As Deven and I stood in line, I asked him how he was handling the difficult transition from prison to life on his own. It has been nearly six months since he was released, and it has been quite a pleasure watching him grow and mature in little ways during the course of that time.

Deven shared his struggles and the conflicts that he had been facing as he has been growing to understand life outside of prison walls. After nearly an hour, we were finally admitted into the venue. We eagerly dipped inside in search of warmth as the first band began playing. We pushed our way through hundreds of people in the crowd, gradually edging our way towards the front of the stage as sound waves pulsed through the crowd. I caught glimpses of unrestrained excitement in Deven as I glanced between bobbing heads and two-stepping fans – it was easy to tell that he was already having a great time.

Over the course of the night, between adrenaline-filled sessions in the mosh pit and lofty views from the balcony, Deven and I grew a little closer as friends. I have come to truly enjoy the ministry that I am a part of, and though I may only “work” from nine to five during the week, I have discovered that positively impacting the youth that we work with involves more than simply showing up. It requires that we live our lives alongside the kids that we serve, and to create deeply meaningful relationships in which we can have a greater impact than we ever thought possible. I have come to know Deven and many others on a much deeper level by choosing to share life with them in whatever ways I can — whether it be inside the walls of Sox Place or on the streets. Whether it be playing video games, shooting a game of pool, skateboarding, or enjoying a concert, we can positively influence the lives of our kids as we live alongside them and enjoy life together.

-Benten

Sox Place is always thankful for those who give time, money, and needed items.  We couldn’t do it without them!

For all of us, it is often easy in life not to take risks.  Easier to stand by and watch than to put our necks on the line in an attempt to change a certain situation.  Or maybe some of us are great “dreamers” but we have a hard time, when it comes time, to step up and follow through with our dreams because of fear.  No matter how great or miniscule, we deal with risk, everyday all of the time.  There are statistics that can be looked at to evaluate the amount of risk involved in any given situation to either encourage people or deter people from doing things.

Sox Place is an environment all about taking risks.  The only reason Sox Place even exists today is because of some very monumental risk taking.  If Doyle had not taken a HUGE risk, over a decade ago now, and moved his family and entire life to Denver, Sox Place would not be here.  If the people who continuously donate their time, money, and prayer, Sox Place would not survive the way it does today.  If our staff members did not step out and decide that they would rather work with the kids at Sox Place, doing this ministry, rather than any number of career choices, Sox Place would not be what it is today.

People will often tell you that working with the type of kids that come to Sox Place is a risk that is just not worth taking.  People will say that the risk is so much greater than the reward.  However, isn’t this what is so amazing about Jesus and his ministry?  Whether it is the story of the woman at the well or Jesus choosing to use fishermen as the men who will forever change history through his ministry, he leads a great example of what it means for us to be risk takers.

Lately, this is an issue that God has been laying on my heart in a huge way.  One thing we always say at Sox Place is “We need to give them the best we’ve got.”  We may not always have the best food for the kids or the sweetest new clothes but we always give them the best we have.  It is so important for our ministry that this is also the case in all of our interactions with our kids, because they are worth the risk.  God doesn’t call us to be complacent or to just try to meet the needs of the kids that walk through our door.  God calls us to daily take risks and put our necks on the line for the people we serve.

As Jesus showed us how to be risk takers through his ministry, so can we show our kids how to be risk takers through ours.

- Sam

Last night I drove across town to bring supplies to several of our kids including the wife and best friend of Chuck, the guy who died. They had managed to find an apartment to stay in for a couple of days. One of them that I am particularly close with called me yesterday and asked if I could bring him clothes, some groceries, dog food, and other stuff so they could stay in the apartment. I understood and was happy to do so, knowing that this will give him and the others time away from the drama of the streets and more time to grieve.  As I drove home, I thought about how difficult it must be to deal with these hard times in life, like death of a loved one, when you don’t even know where your next meal is coming from or how your going to stay warm so you can sleep out in a snow storm.

