Here's an article by one of our dear Portland peeps, Pam Hogeweide, about HomePDX. It's a great read, as her articles always are. Of course, it doesn't hurt that The Porch gets a little space in the article too (hey shameless self-promotion can be fun, don't judge me!)
http://www.wineskins.org/filter.asp?SID=2&fi_key=215&co_key=1787
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Monday, December 8, 2008
Princess
This is another re-post from HomePDX. It's a story that is too good not to share.
Princess
I was wandering, completely lost in reverie about my latest epiphany. Here it is: Did you know that the courthouse I was circumnavigating was the "courthouse" mentioned in the name of Portland's Pioneer Courthouse Square? Mind-boggling. It's only taken me ten years of living here to figure that out. Quick mind. Quick wit. Here's how it went: year one, learning the name of Pioneer Courthouse Square; year one, discovering that the building across the street is a courthouse; year ten, putting it all together! How long would it have taken lesser minds to make that arcane connection? I don't know but thank God I'm here to point these things out.
I rounded the corner of Morrison Street and started up 6th Ave. to the south and half noticed a young woman standing near the far corner. As I approached she eyed me and stuck out her hand, "Hi." ... Heroin. Heavy eyelids, pinned pupils, droopy facial muscles, cold, clammy hands. Her soul was invisible, shrouded in a dense drug fog. She was kind of pretty, in a round-faced sort of way. Late teens, early twenties maybe. Black shiny hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, khakis, tan, not too dirty, a black, long-sleeved, turtleneck sweater (the long sleeves hid the track marks well). Her fingernails had been painted black within the last week or so. It was chipped, but not too bad. Her hands were mostly clean. She had brown-black eyes that were alive and inquisitive and at the same time old and sad.
I responded to the handshake while sizing her up, thinking, "What's the angle here?" The greeting had the feel of one of those kiosks at the mall where the girl says, "Can I ask you a question?" She doesn't really want to hear from you; she just wants to sell you some overpriced, overly perfumed hand cream. "Leave me alone," I think as I politely say, "No Thanks." I was on my guard. Wary.
"What's up?"
"Not much."
"Nice evening, huh?"
"Yeah."
"All I've got is a buck." I gave it to her and with that I walked away.
"Thanks, Ken! God bless you," she shouted sweetly as I rounded the corner on Yamhill.
"Ken." She knew my name. And in a crashing, blinding instant I understood. I had just examined, categorized, sliced, diced, chewed and spit out somebody's Princess. She was or at least should have been somebody's Princess; laughing and twirling and dancing in an over sized Sleeping Beauty dress to the joyous tears and applause of her admirers. Years later, Prince Charming should have scooped her up onto his white horse and galloped to their castle in the clouds where they would live happily ever after. But no, today she got an armful of heroin, and me. And I blew her off. I panicked and ran home, not stopping to talk to anyone along the way.
Back in in my apartment, electrified with my own shame, I tried to look back on what had just happened. Thinking error? Maybe. But more likely a heart error. It's easier for me than I would like to admit to become hardened, know too much of the ins and outs of the street scene here in Portland and look for the sales pitch. I get tired of the pain all around me and inside of me. Today there were no hidden motives on her part. Just a little girl, a Princess, who wanted a few kind words from a man who wouldn't hurt or use her, a man she knew. She wanted me to see her, actually see her, but I was blinded by cynicism and self- protection.
"God, make me gullible again, innocent again. Wash away the layers of grime that have built up on my heart just by being alive and brushing up against so many hurting people for so long. Reopen my eyes to the beauty of the Princesses and Princes of the street"
I've seen "Shauna" several times since. She throws her arms around me now and just holds on…or she's too loaded to recognize me. Either way, she's forgiven and forgotten my coldness on that warm August evening. That's what a Princess does.
Love,
Ken
Princess
I was wandering, completely lost in reverie about my latest epiphany. Here it is: Did you know that the courthouse I was circumnavigating was the "courthouse" mentioned in the name of Portland's Pioneer Courthouse Square? Mind-boggling. It's only taken me ten years of living here to figure that out. Quick mind. Quick wit. Here's how it went: year one, learning the name of Pioneer Courthouse Square; year one, discovering that the building across the street is a courthouse; year ten, putting it all together! How long would it have taken lesser minds to make that arcane connection? I don't know but thank God I'm here to point these things out.
