06
Oct
2016
Dear Inner Circle,
Walking to the office this morning, a young bloke who had obviously slept on the footpath greeted me. I’ve known this fellow for a few months and I’ve never heard him complain about anything. If mental outlook was the only requirement for a satisfying life, this bloke would be Australian of the Year. “What have you got in front of you today, Rev?” he asked. “My diary is so full today it scares me,” I replied. “You can have the day off, Rev. I’m prepared to give that to you!” I love this bloke. We exchanged a hug but he looked mystified when I headed to the office anyway.
A woman walked into our front door yesterday to make a donation of $30. She told us that she’d been filling her car with petrol just a short time before and when she went to pay, the card she always uses was rejected. She tried another card but it was mysteriously rejected too. She began to get quite flustered because she had no cash and other customers were waiting to pay for their purchases and get on with their days. Not addressing anyone in particular, the woman explained that she was embarrassed but had no way of paying her bill. The fellow behind her in the line quickly established that the bill was for $30 and paid it himself. The woman thanked her rescuer and he dismissed his generous act by saying, “What goes around, comes around.” The woman went home and immediately found $30 and gave it to us so that we could pass on this blessing to someone who needed it more than she did. What a lovely moment!
Keep reading here.
Walking to the office this morning, a young bloke who had obviously slept on the footpath greeted me. I’ve known this fellow for a few months and I’ve never heard him complain about anything. If mental outlook was the only requirement for a satisfying life, this bloke would be Australian of the Year. “What have you got in front of you today, Rev?” he asked. “My diary is so full today it scares me,” I replied. “You can have the day off, Rev. I’m prepared to give that to you!” I love this bloke. We exchanged a hug but he looked mystified when I headed to the office anyway.
A woman walked into our front door yesterday to make a donation of $30. She told us that she’d been filling her car with petrol just a short time before and when she went to pay, the card she always uses was rejected. She tried another card but it was mysteriously rejected too. She began to get quite flustered because she had no cash and other customers were waiting to pay for their purchases and get on with their days. Not addressing anyone in particular, the woman explained that she was embarrassed but had no way of paying her bill. The fellow behind her in the line quickly established that the bill was for $30 and paid it himself. The woman thanked her rescuer and he dismissed his generous act by saying, “What goes around, comes around.” The woman went home and immediately found $30 and gave it to us so that we could pass on this blessing to someone who needed it more than she did. What a lovely moment!
Keep reading here.
29
Sep
2016
Dear Inner Circle,
Our hall filled with mostly young Aboriginal people this week. We’re supporting the formation of an Aboriginal women’s football team. Once a year the biggest gathering of Aboriginal people in the State happens at an annual rugby knockout competition. For the past couple of years, a private sponsor has funded a Wayside Aboriginal men’s team for the competition. Other donors have stepped forward to sponsor the men’s team again this year, but our Aboriginal Project Manager, Mon, is passionate about forming a women’s team. To see our hall filled with young Aboriginal women, excited to play football and proud to be playing as a community, was enough to melt anyone’s heart. It looks like I’ll be on the sidelines this weekend, understanding nothing about the game but cheering for this fabulous act of community making.
Thirty years ago a woman and nine kids landed on my doorstep. They had all been living in a small caravan with an annex. The Mum was the roughest of diamonds. Hygiene in such circumstances was difficult and although everyone appeared to be fed and clothed, the diet was determined entirely by price and no one’s clothing was either fashionable nor new. Yet, everyone got fed and everyone got loved. I don’t doubt for a second that if Government authorities had become involved, the children would have been separated from their mother. We found housing for the family in due course. It wasn’t ideal and soon to all these kids was added a bunch of animals. There were so many issues that were less than ideal but I recognised goodness and love. As the clan grew I baptised children, and performed weddings. Yesterday, twenty-five years on, there was a reunion here at Wayside. A daughter that I married now has nine children of her own and five grandchildren. Not unlike her Mum, this woman is amazing. Twenty-five years later, the marriage is strong and there is an earthy wisdom that comes from pure struggle. The husband and wife...[read more]
Our hall filled with mostly young Aboriginal people this week. We’re supporting the formation of an Aboriginal women’s football team. Once a year the biggest gathering of Aboriginal people in the State happens at an annual rugby knockout competition. For the past couple of years, a private sponsor has funded a Wayside Aboriginal men’s team for the competition. Other donors have stepped forward to sponsor the men’s team again this year, but our Aboriginal Project Manager, Mon, is passionate about forming a women’s team. To see our hall filled with young Aboriginal women, excited to play football and proud to be playing as a community, was enough to melt anyone’s heart. It looks like I’ll be on the sidelines this weekend, understanding nothing about the game but cheering for this fabulous act of community making.
