Summary: Tent City is gone, but the people who lived there are fairing better than expected. We finally have a covered trailer, and it’s made things ten times easier. How can people experiencing homelessness afford the cell phones and nice cars we see them with?

Read Time: Approximately 10 minutes.

Tent City, as I remembered it, has been destroyed. Different people had told me that the flood had wiped everything out, but I needed to see the extent of the damage for myself. We found a handful of people and distributed the provisioning that people had so generously donated.

It was the usual mixture of long-term residents and new people we had met for the first time. They were elated to hear that tarps and duct tape were available to help rebuild things. One accepted my invitation to help pull a loaded hand truck through the soft ground back to his home. The situation was a lot better than I had anticipated. There were newer tents upon large tarps, and the surroundings led me to believe that some might be working together. Considering that they just lost everything, I would say they’re as stable as can be.

As I write this, I realize how oblivious I am to what other groups do alongside us. I don’t recall how it happened, but someone contacted me and asked if they could care for the pets on our route. Of course, I didn’t have to think about it; that made sense, and I forgot about it. From time to time, I see people carting around pet food. From what they tell me, these people create records on these pets. It took a “moment” to notice the extraordinary amount of effort they were putting forth. And still, I didn’t think about it. My mind is elsewhere.

And I ran into one of them on my walk back from surveying the submerged camps. I’m a little distraught and irritable. This person provided an incredible amount of information that instantly reminded me that I may not know anything about the people who live there. This individual has put a lot more effort into developing relationships than I have. This was one of many humbling moments that day. I want to reach out to these pet-friendly people. But I don’t even know who they are in my lack of showing myself friendly. I’ll figure it out.

It’s ironic. What if we as a community cared for humans as fiercely as these people cared for pets?

While on that walk, I again noticed what I had the previous month about Tent City’s size. With the vegetation gone and the snow on the ground clearly marking the landscape, it’s not as large as I thought. I see now that back in November, when I was given a tour on foot, we were zigzagging around to find every person there, making it seem enormous. But the vegetation was thick, so I didn’t know any better. Of course, it’s also all underwater now. So, I guess it doesn’t matter.

Earlier that day, we were at the Cadillac Motel. It’s in the thirties, but the wind is still, and the sun is out. Our outreach got out to a sobering start with the absence of an overabundance of people wanting to help. About a third of our town, including a few regular volunteers, were sick. But we had such an abundance of provisioning. Volunteers previously sorted coats, gloves, hats, and scarves meticulously into labeled totes so those first people to arrive had the best to choose from. While we had a good selection of canned food, some of you sent a very generous portion of every kind of soup, vegetable, and protein you can think of at the last minute. Another group of people provided apples, oranges, and bread. We had every needed hygiene, even razors. And suitcases. People love the suitcases with wheels. It was a great turnout, and many people got what they needed.

While knocking on doors at the Cadillac Motel, I noticed a woman digging through the trunk of her car, which was full of haphazardly loaded-up belongings. That’s not unusual, so I go about my knocking. As I worked my way around to the door for the room in front of the parked car, I passed a man and said what I said to everybody: “There’s food and warm clothing across the street if you’re interested.” Without breaking stride, he says, “I’ll let everyone know,” and then gets into the back of the car. It’s then that I notice black plastic covering all of the windows. They’re staying in the car. It’s a newer hybrid, expensive brand. It made sense suddenly. If you have a friend renting a room, they might let you come in and use the facilities—a big plus.

If someone can afford a nice car like that, they ought to be able to find a place to stay, right? Well, they did, their car. Given their unfortunate circumstances, they’re making the best of what they’ve got. Life happens to everyone.

Here’s some big news. We have been waiting patiently for a covered trailer, which would greatly improve how we distribute goods and keep them dry in bad weather. An extremely generous man had one on his farm, which he no longer needed. He was storing straw inside it and offered it to us at no cost. He thought we’d sell it for scrap metal. God had different plans. We have been blessed with a volunteer who is a top-notch mechanic. He got his hands on it, and next thing you know, it’s loaded down with provisioning and began what I hope will be a long life of serving. The trailer, it’s not much to look at, but we don’t care. It’s solid. And without exaggerating, it makes things ten times easier. And on this Saturday, we needed all the help we could get.

I won’t point out how God has chosen to combine these things and people to do his will because my journaling has become too repetitive with examples.

I can recall several times that I would be physically standing amid poverty, stopping and visually scanning my surroundings and looking for any sign of the church, and seeing none except one. There’s a tiny little church in the middle of town. I don’t know, maybe seventy people. One word to describe them is modest. In the last year, they’ve accomplished more with the people we seek out than any other church I have seen. We’re talking boots on the ground. They go everywhere we go. Their pastor volunteers often and has accompanied me to the different camps.

I mention this not to draw attention to that specific church, as you’ll notice I haven’t mentioned a name. Instead, let’s compare their massive accomplishments, given their meager resources, with those of a large church. I can tell you from personal experience how comforting the routine of writing a check every week can make one feel better, especially when your pastor or guest speaker endorses a distance ministry in another city or country. Nobody needs to get their hands dirty, and I can check it off the list. What would it look like if those resources were used for the children of God who metaphorically live in their backyard? I know exactly what that would look like, biblical.

We were invited to a meeting of a handful of non-profit organizations. What became abundantly clear very quickly was the funding. If you’re willing to collect the correct information about community members in need, you can turn it into grants that can offset the expense of salaries and some extravagance, like recreational vehicles with a sensory wall and a Wi-Fi umbrella. I wish I had just made that up, but I didn’t.