As I began to pray for them, I started to think about all the kids I have seen die over the last nine years I have been involved at Sox Place. So many good people have lost their lives to these streets. I pray that Sox Place can remain a cornerstone in these kids’ lives, that we can be here not only to provide a meal, clothes and other physical needs, but to also be a friend that can talk with them and influence them in a positive way. To show them there is more out there than hardship, that they can have peace and grace and love. Let us be examples of that.
- Jordan

As I stood on the tile beside the door, getting my mind ready for the blast of cold and snow that I was about to encounter, I looked down at my boots.  My ugly boots.  My old, dirty, ugly boots.  I’d had them since high school – about ten years now.  Ten years is a long time to have a pair of shoes when you’re only 26 and female.  They were a sort-of faded black – I couldn’t remember if they had always been that color or if they had faded over time – with dirt on the top of one of them that I couldn’t seem to get off.  They were size almost-too-big.  Clunky was a good description for them; I sounded like a 300 pound drunk man when I walked across the floor.  And they were plain.  Completely plain, except for the drawstring around the top to keep the snow from getting inside.  They were my old, dirty, ugly boots.

Trekking across the yet-to-be-plowed parking lot toward my bus stop, through snow drifts up to my ankles, I was almost thankful for those ugly boots.  But just almost.  When I sat down on the bus, my feet were dry and warm, which is important to a cold-natured person such as myself.  But they were still my ugly boots.  I couldn’t help but frown down at them, no matter how subconsciously thankful I was for unfrozen toes.

With my feet under my desk at work, I didn’t have to think about my unsightly boots too much.  I went to work, getting done what I had planned to finish that day in no time.  This made it so I could help out in the drop-in center for most of the day, hanging out with the street youth that come into Sox Place.  Between getting warm socks for the kids and cleaning up coffee spills – cold, numb hands don’t attach well to warm cups of coffee – it was easy to ignore the sound of big-foot coming from my own boots.

Not long after we opened, a girl came in almost unnoticed among the extra-large crowd that Sox Place attracts on snowy days.  But she stood out a little more than the others – at least to me.  The coat she had on looked warm enough, but it was obviously too small.  Small tufts of blonde hair poked out of her too-tight hood just enough to see that neither a comb nor shampoo had touched it in weeks.  Her nose was running and her face was red.  Her lips looked as if she were to try to smile, they would start bleeding in about ten places.  She had her sleeping bag draped over most of her body so as to keep the flying snow away as she walked.  The legs of her jeans were wet half-way up to her knees from being dragged through slush.  And her non-waterproof boots looked as if someone had soaked them in a bathtub of ice water overnight before giving them to her to wear.

She came up to me and asked, barely audible, “Can I go downstairs to get shoes and some dry clothes?”

“Absolutely,” I responded, as I led her to the donation room.  I pointed to the piles of shoes and coats while she removed the load from her back.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice a little stronger.  “I got here as fast as I could.  My feet are so cold.  I tried to run, but I couldn’t feel my feet.  I almost fell.”  She looked down at her sloshy boots and took a step.  “Oh!  They hurt so bad!”  She walked closer to the shoes.  “Oh, they hurt!”

I didn’t know what to tell her.  Frostbite was the first thing that came to my mind, but I didn’t want to tell her that.  Surly she didn’t have frostbite.  “Maybe you should take off your wet socks and shoes, and I’ll go get you some dry socks.”

She began to take off her shoes, and I went upstairs to grab some thick socks.  When I came back, she had picked out some boots in her size (good thing she had small feet – they were the last pair of boots we had) and was headed toward the pile of coats, cursing her feet as she went.

I handed her the socks, and she sat down with a curse, “They hurt so bad!  Why would they hurt so much?”

