Another death...

Today's street feeding brought about some new faces, some old ones..and another tragedy.


JJ died. JJ, whose real name was Alfred, was one of the sweetest men on the streets. His petite dark-skinned body was often hidden beneath layered clothing three sizes too big. He always reminded me of a kid in his daddy's clothes, trying them on for size.


He was 56.


The first time I met Alfred he was living beside a dumpster. He was introduced to us as JJ, his street name, but he pulled me aside and said, "My name is Alfred. Call me that."


It's not unusual for people on the streets to want me to call them by their given name instead of the  name they go by on the streets. It represents the need to return to their more innocent selves, the ones not sidled with addiction and alcoholism.


Alfred came to church a few times. He'd sit in the very front row and praise the Lord. I'm not sure if  the hallelujahs were from Alfred, or from the wine he'd polished off before the service, but he was there and he was trying.


Alfred knew more scripture than most preachers. He'd get drunk and preach to everyone he came in contact with. The first time I met him, I thought he knew the Lord. He said all the right things and had the kingdom principles down pat.


Six months later, I was worried that Alfred didn't know Christ at all. He was still quoting scripture, but nothing else in his life bore evidence that he knew the Lord. Was it a religious spirit? A spirit of divination? I started cutting him off when he started spouting scripture. No, I'd say. Tell me what's going on with you.


After that we became friends. Real friends. There was no manipulation, no cons, no excuses. I knew when he was using drugs, when he was drinking, and when he was trying to get sober. He started coming to church. He came to the house for dinner.


I'd never seen him more proud than the day I brought him thick winter coveralls. I'm sure summer had set in before he was willing to take it off.


Alfred got a check once a month. His crazy check. On the streets you try to get a disability check (physical disabilities) or a crazy check (mental disabilities). Most know how to play up either one in a determination hearing. Alfred probably qualified for his check honestly. That wasn't the problem.


The problem was that he would get his check on the 3rd, stay holed up in a crack house for three days, and spend the next three and a half weeks cold, hungry, and depressed. He'd cry every time I'd see him.


"Please help me, Ms. G," he'd beg. He called my husband Mr. G, a problem unknown husbands of famous celebrities must have. I loved that.


I tried. Twice I got him into a rehab but he was so scared they'd "mess with his check" that he backed out both times. He left town to stay with his daughter for a few weeks. He looked great when he returned, clear-eyed and soft-spoken, but it wasn't long before the street life turned him back into a depressed, wild-eyed alcoholic.


He still had the warmest hugs and biggest smile of anyone on the streets. His face would light up when he saw me and I'd pray with him every time to be delivered from alcohol and drugs.


I'm not sure if he was saved. We talked about it many times. He professed to know Christ and I couldn't, wouldn't tell him he was wrong. How did I know? Had I not fallen away in my own walk before?


I don't know if I was right or not. Maybe I should've pushed it. Maybe I should've insisted on taking him for help. All the same feelings and questions I had when Roger Garrison died in his tent came back. Did I do enough? What should I have done differently? 


The bottom line is, I couldn't do it for him. I can't do it for anyone. The sad truth is there will be many more who die in a tent like Roger or a crack house like Alfred. The tragedies of their deaths will send shockwaves throughout the homeless community, will cause many to take stock of their own lives, and will then be forgotten in a manner of days.


It is spiritual warfare and too many Christians are content to watch the war from their living room couches. The war is won; we know the outcome. But the souls in the battle today will end up on the wrong side of this war for eternity if we don't have more troops heading to the frontlines.


There are many more like Alfred just waiting.