I’d rather avoid the grant game. Maybe we’ll reach a point where grants are necessary. As it stands now, God has provided us with more than enough. And I like it that way. It’s clean and straightforward. It highlights our dependency on our God. Donating goods that we make available to those in need allows folks like you to be involved, and I think that might be a part of His plan.  Money or information doesn’t change hands. We’re just people loving on people.

About this recreational vehicle. My understanding is that its purpose is to collect and distribute information. Extravagant as it may be, let us look at it from the eyes of a person experiencing homelessness. Let’s say it’s a hundred degrees outside, and the heat is beating down. If you’re going to give me shade, a bottle of water, and wi-fi, then we’re good. And if this person makes an effort to act on some of the information this agency offers, which leads to employment or shelter, that’s even better. I don’t know what’s up with the sensory wall; frankly, I don’t care. If they’re out in the community doing something, then that’s a lot more than their counterparts.

People give those experiencing homelessness a hard time with their cell phones. I’ve said it myself in the past: “If they can afford that cell phone, they don’t need to be out here begging.” And that makes sense at first. Until you consider if I have a cell phone with no plan, then I can’t just make a call or get a text anytime I want. I’ll have to wait until I can connect to a public network and then cram in all my screen time quickly. Where you have the entire day to scroll, probably too much of it.

It reminds me of a time when I was sitting down at McDonald’s with a person who was experiencing homelessness. I had bought both a Big Mac meal and was confused about why their attention was focused on their phone while stuffing their mouth with food. “How rude”, I thought. “I just bought this hungry person a meal, and they have nothing to say?’ They were getting caught up with life, checking on friends, kids, and grandkids since they could enjoy free wi-fi. Makes sense.

We also visited Lincolnshire Apartments on Pennbrooke Ave. Someone had donated a few frozen whole turkeys and hams. Since these apartments have kitchens with ovens, it was a perfect fit. I met one man who approached me as we were wrapping up. He was so sincere in his thankfulness for one of the turkeys. He explained how falling upon hard financial times that month made it unclear how food would fit into the budget and that he intended to eat off that turkey for several days. He asked me if he could go back through the line and gather food for some of his neighbors with mobility issues. It’s humbling. Doing this is a privilege we don’t take lightly.

While knocking on doors, I had a few less-than-welcoming encounters. I believe one individual recognized me from before, as I didn’t have the opportunity to say why I was there before the door was slammed in my face. I stewed about it most of the afternoon, like a child. Then, that evening, I was reminded about the people that Jesus chose to hang out with, and I heard my voice in my head say, “You’re right where you’re supposed to be.” I can complain a lot and quickly lose sight of things.

Here’s a good example of my whining. It was just a rough day. Doing this outreach isn’t all heartfelt moments. I walked eight miles that day—one of our volunteers, older than I, went home and required some nerve stimulation on their shoulder. Several of us had been sick, still recovering from the flu or COVID. And that’s just what I know about. I see the exhaustion in our volunteers at the end of the day, and I ask myself, “Why on earth would these people put themselves through this?” And more often than that, “Why am I doing this?”

From what I gather, it is for those special moments. I was talking to a member of our team who recalled several encounters when we were out at the Cadillac Motel on January 27, 2024, which, according to him, is when he “got hooked.” Putting a coat on someone cold is at the top of my list. Watching someone so hungry that they eat uncooked ramen noodles right from the package is a close second. It is all so rewarding. And to realize that our God is behind it all and allowing a wreck like me to be involved in this eruption of love?  Yeah, I’ll put in the extra effort for that. And apparently, so do a handful of other folks. On the day I write this, just this week, six people have given a combined (conservative) twenty-four hours of their time unboxing, sorting, re-boxing, labeling, and organizing.  Wait, there’s more. Then, it gets loaded up, unloaded, reloaded, and transported three times in one day. It’s best if you think about it this way. If you want to have those encounters that twist your life, be ready to put in the work. You might have to “wait for it,” but I promise it will happen.

I feel guilty when these folks work nonstop in the background alongside me as I run my business as usual. Unfortunately, it’s a necessary part of the machine that makes outreach possible, and we all get that. There’s absolutely no way this outreach would be able to do what it does without these people sacrificing so much of themselves. A much more significant power than I orchestrates it all, we’re just people loving on people.

If I might give a disclaimer about big churches. I have, on occasion, seen other churches out in the community. I see your diaper ministry, blessing box, and food pantry. And that’s huge, thank you for that. Jesus only commands us about a million times to love others. I’m simply suggesting that you stretch out the steaks to your tent a little because it’s hard for people in need without transportation to make it to you. Many of these folks have faced rejection and are otherwise treated like waste. Although it might be outside our comfort zone, joining their world will be easier than asking them to come to ours. Please think that over.

All of the real names used here were with permission. Otherwise, the names have been changed. To protect the identity of those photographed, they have been blurred intentionally unless consent was given before publishing.

The Safer Kentucky Act, which went into effect on July 15, 2024, makes sleeping or camping in public areas illegal, including on sidewalks, roadsides, under bridges, or in parks, parking lots, garages, or doorways. The law creates a new offense called “unlawful camping” that can result in arrest and fines.  Assisting those individuals is considered to be aiding and abetting, which is a legal doctrine that refers to the act of helping or encouraging someone to commit a crime. The person who aids and abets is generally held to the same degree of criminal liability as the person who commits the crime.  We ask that you please not attempt to locate or visit Tent City.