Johnny Ray

When I got involved in homeless ministry 8 years ago, there was a very interesting phenomenon that took me a while to understand. It wasn’t too hard to strike up at least a baseline acquaintanceship with folks that were newly homeless.  Sometimes unfortunately that came from them seeing me as naïve and a possible way to get something they needed or wanted. Other times it was just because they hadn’t been immersed in baptism by the mean streets and born again to a living hopelessness. It was easier for me to relate to someone who had hit a rough patch than someone who’s life was one big rough patch. Relationships with what I lovingly refer to as the OG homeless people (Old Guard or Original Gangster) were a much harder and longer bridge to build, yet by God’s grace, just showing up consistently, and fumbling through awkward conversations, I was eventually, but skeptically, allowed a provisional membership into Midland’s most exclusive homeless inner circle.

The trouble with that inner circle is that its membership changes faster than your average social club. That’s because according to the National Institutes of Health, the average age of the chronically homeless is 50 and the average life expectancy is 56, about 17 years shorter than the general population. Being chronically homeless is like being a member of the worst gang ever; the only way out is in a body bag and there’s not even any money or flashy clothes.

I didn’t realize it then, but in 2012 I saw the membership of that group turnover to a new generation of 50ish year old folks who had spent years on the street. At that time, we lost at least one person a year to exposure. Thankfully local orgs have been extremely proactive to get cold weather gear out to those without shelter and we haven’t had anyone freeze to death since 2015. You wouldn’t think that would happen in Midland, Texas but the sad reality is that it can and does. On our first day volunteering, Briana and I were introduced to the OGs who basically just gave us a grunt and a side-eye, but it would take years of consistency for some of them to trust us enough to consider us friends. Our dear friend Lois called me “that other lawyer” (I’m not a lawyer) for several years until one snowy evening while she was chilling with the Which Wich staff at their Christmas party and she needed a new tent, I was promoted to Marco.

As I reflect on the last few years, I face the hard reality is that there are so few of those OGs left. Vickie was the first one to go, Johnny, Karen, Randy M., Little Bear, Lois, J., and sadly many more. This year alone we lost Yoda, Ricky, Jay, and just last week Johnny Ray. By God’s grace I can name a handful who have been lifted off the streets, three live in RVs with TFE and will be our first village neighbors.

One of them, K., welcomed me as a friend one cold winter night after 5 years of knowing her when me and some dudes decided to do a street retreat. I think it was because she thought we were crazy for sleeping out in the cold with her, but I think deeper than that she accepted me because it put her in a unique position to minister to me, and because we laughed all night at Dave Chappelle skits she was streaming from the jail wifi across the street on her busted phone. She hustled some dinner for us, invited us to stay at her spot, made us a pallet of blankets, and offered to stab anyone if they messed with us while we slept. You won’t find those as suggestions in any book about hospitality, but I have yet to experience a more genuine welcome anywhere.  

It was in that same general timeframe that I met Johnny Ray. I first wrote about him in this blog from 2017. It’s interesting to look back on because he had curated a life story to share with me that I can’t say was entirely truthful. I have no idea if he was actually a veteran or if he ever had $500K in the bank. If I had to guess I’d say probably not. He definitely forgot to mention that he held up the Andrews Highway Long John Silvers in ‘77 and went to prison for it. Most of the stories he did tell me were inconsistent at best; always charmingly self-deprecating; full of “you know what” but always delivered with a smile and a thick Texas accent.

One thing is for sure, the day we met, he was honestly contemplating the fact that he might freeze to death. He didn’t know me from Adam, and he was very suspicious when I talked to him. On any other day he probably would have told me to go jump in the river, but he was shivering violently which neutralized many of his acquired street defenses. I can’t be sure of his history, but I have to imagine that day was one of his lowest; sitting on a retaining wall, watching his breath steam out of his mouth in a t-shirt, and wondering if his broken heart would freeze before his body did that night. After repeatedly refusing to accept a coat and sleeping bag because he said he wasn’t worthy, he took them in his hand but wouldn’t put them on for another hour or so while he talked to me. He was so busy gabbing that he forgot he was freezing. That part always reminds me that relationships are more important than anything we can give. Also, that Johnny Ray was a stubborn old codger. Then before I left, he prayed for me and thanked the Lord for sending him someone to talk to (and didn’t mention the warm stuff).

After that, I had an in with him, and that began to grow as some volunteers and I just kept on going to see him to shoot the breeze over a burrito. There were several other times when he was in a desperately sad, sick, or cold situation and each time more than the stuff we were able to give him, he just wanted to hang out.

We sent him on a Greyhound up to Ohio once to reunite with family where he stayed for quite a few months. We took a selfie before he got on the bus because I didn’t figure I’d see him again. I wrote another post about him then. He’d call about every other day just to chat and see how my family was doing.

Then one day he just showed back up and had bought this creepy stupid looking camo spray-painted RV and set up camp behind the truck stop. He eventually lost that too. He told us of several terminal diagnoses, none of which we could verify, and he just kept on ticking. Then he went back to jail for a long while for failure to register, which was a very sad surprise to me, and when he got out the rest of his life was spent under a tree at “The Wall” drinking beer and telling tall tales.

Johnny Ray was one of the last OGs left and I’ll miss his humor, his openness about his alcohol struggles, and his late-night voicemails just to say hello. There are a few Originals still out there, but this year has felt like a heartbreaking closing of that old chapter and the beginning of a new one; almost nobody left from my early days. Also, my work on the village and the very different landscape of homeless ministry in Midland has made it harder in this season to invest deeply and forge new friendships with the newer folks. I know that won’t always be the case, but for now, I have an assignment that has me somewhat disconnected from the ones who drew my heart into this in the first place.

What gives me hope on these sad days when it seems like we just can’t do enough isn’t the exciting reality that we are about to break ground on a village of tiny homes to eventually lift 90 homeless folks off the streets into our family. (Look for a groundbreaking ceremony announcement soon!) My hope is not in the services or the job opportunities that we can provide through TFE to help someone have a better quality of life here on earth. Those things are great and necessary but even when the village is built, this work will still be hard and incomplete. There will always be people in desperately sad circumstances on the street and otherwise.  My hope is the fact that Jesus is making all things new and one day he will wipe away every tear from every eye. My hope is that some of those tears wiped away will be from the faces of friends I met on the street. More than anything I can give them, I want them to know Christ. Then at the end of their lives, they will realize that their light and momentary afflictions, which are much worse than my own, have been preparing for them an eternal weight of glory that is far beyond comparison. There will be no broken families, addictions, divisions, or disunity. Everyone in Christ will be glorified and we will fully realize our reconciliation with God and with each other. There will be no such thing as homelessness because we will all be in our Father’s house with many glorious rooms that Jesus has prepared in advance for us. On days like today I feel a deep longing for eternity, and maybe that’s a blessing in disguise. This world is not our home, but our calling is to continue to fight through thorns and thistles by the sweat of our brow; for the love of our neighbors with our eyes set on eternity. Lord let us persevere in this life, striving for your kingdom with contagious hope in your promises.