Stand In The Place Where You Are.

People often ask me why I do the work I do for the community that I live in. They ask why I care. They ask why I would live with just what I need to survive, when I make enough money to live comfortably. They ask me why I reach my hand out to anyone, when not everyone deserves it. It's simple. At the lowest point in my life, someone cared.

My life has never been spectacular, nor has it been horrible. For clarification purposes, I mean the choices I made, not life situations that were beyond my control. My formative years were spent in a normal, all-American household. I lived with my parents, a younger brother and a younger sister. We moved often during my formative years, often without notice to the children in the house or a reason for upending our lives. My mother was a church-going woman and my father was by her side on Sundays to keep the peace in the family. As a child, I was forced to go to church any time the doors were open. I was forced to participate in programs and events within the church with people who smiled in my face, professed to love me and then laughed at the clothes I wore or the way my hair was done. My parents meant well, and intended to teach me their religious beliefs, but instead it taught me to never trust a person that claims to be "Christian." I learned that if those people were love, I didn't want any part of it. I was quite confident that I knew what REAL love was, and that I didn't have it. I truly doubted I would ever have it, but something happened that changed my life forever.

I was homeless, broken, addicted and filled with rage that spilled over onto everyone and everything I got near. I was at the end of my rope, had it firmly knotted and was ready to put it around my neck the first time I met Tom Wenig and Ken Karsten, pastors of Lutheran Church of Our Redeemer in Evansville, Indiana. My boys were young and exhibited the behavior of an addicted mother. They were all over the place and interested in running their little legs off any chance they got, the result of being cooped up in the car most of the time. I needed a hotel room to keep my boys safe and there was zero chance of getting help from my family at that time. I called the church and spoke to Ken, who invited me into the church for a conversation. I reluctantly went, bringing with me my boys, my mistrust of anyone calling themselves "Christian", anger that I didn't even try to hide and doubt that I would get any kind of help anyway. I was positive it was going to be a wasted trip, that they would preach to me and then push me out the doors with "thoughts and prayers", fake smiles and judgement in their hearts.

I walked into the church on Lincoln Avenue and was greeted by the receptionist, Nicole Martin. I was met with a great big smile and no judgement, which made me even more skeptical and angry about the entire situation. Just a few short minutes later, a tall, grey-hair, bespectacled gentleman came around the desk and with a wave, asked me to follow him. We were taken into a gym so that the boys could run and we could talk. While we talked, food was made for the boys without me having asked, and Ken Karsten, lay minister, introduced himself. We talked for about forty-five minutes the first time before Ken excused himself so that he could confer with Tom Wenig, the pastor of Lutheran Church of Our Redeemer. Tom joined us in the gym, speaking with me briefly before he and Ken decided they would, indeed, help me with my needs. Ken followed my car to the hotel, with instruction to stop at a grocery store on the way there. He bought groceries for my family and then paid for a few nights in a hotel. It was a truly weird experience for me, and I quickly started to panic over what those two men were going to ask of me in return. I was from the street where you learn very quickly that nothing comes free.

It wasn't long before I became to depend on the advice, conversation and financial help that Tom and Ken provided. It also wasn't long before I found out that the two of them DID want something from me. I didn't expect the price they were demanding because even their price didn't benefit them in any way.

I was drunk the day I met the third man that would play a major role in changing my life and becoming who I am today. I needed a hotel room again. I was out of money, out of family, out of friends, out of options and full of alcohol. My clothes and my hair were dirty. I reeked of alcohol; I'm sure of it, though I don't remember our first meeting. Yeah, I was THAT drunk. I woke the next morning in a hotel room with food in the refrigerator, and a quick call to the office let me know my room had been paid for a week and that the gentleman that paid the bill went by the name Vince Bernardin. Apparently, I met Vince the day prior at Christ the King Catholic Church on Chandler Avenue in Evansville, Indiana, where he was a deacon. I'm not sure what we talked about, but the next time Vince and I talked, he was just as helpful with my needs as the first time, only that time we talked about me and why I was in the situation I found myself in and what he could do to help. I remembered nothing from our first meeting, but I found myself with little doubt that he was going to eventually want something in return. I wasn't wrong. His price was the same as Ken and Tom's. The price? Accountability that led to growth.

