Dear Inner Circle,

Walking into our building the other day I heard sobbing. It was the kind of sobbing that comes from the boots, through the heart and out through the throat. It couldn’t be ignored. I looked around to find a young fellow, I’m guessing perhaps 30 years of age, doubled over and between sobs, saying that he can’t find a way off the street and that he is at the end. I saw that he was talking with Kate, an angel visiting from heaven and a staff member who makes all of us look good. The young bloke couldn’t have been in better hands. I got on with my day but happened to be downstairs again in the mid-afternoon. I could hardly believe it when I heard the same voice, sobbing once again. This time the young bloke was talking to John who was also in tears. They both turned to me and quickly explained that this time I was hearing sobs of joy. The young bloke had just been offered a one-bedroom flat by the public housing authority. In just a few minutes the young man displayed the key to his new place as if I was having trouble believing the story. In just a few minutes it became clear that the difference between this being a story of success or being yet another story of suicide on the streets, is the achievement of our Community Services team and particularly, John.

Guard against the constant drip of the media that would cheat you out of your humanity. Sometimes I’ve been involved with something that has included a politician and I’ve been astonished by the venom that is poured out upon them by social media. Once Tanya Plibersek made a wonderful gift to me by speaking at an event for which she had to sacrifice her time with next to nothing to gain for herself. After the event, social media was deluged with comments assuming the worst and lowest of motives. It was wrong and a judgement not against Tanya but against our culture that is losing the possibility of seeing anything positive. This week the Prime Minister spoke with a homeless guy...[read more]

Dear Inner Circle,

Minutes ago on the footpath, a young bloke, perhaps in his thirties, put his arms around me and just didn’t let go. I knew the bloke by sight but didn’t know his name. He’s normally friendly but not affectionate. “What’s up?” I asked. “They’ve revoked my bail and I’m waiting at Wayside for the cops to find me and put me back in jail.” He wasn’t blaming anyone and he wasn’t cranky. He was sad. He got caught carrying a small amount of an illegal drug. He was rather fatalistic about spending another year behind bars, but the sadness was for yet more time wasted and his best plans amounting to nothing. The embrace continued and I was beginning to become uncomfortable until it occurred to me that this was my son. Suddenly I embraced him more tightly and lost all interest in the background story. I just quietly repeated, “You’re ok, and you’re a good man”. When the embrace broke, he said, “I’ll have a roof over my head and regular food for a while though, eh?”

Last night a generous bloke took me out to dinner. It was one of those places where any consideration of the prices on the menu seemed inappropriate. My eyes popped when I saw the wine that was ordered. Generally, I can’t tell the difference between a Grange and something that has been filtered through kitty litter, but this was a magnificent drop. By the end of the dinner we were cracking jokes that wouldn’t be funny to anyone else. My friend spent a lot of money on this evening; bucket loads compared to the guy who was going to jail. There is something odd about our policy on drugs that will encourage two old blokes to enjoy one substance but send another bloke to prison for choosing a moderate amount of the wrong substance.

Keep reading here.

Dear Inner Circle,

At our Sunday service in Bondi this week, for an hour I nursed a little boy who was just seven days old. I’m in love! What an honour! At one point he squirmed a bit and I naturally assumed his Mum would take him back. Instead she produced a little bottle of expressed breast milk and I fed this little man. Mum was pretty laid back for a first-time mum and I was blown away to be absorbed in the mystery and wonder of life. That which is most precious is also most fragile.

A woman sat in front of me this week and asked if I knew a counsellor that would help her sort through some of the issues she’s carried since childhood. This woman is tough enough to make the Bandidos behave at a strip club and yet there has always been something fragile about her. She’s raised a crop of kids who are bright and independent, and she should be proud that she fought hard to educate herself and stay in work. Yet mostly when we talk, she tells me what is wrong with the world and 95% of the time she tells me that people should, “toughen up” and make the most of what they have. But I know that her desperate tears have been heard by no-one. I know that she left home in her early teens, not because she was in love but to escape a pathetic human being that didn’t deserve the title of ‘Dad’. I know that all of her failed relationships happened not because she failed to try with all of her might, but because she seemed destined to be drawn to men who would abuse her. I never thought this day would come, but she realised that all her messages of “toughen up” were really her message to the little girl within. This week, it looks like she’s found a bit of compassion for that little girl and wants to seek help in knowing how to befriend her. Those things that are most precious are also most fragile.

Keep reading here.

Dear Inner Circle,

Sometimes the impossible confronts my eyes, defying me to explain it or daring me to be arrogant enough to explain it away. It’s not easy to stand before the impossible, baffled and in awe. A man came into my office just now to offer me a slice of apple cake. Perhaps this doesn’t sound like a moment that could arrest the progress of time, but it was. The man was wearing a long apron and a white beret. This fellow is our baker. He’s learning his craft with the help of some of our fabulous staff and he’s thriving as he discovers himself doing well. I said, “I can’t begin to tell you how inspired I am to receive this cake.” “Well,” he said, “You say often on Sunday that, ‘God says you’re ok’ and no one has ever told me that I’m ok.” This fellow spent many years living on the street and perhaps in the order of twenty years fighting an addiction to heroin. We’ve shared the ups and downs of what is a daily struggle and broken our hearts as his story is revealed. It’s a story of an intelligent man who never had much but lost everyone and everything in life. Too humble to fight for a place in the world and too sensitive to blame his losses on others, he lived the life of a hermit, his only shelter and only comfort to be found in drugs. What I just saw was a man engaged; engaged with this community, engaged with life and moving on a path to health. Awesome, bewildering, impossible but real.

Here is an offer you’ll get from nowhere but Wayside! A lovely bloke involved in our program for people living with long-term mental health issues, is putting on his own exhibition. Pee Wee is a treasured part of this community and he’s always had a thing about pillows. He makes them and carries a collection wherever he may be. We are holding a “Pillow Exhibition” at Wayside Monday 8 August from 5pm to 7pm. There will be no pillows for sale and we won’t be asking anyone to part with any money for any reason. We want to...[read more]