I rounded the corner of Morrison Street and started up 6th Ave. to the south and half noticed a young woman standing near the far corner. As I approached she eyed me and stuck out her hand, "Hi." ... Heroin. Heavy eyelids, pinned pupils, droopy facial muscles, cold, clammy hands. Her soul was invisible, shrouded in a dense drug fog. She was kind of pretty, in a round-faced sort of way. Late teens, early twenties maybe. Black shiny hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, khakis, tan, not too dirty, a black, long-sleeved, turtleneck sweater (the long sleeves hid the track marks well). Her fingernails had been painted black within the last week or so. It was chipped, but not too bad. Her hands were mostly clean. She had brown-black eyes that were alive and inquisitive and at the same time old and sad.
I responded to the handshake while sizing her up, thinking, "What's the angle here?" The greeting had the feel of one of those kiosks at the mall where the girl says, "Can I ask you a question?" She doesn't really want to hear from you; she just wants to sell you some overpriced, overly perfumed hand cream. "Leave me alone," I think as I politely say, "No Thanks." I was on my guard. Wary.
"What's up?"
"Not much."
"Nice evening, huh?"
"Yeah."
"All I've got is a buck." I gave it to her and with that I walked away.
"Thanks, Ken! God bless you," she shouted sweetly as I rounded the corner on Yamhill.
"Ken." She knew my name. And in a crashing, blinding instant I understood. I had just examined, categorized, sliced, diced, chewed and spit out somebody's Princess. She was or at least should have been somebody's Princess; laughing and twirling and dancing in an over sized Sleeping Beauty dress to the joyous tears and applause of her admirers. Years later, Prince Charming should have scooped her up onto his white horse and galloped to their castle in the clouds where they would live happily ever after. But no, today she got an armful of heroin, and me. And I blew her off. I panicked and ran home, not stopping to talk to anyone along the way.
Back in in my apartment, electrified with my own shame, I tried to look back on what had just happened. Thinking error? Maybe. But more likely a heart error. It's easier for me than I would like to admit to become hardened, know too much of the ins and outs of the street scene here in Portland and look for the sales pitch. I get tired of the pain all around me and inside of me. Today there were no hidden motives on her part. Just a little girl, a Princess, who wanted a few kind words from a man who wouldn't hurt or use her, a man she knew. She wanted me to see her, actually see her, but I was blinded by cynicism and self- protection.
"God, make me gullible again, innocent again. Wash away the layers of grime that have built up on my heart just by being alive and brushing up against so many hurting people for so long. Reopen my eyes to the beauty of the Princesses and Princes of the street"
I've seen "Shauna" several times since. She throws her arms around me now and just holds on…or she's too loaded to recognize me. Either way, she's forgiven and forgotten my coldness on that warm August evening. That's what a Princess does.
Love,
Ken
Thursday, July 17, 2008
More Porch pics
For the visually oriented among you.
So a little background on this one -- this is our wonderful improvised "tent of meeting" that lasted half of one day. We were very excited about our new rain shelter in light of the destruction of the canopy (see last post). Then the Parks Department Police made us take it down. What a shame.
So a little background on this one -- this is our wonderful improvised "tent of meeting" that lasted half of one day. We were very excited about our new rain shelter in light of the destruction of the canopy (see last post). Then the Parks Department Police made us take it down. What a shame.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
The Porch
June 8, 2008, exactly one year ago (thanks to the leap year), we piled into our car and waved goodbye to the hardest place I’ve ever had to leave. That Friday afternoon came way too quickly for me. The year of planning for the move had not prepared me for the blow I took as I watched my friends and house disappear in the side view mirror. I spent the next several months mourning my losses but all the while God was revealing to us what was so obviously being prepared for us before our arrival to the city.
141 NYC was only a few months old and Brian and I were already feeling a tug on our hearts to begin the church. We kept dismissing the idea because we didn’t feel ready. We were struggling to find people to give socks to, let alone invite to church. Our opposition came to a halt when we literally bumped into Chris and Shannon from Portland. As soon as we told them about our opposition and struggles with meeting people they took us to a part of Tompkins park that we never new existed. We were introduced to many people as the Pastors who are starting up a church in the park, and so it began.
I felt unprepared and had no idea what a church for our friends were to look like. Grueling over the logistics for the next week a friend of mine called me out of the blue with a word from God. While praying for me she heard the word “porch”. She had no idea what it meant, only knowing me for a short while she decided to call me anyway. As soon as she said the word it all made sense to me. Back in Portland two summers ago we were blessed by a woman named Shannon and her family. They opened their porch to the community every Sunday afternoon, which brought those who live in houses and those who don’t, together. With no inhibitions we played music, sang, shared stories, and ate the food that Trader Joes donated to the church. It was clear, the soul of Shannon’s porch, (and Ken’s balcony) is what we have to capture.