Thirty years ago a woman and nine kids landed on my doorstep. They had all been living in a small caravan with an annex. The Mum was the roughest of diamonds. Hygiene in such circumstances was difficult and although everyone appeared to be fed and clothed, the diet was determined entirely by price and no one’s clothing was either fashionable nor new. Yet, everyone got fed and everyone got loved. I don’t doubt for a second that if Government authorities had become involved, the children would have been separated from their mother. We found housing for the family in due course. It wasn’t ideal and soon to all these kids was added a bunch of animals. There were so many issues that were less than ideal but I recognised goodness and love. As the clan grew I baptised children, and performed weddings. Yesterday, twenty-five years on, there was a reunion here at Wayside. A daughter that I married now has nine children of her own and five grandchildren. Not unlike her Mum, this woman is amazing. Twenty-five years later, the marriage is strong and there is an earthy wisdom that comes from pure struggle. The husband and wife...[read more]
22
Sep
2016
Dear Inner Circle,
Sometimes these notes come from a heart that is overwhelmed by beauty. Sometimes the heights to which the human spirit can soar fill me with hope and in my own feeble way, I seek to create a note that points and bears witness to that which is hidden in plain view. To the extent that I have ever felt like I’ve succeeded, I probably blasphemed. Sometimes it feels like I’ve reluctantly received the gift of stigmata and blood pours through my hands, all over my keyboard and into my text. Sometimes, perhaps often, both events occur in the same note.
So I stood in silence this week with a woman, one of her hands in mine and the other on her son’s coffin. How she had fought for him. How she had believed in him when all others gave up. How she saw beauty and potential even when her son couldn’t see it in himself. It had all come to this moment. There were no words, just one hand in mine and one on the coffin. There were no words. Perhaps for this lady it was a moment of defeat but I suspect not. I suspect this was numb love. I held in my hand a beauty beyond imagination. Some things cannot be squashed even by death. I know something today that I didn’t know on the day when I had one hand on my son’s coffin and one arm around his daughter. Love is not diminished. Pain sharpens and dulls and sharpens again but love remains real and deep. I can’t begin to explain it really but the pain of love refines me and renews me. It’s a pain that has loosened the grip of many stupid things that once loomed large. It’s a pain that helps me see what truly matters. It’s a pain that helps me name things for what they really are. It’s a pain that causes me to talk back to the TV and empowers me to switch things off. The pain of love empowers me to yell, “empty” to many things that present themselves to us as full. The pain of love empowers me to whisper, “absence” to many things that appear to promise presence. Mostly, the pain of love...[read more]
Sometimes these notes come from a heart that is overwhelmed by beauty. Sometimes the heights to which the human spirit can soar fill me with hope and in my own feeble way, I seek to create a note that points and bears witness to that which is hidden in plain view. To the extent that I have ever felt like I’ve succeeded, I probably blasphemed. Sometimes it feels like I’ve reluctantly received the gift of stigmata and blood pours through my hands, all over my keyboard and into my text. Sometimes, perhaps often, both events occur in the same note.
So I stood in silence this week with a woman, one of her hands in mine and the other on her son’s coffin. How she had fought for him. How she had believed in him when all others gave up. How she saw beauty and potential even when her son couldn’t see it in himself. It had all come to this moment. There were no words, just one hand in mine and one on the coffin. There were no words. Perhaps for this lady it was a moment of defeat but I suspect not. I suspect this was numb love. I held in my hand a beauty beyond imagination. Some things cannot be squashed even by death. I know something today that I didn’t know on the day when I had one hand on my son’s coffin and one arm around his daughter. Love is not diminished. Pain sharpens and dulls and sharpens again but love remains real and deep. I can’t begin to explain it really but the pain of love refines me and renews me. It’s a pain that has loosened the grip of many stupid things that once loomed large. It’s a pain that helps me see what truly matters. It’s a pain that helps me name things for what they really are. It’s a pain that causes me to talk back to the TV and empowers me to switch things off. The pain of love empowers me to yell, “empty” to many things that present themselves to us as full. The pain of love empowers me to whisper, “absence” to many things that appear to promise presence. Mostly, the pain of love...[read more]
15
Sep
2016
Dear Inner Circle,
Being wrong has never been so sweet. Coca-Cola approached us to say that they were going to auction their iconic sign at the top of Kings Cross and donate the money to Wayside. I loved the gesture but couldn’t hide my scepticism about people paying money for a bit of an old sign. Getting into the spirit of the best intentions coming from the people at Coke, I started to tell people that we might benefit to the tune of $10,000 if all went well. When a text came one evening this week to tell me that they’d raised $100,700, I thought there had been a mistake. To say the least, we’re grateful to the good people at Coke and to all the people who paid money to buy a part of the old sign. When speaking publically, most people want to hear of our work, but with 90% of our funding coming from non-government sources, there is a story to be told about outrageous ideas, breathtaking generosity and faithful regular giving that keeps us doing what we do
