and a day or two of growth on his face. He grinned from ear to ear, without a tooth to be seen, and said, “Good morning, sweetheart.”

            I stiffened. He looked harmless – I was sure I could beat him up if he attacked me. But I didn’t appreciate being addressed with a term of endearment, or the familiarity in his voice.

            “Can I help you?” I smiled but kept my voice aloof.

            “Yeah, beautiful lady, I need a pair of shoes. You guys got any shoes?” He then tried to raise his right foot to the window so that I could see his bare feet, but he lost his balance and almost toppled over.

            I tried not to giggle as his arms flailed around until he managed to grab the opening in front of my desk. Once he steadied himself, he looked at me, winked and cackled.

            I pushed the intercom button and summoned a staff member to the front office. Rob, a young intern, responded.

            “Hey, Rob, do we have a pair of shoes in the Blessing Room for this man?” I motioned to the still-grinning man. The Blessing Room was what we called the area where we stored extra clothing, shoes, and linens for the men who came to reside in Teen Challenge. Some men came in with not much more than the clothes on their back. Occasionally, we gave things to the homeless and indigent when we had an abundance.

            Rob left and returned with a pair of white buck shoes reminiscent of Pat Boone’s trademark shoes.

            The old gent tried them on. “Well, by golly, looky here. They fit perfect. Come on, look,” he said, motioning to me. “I look like that singer dude. Know who I mean?”

            “Pat Boone,” I replied, complimenting him on his newly acquired shoes. The younger generation would be unaware about a singer and actor named Pat Boone.

            Rob left, and I hoped the old gent would too, but he continued to talk to me while I ate an apple. “I sure am hungry,” he said, eying me like he thought I’d rush to the kitchen and whip him up a meal.

            “Uh, you want an apple? We can’t really give out food, but someone donated apples.”

            He opened his mouth, showing me his toothless gums. “Can’t eat it, darlin’.”

            So what did I do? I got an apple and peeled and sliced it for him – a Christ-like gesture, I’m sure, only he returned the next day declaring he was in love with me. “I’m gettin’ an inheritance, sweetheart. My dad left me a million bucks. I’m gonna pick you up in a limo and take you to the best restaurant in town and buy you anything you want. Anything!” He flashed his toothless grin and winked. 

            Of course, I didn’t believe he was inheriting a million dollars. Somehow I managed to turn him down without too much fuss from him. I saw him a few times after that when Teen Challenge did our regular Friday night outreach to the homeless. I tried to not make eye contact with him, but he never seemed to notice me. It did make an amusing story to tell.

It's All About People

Last week I shared in my blog about writing my memoir about the 19 years I spent working at Teen Challenge. Here's an excerpt from my WIP title Teen Challenge - Repairer of Broken Walls

Isaiah 58: 12 NIV
Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins and will raise up the age-old foundations; you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.

When my ninety day probationary time was completed, I met with Jeff Richards and Angel Rosa for an evaluation. It was easy to see the love and camaraderie between these two men. They spent the few minutes I was with them in lighthearted banter with each other, and bragging on me.

I was flattered, but answering telephones and manning the front office didn’t take a P.H.D. When I said that, Angel responded, “Well, it’s not the typical type of front office visitors and phone calls. It takes a certain personality to deal with it, and a heart full of Jesus.” He grinned and chuckled.

I chuckled too.  “This is definitely more exciting than I ever imagined it would be. I love it, and wouldn’t change a thing about what I do.”

That it was exciting was an understatement. Every day something out of the ordinary happened. If something exciting wasn’t happening, then working with some of the zaniest, quirkiest, and all-around awesome staff made it exciting. Going to work every day was like reading a good novel or watching a great movie.

There were several homeless people – some called them street people – who frequented our doors.  It’s easy to label all such persons in this category as a certain stereotype – mental illness, drug and/or alcohol addictions, no desire to get off the streets, deviants – but some sincerely were caught up in situations beyond their control. Most, however, that were frequent visitors at Teen Challenge did fit into one of the mentioned stereotypes.

There was the lady who came in at least once a week demanding food. The kitchen workers – and by kitchen workers, these were mostly students assigned to kitchen detail –  usually gave her a donut, or a piece of fruit. Our policy was that we didn’t give away food because it wasn’t always easy to provide meals for the students and live-in staff.