On June 8, 2007 I left all of this and more with the hope and faith that God would replace my losses and restore my heart. While Portland is irreplaceable, exactly one year later I felt it beneath me. I found encouragement as it stood firm as my pillar of strength. On our way to our first church gathering Brian said to me, “Didn’t we leave Portland the same time last year?” I couldn’t remember the date but as I looked out the window of our train and saw the city before me, I smiled at the thought. Remembering the side view mirror and of crying all the way to Salem I thought, “how cool would that be if today were the same day?” (I later went home and in my notes found that that it was in fact June 8th.) My nervousness grew as we pulled into our 8th Street stop. I took Luke’s hand, a deep breath, and stepped into what would be one of the most joyful days of my life.
We walked towards Tompkins park and my mind kept going to a plan B. “What if no one shows? We’ll just rush the food home and eat it for the next week.” With it being 96 degrees out and knowing that the crew went to Coney Island the day before, I had my doubts. But as soon as I caught a glimpse of the benches I saw Chris and Shannon and about 25 of their friends. They had woken up on the beach that morning and braved the traffic and still made it to the park before us.
The set up team consisted of Brian and Chris walking over to the pizzeria while friends of Chris’s would randomly drop off drinks and food. When they got back Chris gave the welcome by saying, “Come and get it!” Brian and I provided the hospitality by serving the food and shortly after a little old Italian lady came over and performed a drama skit. “Why do you live like this?” she asked. “Your bodies are ruined by tattoos, your mothers are crying because of you!” She proceeded to point her finger at an amazing person who two days ago was resuscitated from an overdose and say, “I don’t like your life!” At this point the sermon was given and a few words were shared between the Pharisee and myself. I asked her if she believed in God, she said yes. I asked her if she knew about Jesus, she said yes. I continued to explain to her that the Jesus we believe in would be sitting with us if he were here today, not pointing his finger. She grew angrier by the minute. Chris asked her, “what happens to those who cast the first stone?” She became outraged and decided to sit on the benches across from us and scowl for the next hour.
A great discussion followed where we talked about why people hate the homeless. Shannon and Meg then lead us into worship as they sang and played guitar. Luke continued on with the water gun wars and the rest of us played with Shannon’s rats and rolled the tobacco that Chris brought, throwing them at people’s heads. Throughout the day there were about 50 people who came through. Some sat and talked with us about God, others about music, or life. Some sat and said nothing at all. Our time in the park was magical. A breeze would cool us when the heat became unbearable and the cops didn’t hassle us once. I felt the Holy spirit leading the day with the Soul of the Porch Jam and the Grace of God. Even the angry words of a pharisee lead to a wonderful conversation. It was an amazing and beautiful beginning to a church that will teach us more about life and God.
(A special thanks to Ken Loyd, Home PDX, Chris, and Shannon for making this day happen, and to Vivian for reminding me that God is in control, and to everyone else that has been a part of our journey!)
-Kelly
141 NYC was only a few months old and Brian and I were already feeling a tug on our hearts to begin the church. We kept dismissing the idea because we didn’t feel ready. We were struggling to find people to give socks to, let alone invite to church. Our opposition came to a halt when we literally bumped into Chris and Shannon from Portland. As soon as we told them about our opposition and struggles with meeting people they took us to a part of Tompkins park that we never new existed. We were introduced to many people as the Pastors who are starting up a church in the park, and so it began.
I felt unprepared and had no idea what a church for our friends were to look like. Grueling over the logistics for the next week a friend of mine called me out of the blue with a word from God. While praying for me she heard the word “porch”. She had no idea what it meant, only knowing me for a short while she decided to call me anyway. As soon as she said the word it all made sense to me. Back in Portland two summers ago we were blessed by a woman named Shannon and her family. They opened their porch to the community every Sunday afternoon, which brought those who live in houses and those who don’t, together. With no inhibitions we played music, sang, shared stories, and ate the food that Trader Joes donated to the church. It was clear, the soul of Shannon’s porch, (and Ken’s balcony) is what we have to capture.
On June 8, 2007 I left all of this and more with the hope and faith that God would replace my losses and restore my heart. While Portland is irreplaceable, exactly one year later I felt it beneath me. I found encouragement as it stood firm as my pillar of strength. On our way to our first church gathering Brian said to me, “Didn’t we leave Portland the same time last year?” I couldn’t remember the date but as I looked out the window of our train and saw the city before me, I smiled at the thought. Remembering the side view mirror and of crying all the way to Salem I thought, “how cool would that be if today were the same day?” (I later went home and in my notes found that that it was in fact June 8th.) My nervousness grew as we pulled into our 8th Street stop. I took Luke’s hand, a deep breath, and stepped into what would be one of the most joyful days of my life.