What could be more powerful than a eulogy delivered from a mother’s torn heart. This week we buried a young man. We saw slides of a little boy in a healthy, happy family. He was well provided for and surrounded by plenty of loving family. Something went wrong that shattered this young boy who spent the rest of his short life seeking what comfort and anesthetic that drugs could provide. His Mum said, “No life is wasted and there was nothing wasteful about my boy. He was here, and we’re all better people because he was here.” Just minutes ago I finished another meeting with a family to arrange the funeral for their young bloke. The endless stream of funerals that are a feature of life at Wayside do make our way heavy at times, but that is not to say, depressing. There are few honours like the trust given to us to stand with family and friends when the storm of grief is raging. Helping people give expression to the inexpressible means we are often part of a family’s defining, epoch-making...[read more]
Being wrong has never been so sweet. Coca-Cola approached us to say that they were going to auction their iconic sign at the top of Kings Cross and donate the money to Wayside. I loved the gesture but couldn’t hide my scepticism about people paying money for a bit of an old sign. Getting into the spirit of the best intentions coming from the people at Coke, I started to tell people that we might benefit to the tune of $10,000 if all went well. When a text came one evening this week to tell me that they’d raised $100,700, I thought there had been a mistake. To say the least, we’re grateful to the good people at Coke and to all the people who paid money to buy a part of the old sign. When speaking publically, most people want to hear of our work, but with 90% of our funding coming from non-government sources, there is a story to be told about outrageous ideas, breathtaking generosity and faithful regular giving that keeps us doing what we do
What could be more powerful than a eulogy delivered from a mother’s torn heart. This week we buried a young man. We saw slides of a little boy in a healthy, happy family. He was well provided for and surrounded by plenty of loving family. Something went wrong that shattered this young boy who spent the rest of his short life seeking what comfort and anesthetic that drugs could provide. His Mum said, “No life is wasted and there was nothing wasteful about my boy. He was here, and we’re all better people because he was here.” Just minutes ago I finished another meeting with a family to arrange the funeral for their young bloke. The endless stream of funerals that are a feature of life at Wayside do make our way heavy at times, but that is not to say, depressing. There are few honours like the trust given to us to stand with family and friends when the storm of grief is raging. Helping people give expression to the inexpressible means we are often part of a family’s defining, epoch-making...[read more]
08
Sep
2016
Dear Inner Circle,
Increasingly, I find myself talking in board rooms or before work-teams or to middle and senior managers about Wayside’s mission and how it lives in our work and organisation. I have a growing sense of disquiet, knowing that our mission doesn’t live in a formula nor a set of values. The danger for Wayside and especially for our senior leaders, is in believing that our mission lives in a set of words. Generally, we Waysiders like our words and our values. “To create community with no ‘us and them’” are words that point to the awesome. Paradoxically, I suspect the more we cherish the words, the faster we fossilize the mission itself. The more we believe we master our mission, the faster the mission itself evaporates through our fingers. Our mission cannot be preserved in formulas of any kind. It can only be proved true. It can only be “done”. We can only begin each day as beginners and begin each day as if it is our last opportunity to live our mission.
To “create community with no ‘us and them’” is not an act of reflection. Our mission is not made real when it is pondered nor preached about. It can only be done. Our choice is to be beginners, or idolators. Our mission only lives when it is in front and while we are on our way. Oddly, to be on our way requires of us endless unromantic acts. Front line workers take people for showers and do battle with the systems that exclude poor people. Front line workers confront people who constantly seek to break our rules or gain some advantage. Front line workers constantly hope for meeting. Maybe today someone will realise that there are people here with them and for them. Managers manage staff who can’t always see that order and rather uninteresting arrangements in an organisation are important if the organisation is to avoid digging its own grave. Sometimes people so believe that they are alone, that they come through our front doors insisting that they be treated as a...[read more]
Increasingly, I find myself talking in board rooms or before work-teams or to middle and senior managers about Wayside’s mission and how it lives in our work and organisation. I have a growing sense of disquiet, knowing that our mission doesn’t live in a formula nor a set of values. The danger for Wayside and especially for our senior leaders, is in believing that our mission lives in a set of words. Generally, we Waysiders like our words and our values. “To create community with no ‘us and them’” are words that point to the awesome. Paradoxically, I suspect the more we cherish the words, the faster we fossilize the mission itself. The more we believe we master our mission, the faster the mission itself evaporates through our fingers. Our mission cannot be preserved in formulas of any kind. It can only be proved true. It can only be “done”. We can only begin each day as beginners and begin each day as if it is our last opportunity to live our mission.