If this lady didn’t like what they gave her, or if they had nothing to give her, she would curse, stomp off, slam doors, and occasionally throw something. I had finally given up on greeting her with a cheerful hello because she just snarled at me. But I would smile politely if she looked my way.

Summer heat in Phoenix is brutal, especially to those who worked or stayed outdoors. The homeless are particularly vulnerable. Many organizations such as the Salvation Army set up stations around the downtown area to give out cold bottled water.

It was on one of those scorching days of temperatures over one hundred ten degrees that I had an encounter with this snarky woman.

Using the restroom was not a simple task for me. I usually would page into someone else’s office and ask them to answer the phone for a few minutes, or snag an intern as he walked by. This particular day, I couldn’t rouse anyone to help me, and I had to go. Since the restrooms were located in the breezeway in front of my office door, I decided to make a mad dash.

When I flung open the restroom door, there stood snarky lady. She was nude from the waist up, splashing water over her head and soaking her blouse and bra in the sink. Fire spit from her eyes as she let loose a stream of obscenities and kicked the door shut in my face.

I stumbled backwards, my mouth agape, and slunk back into my office, only to have her slam my door open in a few minutes, hair and clothes dripping water, and call me a foul name. Although I was compassionate toward her need to cool off, I knew I would not want to run into her in a dark alley. 

(this excerpt is taken from page 4)

Writing A Memoir

I’m writing this blog post today because I am working for the next three weeks at Phoenix Teen Challenge, therefore I will miss my blog time with my friends tomorrow, Wednesday. We meet every Wednesday morning at Crossroads Books and Coffee where we blog, drink lattes and espressos, and chat.

I worked at Teen Challenge from 1992 until 2011. It was some of the most fulfilling, exciting times in my life. Last year I filled in for a month for director’s wife while they went on vacation. I am doing it again right now. 

I love this ministry. Most people think of Teen Challenge only in the terms of a Christian drug and alcohol rehab, but it’s so much more than that. At least it is in Phoenix. Just this past weekend, they did a Back-to-School Bash outreach where they served meals to 1,900 people and gave out over 1,000 backpacks filled with school supplies to kids. 

Churches, individuals, and organizations donated the backpacks and supplies. A local fire department donated hot dogs, chips, and drinks. Not only did they donate the food, they were there to grill the hot dogs. Teen Challenge does many other outreaches to the community, plus house up to fifty men in the residential rehab.

I’m happy to be back there if only for a few weeks for reasons other than I just love this ministry. I recently started writing my memoir of the time I spent working there. Actually, I began writing this to enter a non-fiction contest. I typically don’t enjoy writing non-fiction, but I am enjoying this. Ah, the memories.

It was fun, it was exciting, it was heart breaking, it was sad, and overall, it was a tremendous blessing. If you think about it, please whisper a prayer that I can do this justice.

Oh, in case you’re wondering, no, I don’t want to go back to work there on a permanent basis. I miss the people and the ministry, but I don’t miss working every day. 

Writing About Personal Experience in Ministry

Writing contests, writing groups and clubs, writing friends and buddies! It is the sauce that flavors my world. So what contest am I currently working on? Well, I’m glad you asked.

One of the groups I belong to is FaithWriters. Every year they have a novel contest. One year it’s fiction, and one year it’s non-fiction. This is non-fiction year. I’m not much on writing non-fiction. I picture non-fiction as memoirs – and you better have an unusual, interesting life to write your memoirs or autobiography – or devotional books or self-help books.

I do, however, have an idea for a non-fiction entry for this year’s contest. I worked at Teen Challenge for nineteen years – Greater Phoenix Teen Challenge to clarify since there are several hundred in the world. I thought it was the most exciting, most fulfilling job in the world.

Imagine having a ministry in the heart of a major metropolis, and the type people that are drawn to the haven of such a ministry. It certainly made for interesting stories. And I’ve got plenty of those stories. Not only was it interesting, but I met some of the most awesome people in the world.

 I’ve worked alongside the salt of the earth, some men and women whom God delivered from the clutches of drug and alcohol use. Unfortunately, I've also witnessed the tragedy of those who walked away from God  after being delivered and set them free.

Now, my dilemma is who to mention and who not to mention. I’m sure I’ll step on toes because I don’t mention them. It’s not intentional. And as for those in the ministry who failed big time, I will not go into that. Theirs is not my story to tell, and besides, who truly knows the heart and mind of a person except that person and God.

Onward, with the writing of this book. So far, I’m having so much fun doing it.