My life choices had put me in a situation where I had lost everything and everyone that was important to me. I was angry with the world and lashed out with both verbal and physical assaults on anyone unlucky enough to be around me at the time. I took "resting bitch face" to a whole new level, and I made anyone around me uncomfortable because they could feel the rage oozing from every pore in my body. I'm not sure how any one of the three men made it through those first few months without just throwing their hands up in defeat and calling the police. They were always attempting to help, and I was always attempting to make them hate me. I was like a child testing the boundaries of our relationship at every turn. My own insecurities constantly challenging their claims of love and acceptance with absolutely no judgement in their hearts. I could see it in each of the men. Judgement wasn't happening at all. I wasn't getting the fake smiles and the "thoughts and prayers" that I was used to. I was getting answers about life and about a higher power, and I was doing it on my terms. My mouth was horrible back then, and though I'm sure they wanted to, they never cringed or got angry when I let an "f-bomb" drop in casual conversation. The first time that happened in conversation, it was only upon reflection that I realized the conversation continued without missing a beat. I was talking to these men like they were my friends.

I was getting comfortable with them. I started to believe that they weren't sitting in judgement every time they spoke to me. I couldn't let that happen. No way was I going to get close to anyone. Getting close to someone always ended in disaster, so I decided that I would just start telling them the truth about my life. "Tom, I'm an alcoholic. Ken, I smoke and drink and pop pills when I can. Vince, I'm super violent and I enjoy hurting people to make myself feel better." Their reactions were all the same. They all thought that I must really be hurting inside to want to do things to harm myself and the people that were unfortunate enough to come into contact with me, but they didn't say "let me tell you what you need to do", they didn't offer to help "fix" me, they just loved me and waited patiently for me to seek the help I so desperately needed.

The day everything in my life changed was the day I walked into Lutheran Church of Our Redeemer with a ton on my mind, the will to change, not a single clue how to do it and an appointment with Tom. I was in his office for all of three minutes when life showed up and dropped on me like a ton of bricks. All the anger was just hiding the pain of the choices I had made for my life. In that moment, the anger broke and I started to cry. I was crying for the first time in years because before that moment I thought if I started to cry, I may never stop. I look back fondly (and with a giggle) at the memory of Tom's total panic the moment I began to cry. He called for backup immediately, and Ken was just as panicked as Tom, but we managed to get through it. It was in that moment that I knew I had to trust someone at some point. I had to at least try. It was the only way I was going to learn how to get myself out of the mess I was in.

Vince began to get more involved in my life at this same time, or should I say I involved Vince in my life more at that same time. Anytime I called, he answered. It didn't matter what I was calling for, how busy he was, or the hour of the day, he always answered or called back immediately. That was so unlike the relationship with my "friends" at the time, who made it a regular practice of dodging me unless they needed something. I started to find myself wanting to do things so that if Vince ever found out about it, he wouldn't be disappointed in me. I know it sounds crazy, but Vince was teaching me how to grow up. He was showing me how to be an adult, and most importantly, he was showing me what it meant to be loved unconditionally.

Don't get me wrong, I tried the patience of those three men too many times to count. I got angry. They stuck around. I cried. They stuck around. I resisted. They stuck around. When the reality of my situation came into focus, and I realized the life I was living wasn't at all who I really am. I wanted to change, and they were there to help me. When I got stuck in my setback, they took a united front and all of the help I was used to suddenly went away. The three of them were steadfast in the decision to not do a thing to help me until I learned to help myself. It didn't take long to learn.

It was a very long process, and I had to leave Evansville and the comfort of Tom, Ken and Vince to truly heal. I traveled across the country, I spent a ton of time alone, and I really looked at my life. I decided that I owed to the world what was given to me. I've often wondered what my life would have been like had I never found those three men. I've wondered how much longer it would have taken to find someone that was genuinely nice to me and believed I was worth more than I was putting into life. Would my life had taken a completely different course?

Once upon a time, some men met me right where I was in life. They didn't care where I had been, only where I was going. They didn't judge. They didn't preach. They didn't try to fix me. They were ready to listen when I sat in judgement upon myself and had to deal with my failures. When I asked for spiritual advice, they answered. When I slipped in front of them and let a curse word fly from my lips, I didn't get lectures about how I was going to hell and I better change right this second. They were kind. They were loving. They were patient. They were firm in their tough love. All of that has amounted to me owing a life to those three men.

I strive with every breath to live my life in a manner that will make those three men proud that they put their time and effort into a broken and homeless addict. They reached out a hand to me, meeting me right where I was in life, and the only demand on my life was growth. They walked beside me while I took the steps that I took to further my life, offering advice when I asked for it and always telling me the truth. I offer the same to the people in my community as my way of returning to Tom, Ken and Vince the kindness they showed me at a time when I hated myself so much that even death wasn't good enough for me. They made a difference, and I want to be the difference I sought for myself for other people.

It really is that simple.