I looked at her bare feet as she rubbed them between her hands before putting on the socks.  They were wrinkled, as if she had been in the shower too long.  And red.  So red it looked like she was overheated, but I knew it was just the opposite.  “I don’t know,” I answered.  “Maybe it’s like after you’ve been playing in the snow, then you come inside and wash your hands in warm water, and it hurts a lot because your fingers got so cold.”

She didn’t respond to my answer.  I’m not sure if she thought it was as dumb as I thought it had sounded or if she was thinking about it.  Either way, she finished her business and put on her new-found, fitting coat and warm, waterproof boots.

As I watched her toss her old, soaked boots to the side, I couldn’t help but look down at my own feet.  Maybe it was the lighting in that basement or the fact that I was standing on a crumbling concrete floor, but for some reason, my boots didn’t look quite so ugly anymore.

By Kara Knight

Thanks to some of our generous supporters who donated $30 to give some of our kids new skateboards!

Want a Sox Place Skateboard?  Want to donate one?  Go to Sox Place Store.

We, as a society, condemn the fatherless around us, saying they should be men, but who was there to teach them? I do not believe that a boy can grow up to be a man by himself. A man must teach a boy to be a man! Boys learn from their environment, their peers, and adults in their lives such as coaches, teachers, pastors, etc.

Deseret News (Salt Lake City) reports that “one-third of American children in America are growing up without their biological father, according to the U.S. Census Bureau.” Let me say thank you to step fathers, coaches, teachers, pastors, and male family members for stepping in when Dad is absent! There are many men today that are healthy and stable because of these men that filled the gap. But we cannot ignore the facts of fatherlessness in America:

• According to www.fathersunite.org children from fatherless homes are:
  • 63% of youth suicides are from fatherless homes. (Source: U.S. D.H.H.S., Bureau of the Census).
  • 90% of all homeless and runaway children are from fatherless homes.
  • 85% of all children that exhibit behavioral disorders come from fatherless homes. (Source: Center for Disease Control).
  • 80% of rapist motivated by displaced anger come from fatherless homes. (Source: Criminal Justice and Behavior, Vol. 14, pp. 403-26).
  • 71% of all high school dropouts come from fatherless homes. (Source: National Principals Assoc. Report on the State of High Schools).
  • 85% of all youths sitting in prisons grew up in a fatherless home. (Source: Fulton County Georgia jail populations, Texas Dept. Of Corrections, 1992).
  • These statistics translate to mean that children from fatherless homes are:
    • 5 times more likely to commit suicide
    • 32 times more likely to run away
    • 20 times more likely to have behavioral disorders
    • 14 times more likely to commit rape
    • 9 times more likely to drop out of high school
    • 20 times more likely to end up in prison

I remember a time when a young man, about 18-20 years old, became disrespectful and aggressive towards me. I had told him, in a calm manner, that he was breaking the rules. He became angry, calling me an old man and told me that we could go outside to the alley to handle it! For some reason it made me laugh, which just made matters worse! He finally left, talking at me the whole time.

Within a short amount of time, I began to ask myself about who this young man’s father was or if a father was even around. Where did he learn this way of responding to male authority? The young man came back to Sox Place a couple of weeks later, and I was able to apologize to him for my response toward him, for I became angry because of the way he came at me. I told him that he broke the rules, but I was wrong in the way that I responded to him, and that I should not have laughed. He was very apologetic, saying it was he that owed me an apology! We shook hands, and I won a friend.

So next time you look at a young man who looks or acts as if he doesn’t know how to be a real man, consider his upbringing or the “role models” he grew up with.  Don’t have a judgmental attitude; think about where his father is. Maybe he had to learn about being a man from a gang or a drug dealer or one their peers who didn’t know how to be real man himself. More than once a street kid has come to me with tears, asking me to teach him how to be a man. They said they were jealous of my sons and wanted me to give them the same that I had given them.

The vast majority of street kids who have come through Sox Place and my life are good kids, just some really bad things have happened to them. So I will continue to “bring the Father’s heart (love) to the fatherless!”

-Doyle