To “create community with no ‘us and them’” is not an act of reflection. Our mission is not made real when it is pondered nor preached about. It can only be done. Our choice is to be beginners, or idolators. Our mission only lives when it is in front and while we are on our way. Oddly, to be on our way requires of us endless unromantic acts. Front line workers take people for showers and do battle with the systems that exclude poor people. Front line workers confront people who constantly seek to break our rules or gain some advantage. Front line workers constantly hope for meeting. Maybe today someone will realise that there are people here with them and for them. Managers manage staff who can’t always see that order and rather uninteresting arrangements in an organisation are important if the organisation is to avoid digging its own grave. Sometimes people so believe that they are alone, that they come through our front doors insisting that they be treated as a...[read more]
01
Sep
2016
Dear Inner Circle,
From about fifty feet away, a booming voice yelled, “Is the complaints department open yet?” “No” I responded, unable to match the volume coming at me. “I never take complaints before the first cup of coffee”. The voice could register on the Richter scale and I wasn’t sure it was friendly until I was right beside a bloke that looked like he’d lived rough for a long time. Although the face was uncared for, a smile communicated wonderful warmth. I sat beside him and it became clear that he was just happy to talk to me for a while. When I got up to walk away, he said, “I’ll save my complaints for another day”.
How disappointing love can be. I remember when my son was little, after a rough day I’d rushed home without a chance of buying him one of the little surprises that I’d normally have with me. He searched my pockets and could hardly believe that he found nothing. I tried to calm him by saying, “Dad doesn’t have any lollies or surprises today, I only have love.” He threw the biggest tantrum imaginable. Countless times since then I’ve brought discontent when all I had to offer was love not lollies; presence not presents. It’s especially hard when someone asks me to fix something that I’d desperately love to fix. Then I’m a disappointment to myself. When my son died, I was helping his widow get the kids through the bath one evening and our four-year old looked at me with a hopeful face that I will never forget. “Can you bring my Daddy back?” she asked. I was shot in the heart and stayed that way for days because there is nothing in this world I wanted to do more than bring her Daddy back. It took me ages to realise that I could do no more for this precious girl than I could do for anyone else. I could only be with her. I was living in the shock. I was living in the disconnect of the unthinkable. I was living in the powerlessness and the broken heartedness of love. How I wish I was superman, faster...[read more]
From about fifty feet away, a booming voice yelled, “Is the complaints department open yet?” “No” I responded, unable to match the volume coming at me. “I never take complaints before the first cup of coffee”. The voice could register on the Richter scale and I wasn’t sure it was friendly until I was right beside a bloke that looked like he’d lived rough for a long time. Although the face was uncared for, a smile communicated wonderful warmth. I sat beside him and it became clear that he was just happy to talk to me for a while. When I got up to walk away, he said, “I’ll save my complaints for another day”.
How disappointing love can be. I remember when my son was little, after a rough day I’d rushed home without a chance of buying him one of the little surprises that I’d normally have with me. He searched my pockets and could hardly believe that he found nothing. I tried to calm him by saying, “Dad doesn’t have any lollies or surprises today, I only have love.” He threw the biggest tantrum imaginable. Countless times since then I’ve brought discontent when all I had to offer was love not lollies; presence not presents. It’s especially hard when someone asks me to fix something that I’d desperately love to fix. Then I’m a disappointment to myself. When my son died, I was helping his widow get the kids through the bath one evening and our four-year old looked at me with a hopeful face that I will never forget. “Can you bring my Daddy back?” she asked. I was shot in the heart and stayed that way for days because there is nothing in this world I wanted to do more than bring her Daddy back. It took me ages to realise that I could do no more for this precious girl than I could do for anyone else. I could only be with her. I was living in the shock. I was living in the disconnect of the unthinkable. I was living in the powerlessness and the broken heartedness of love. How I wish I was superman, faster...[read more]
25
Aug
2016
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]
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]
18
Aug
2016
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.
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.
11
Aug
2016
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.
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.
04
Aug
2016
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]
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]
Archives
June 2018 May 2018 April 2018 March 2018 February 2018 January 2018 December 2017 November 2017 October 2017 September 2017 August 2017 July 2017 June 2017 May 2017 April 2017 March 2017 February 2017 January 2017 December 2016 November 2016 October 2016 September 2016 August 2016 July 2016 June 2016 May 2016 April 2016 March 2016 February 2016 January 2016 December 2015 November 2015 October 2015 September 2015 August 2015 July 2015 June 2015 May 2015 April 2015 March 2015 February 2015 January 2015 December 2014 November 2014 October 2014
Graham's Twitter