We walked towards Tompkins park and my mind kept going to a plan B. “What if no one shows? We’ll just rush the food home and eat it for the next week.” With it being 96 degrees out and knowing that the crew went to Coney Island the day before, I had my doubts. But as soon as I caught a glimpse of the benches I saw Chris and Shannon and about 25 of their friends. They had woken up on the beach that morning and braved the traffic and still made it to the park before us.
The set up team consisted of Brian and Chris walking over to the pizzeria while friends of Chris’s would randomly drop off drinks and food. When they got back Chris gave the welcome by saying, “Come and get it!” Brian and I provided the hospitality by serving the food and shortly after a little old Italian lady came over and performed a drama skit. “Why do you live like this?” she asked. “Your bodies are ruined by tattoos, your mothers are crying because of you!” She proceeded to point her finger at an amazing person who two days ago was resuscitated from an overdose and say, “I don’t like your life!” At this point the sermon was given and a few words were shared between the Pharisee and myself. I asked her if she believed in God, she said yes. I asked her if she knew about Jesus, she said yes. I continued to explain to her that the Jesus we believe in would be sitting with us if he were here today, not pointing his finger. She grew angrier by the minute. Chris asked her, “what happens to those who cast the first stone?” She became outraged and decided to sit on the benches across from us and scowl for the next hour.
A great discussion followed where we talked about why people hate the homeless. Shannon and Meg then lead us into worship as they sang and played guitar. Luke continued on with the water gun wars and the rest of us played with Shannon’s rats and rolled the tobacco that Chris brought, throwing them at people’s heads. Throughout the day there were about 50 people who came through. Some sat and talked with us about God, others about music, or life. Some sat and said nothing at all. Our time in the park was magical. A breeze would cool us when the heat became unbearable and the cops didn’t hassle us once. I felt the Holy spirit leading the day with the Soul of the Porch Jam and the Grace of God. Even the angry words of a pharisee lead to a wonderful conversation. It was an amazing and beautiful beginning to a church that will teach us more about life and God.
(A special thanks to Ken Loyd, Home PDX, Chris, and Shannon for making this day happen, and to Vivian for reminding me that God is in control, and to everyone else that has been a part of our journey!)
-Kelly
Monday, June 9, 2008
Porch First Sunday Photo Bonanza!!!
Here's some pics from Sunday:
Our friendly neighborhood Pharisee lady!!!
Our friendly neighborhood Pharisee lady!!!
Viva The Porch!!
I am happy to break the relatively lengthy silence of this blog with some news - The Porch has begun! So now, the question that you are most likely asking is: "What in the heck is the Porch? Why do you guys feel it necessary to keep naming things differently? What is the meaning of life?" Well, I intend to answer all the above questions, except for the meaning of life, which you can figure out on your own.
It's really a long story, and Kelly is preparing a fabulous post that will describe our crazy journey of the last several weeks with the eloquence that only she can provide. In the meanwhile - I'll give you the "bullet points version:"
- A few weeks ago we randomly met up with our dear friends Chris and Shannon from Portland while walking around the Lower East Side. Hilarity ensued, along with plans to start a church - right NOW - in Tompkins Square Park. How's that for fast-forward on the whole planning thing?
- After several intense, midnight-oil burning meetings (or not) a plan was devised for the birthing of this as-of-that-moment-unnamed church gathering.
- This past Sunday, June 8th (interesting 1 year to the day from when we left Portland) we arrived at Tompkins, 1pm, to a crowd of about 25-30 of our beautiful new friends, waiting for church in the park. Over the course of the next 3-4 hours we fed about 50 people, made a lot of new friends, heard some great music, played with water, got harassed by a lovely Pharasical woman, got not-harrassed by the cops, had many deep and many shallow conversations, nearly melted in the sweltering pre-summer record NYC heat wave, and generally made much merriment. Next week we're gonna have a barbeque down at the East River Park and play wiffleball. Waddya think of that?
- Oh yeah, The Porch. Well I'll let Kelly explain that too, since it was her idea. But everyone seems to be down with it, so that's the name, for now - The Porch. So just to clear things up:
- 141 NYC is the name of the non-profit/ outreach
- The Porch is the "church in the park"
- Tortuga House is where we live in deep south Brooklyn. Come over some time, sit on the floor, and meet our kitty who is not female, as we suspected.
