An afternoon at King’s Care

When Julia told us what Tim heard from God before the meeting; that He was going to save someone in King's Care today, I made some crack about 'one a fortnight'. Sometimes you have to be careful what you joke about.

The afternoon didn't get off to a great start. We have four fantastic strong teams of volunteers, but satan must really hate what we're doing, because the amount of things which come up and stop people being able to come is incredible. I usually have to fight a sinking feeling in my stomach the whole morning before I'm going to be on. Today we were five folks down out of a team of eleven. Everyone who volunteers does something vital; so this was a problem. But because they'd let us know a good week before, we had time to find enough people to safely run.

Over lunch, we caught up on how service users had been getting on. I shared my conversation with Mr Banjo, who's pushing seventy, and lives in a shed in the middle of nowhere with no electricity, heating or running water. All winter, he's come to us three times a week from beyond King's Lynn because, he told me, he has nothing to eat between Alpha on Wednesday night and the drop in on Sunday afternoon. We've literally kept him from starvation this winter.

We heard about Mr Smiley from Poland, who made a commitment to Jesus actually during the session two weeks ago, after coming along to Alpha a couple of times and hearing Jesus' good news. Then Julia told us about Tim's prophetic word that morning.

I find that kind of promise difficult to hear. Of course I believe God could save anyone anytime he likes, but looking round at our little band, and remembering the folks we'd soon be feeding, I thought, 'it'll take a miracle. It's just not possible.' Then we prayed, and out of somewhere a voice said, 'I wonder who it's going to be?'

Suddenly it was two o clock, time to open up. We grabbed the meal tickets and the sign in sheets and went up to the door. I love going up there and discovering the crowd of beaten faces, crumbling clothes and starving eyes; I love going up there and discovering not a sinister mob, but a little group of people I know.

In they come, a handful a go. Time to say hello. Time to catch your breath - you are going to get your meal. For two hours, you don't have to worry about buying or selling, getting mugged or getting soaked in the rain. Mr Primark Jeans and Mr Somewhere Up North come in merry, and I wave them through, trying to say something to encourage them not to cause any trouble. I think they'll be okay. It's good to see them a bit cheerful, at least.

It's Mother's day, so inside Julia is chatting to people and seeing if they'd like to use the phone to call theirs. Sounds like most people already have! Mr Hamster has made cards for us to give any mothers who come; Mark gives Mrs Lennon Specs one and she cries. Mary and Jerome are helping people get showered, their clothes washed, and new clothes from the store (almost every Sunday I find another bag left for us. Amazing).

Tom's making a lady a cup of tea when she shows him a folder full of occult writing that's doing her head in.

"What should I do with it?"
"Get rid of it!"

She rips it up and throws it in the bin. Luke and Elliot serve food all afternoon, with a couple of moments to stop and chat to a Slovakian with a degree in electrical engineering and nowhere to sleep. Alan cleans up after all of us.

Mark and Jerome go into the office to pray with Mr Beanie who looks in a really bad way. He's in court Wednesday, maybe prison Thursday; and now his sister's died. I shuttle people in and out of the building, to the loo when the showers are full, and compliment Mr Moustache as he comes out of the shower... without a moustache. It doesn't take long for our talk to turn to conspiracy theories. This week it's the Big Issue. I start to say something about how it's so hard to know who to trust, even with churches- but I've said the wrong word;

"Don't try and make me believe your ideas again."

"I wasn't-"

But he's angry and he's walked off. Rubbish.

Mark and Jerome are still with Mr Beanie in the office. Someone wants socks and I can't get them for him. After a couple of begs, he gives up and goes. Rubbish rubbish.

Mr Moustache comes back. What can I say that won't make him think the world is his enemy?

"I'm sorry Tim."

What?

"I'm sorry I shouted at you. I know you were trying to help me."

This man is incredible. He's got repentance. And I'm out of line for always trying to work on other people's ideas.

Mark comes over. Finally, he's done in there. Doesn't he know we're short staffed and I'm running around keeping everything going when he's supposed to be leading?

"Mr Beanie's become a Christian."

'What?' again.

"Are you sure? Mr Beanie?"

I'm still cynical when Jerome comes beaming up the ramp.

"Has he heard about Mr Beanie?"

They tell me the story. Mr Beanie was too scared to tell anyone the step he'd taken, so Mark got him to tell the kitchen gang. I believe.

I congratulate him as he leaves. But Mark holds him in his arms; there in the doorway; for maybe five minutes. He's whispering prayers over Mr Beanie's shoulder. Both men's eyes are scrunched shut, breathing deep and slow.

We prayed today like I've never prayed after King's Care. There's so many people God is working in. So many people opening up, listening about Jesus, asking for prayer. I have no idea what's going to happen next for these new brothers – will Mr Beanie make it to church next Sunday? Will he make to Sunday at all? I haven't seen Mr Smiley since he went off to look at a flat he'd been offered.

I've got so little to offer all these people in their unthinkable lives. But I am encouraged. Because I saw the Father working today (the best thing). And I know the good work he's started he will finish (Philippians 1.6). And I know that when I go to sleep tonight worrying about something completely different, he'll be out there in the squat, in the messed up flat, in a sleeping bag; with them.