Well that about sums it up for now, and helps to clear my conscience about not updating the blog enough. Have a wonderful day, because wherever you are right now, it's probably not as hot as NYC is today.
It's really a long story, and Kelly is preparing a fabulous post that will describe our crazy journey of the last several weeks with the eloquence that only she can provide. In the meanwhile - I'll give you the "bullet points version:"
- A few weeks ago we randomly met up with our dear friends Chris and Shannon from Portland while walking around the Lower East Side. Hilarity ensued, along with plans to start a church - right NOW - in Tompkins Square Park. How's that for fast-forward on the whole planning thing?
- After several intense, midnight-oil burning meetings (or not) a plan was devised for the birthing of this as-of-that-moment-unnamed church gathering.
- This past Sunday, June 8th (interesting 1 year to the day from when we left Portland) we arrived at Tompkins, 1pm, to a crowd of about 25-30 of our beautiful new friends, waiting for church in the park. Over the course of the next 3-4 hours we fed about 50 people, made a lot of new friends, heard some great music, played with water, got harassed by a lovely Pharasical woman, got not-harrassed by the cops, had many deep and many shallow conversations, nearly melted in the sweltering pre-summer record NYC heat wave, and generally made much merriment. Next week we're gonna have a barbeque down at the East River Park and play wiffleball. Waddya think of that?
- Oh yeah, The Porch. Well I'll let Kelly explain that too, since it was her idea. But everyone seems to be down with it, so that's the name, for now - The Porch. So just to clear things up:
- 141 NYC is the name of the non-profit/ outreach
- The Porch is the "church in the park"
- Tortuga House is where we live in deep south Brooklyn. Come over some time, sit on the floor, and meet our kitty who is not female, as we suspected.
Well that about sums it up for now, and helps to clear my conscience about not updating the blog enough. Have a wonderful day, because wherever you are right now, it's probably not as hot as NYC is today.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Much love
Big, big ups and heaping piles of love to Fusion Purchase (as in SUNY Purchase), our new partners who are starting a collection to help out with supplies for 141NYC. Notice that the call for help was posted on Feb 11th - last week - and they were there and down to help almost instantly. God is good.
In other news: HomePDX now on the interwebs, via Myspace -- go and be a friend.
In other news: HomePDX now on the interwebs, via Myspace -- go and be a friend.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Props
http://www.oregonlive.com/O/relationships/index.ssf?/base/living/1194562516122040.xml&coll=7
This is coming very late, but better late than never. Above is a link to a story that appeared a few months ago in the Portland Oregonian about Home PDX, the church that we were a part of before we came to New York. They are our "mother church," to utilize a very tired Christianese term, although we are really more like siblings than children with the church that we helped start. I am putting this link on here because I want people to know about Home, and to see that it is possible to take a very simple point (i.e, loving people face to face) and turn it into a successful, beautiful thing. The heart of Home PDX is identical to the heart of 141-NYC, mainly because we are cut from the same cloth. The challenge for us is to stay faithful to the heart while avoiding the temptation to duplicate the specifics, because those specifics can only exist in their unique context. You cannot put Home PDX in the copy machine and expect it to fly somewhere else. God forbid, because if that were the case, then Home PDX would just be an institution, a system, or an ideology rather than a way of life.
I also want to point out that we just added a new link, for http://www.crossweave.org. This is the website for Crossweave in San Marcos, California, another wonderful group of people who have loved and influenced us greatly.
This is coming very late, but better late than never. Above is a link to a story that appeared a few months ago in the Portland Oregonian about Home PDX, the church that we were a part of before we came to New York. They are our "mother church," to utilize a very tired Christianese term, although we are really more like siblings than children with the church that we helped start. I am putting this link on here because I want people to know about Home, and to see that it is possible to take a very simple point (i.e, loving people face to face) and turn it into a successful, beautiful thing. The heart of Home PDX is identical to the heart of 141-NYC, mainly because we are cut from the same cloth. The challenge for us is to stay faithful to the heart while avoiding the temptation to duplicate the specifics, because those specifics can only exist in their unique context. You cannot put Home PDX in the copy machine and expect it to fly somewhere else. God forbid, because if that were the case, then Home PDX would just be an institution, a system, or an ideology rather than a way of life.
I also want to point out that we just added a new link, for http://www.crossweave.org. This is the website for Crossweave in San Marcos, California, another wonderful group of people who have loved and influenced us greatly.
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