Chris Miles’ Simple Heart and Bold Phone Call

By Cornelia Seigneur

As the handful of homeless folks stream into God’s Living Room located for a week in the Back Room of the church, Chris Miles welcomes them as old time friends. He scurries about, making sure the lasagna made by Mauro is in place, the tables are ready, and the clothes are in order for those with need.

On this second day that Rolling Hills hosted God’s Living Room, the down-to-earth Chris feels comfortable calling this place home. It was his bold phone call that got the ball rolling just one day before.

It was a bone-chilling Monday at 3:45 in the afternoon with the wind chill factor dipping temperatures into the teens. Chris was worried about those with no place to call home, those who feel they don’t belong, those with hunger pains wondering where they will lay their heads for the night. Those with little hope.

Chris knows what it’s like to be in a place with no hope. He was without hope the day he took a wrong turn, and ended up driving by Rolling Hills. So he thought, I’m here, why not stop in and talk to someone?

That someone was the pastor on call, Aaron Doerr. Chris wept while sharing his story. God was filling his empty heart with Christ’s hope.

After attending church, the men’s retreat and the singles Bible Study, God was becoming Chris’s new place of refuge.

But real life didn’t get miraculously better. Chris had little employment and he found himself in need, receiving food from the Tualatin Food Bank, run by Linda.

Linda shares: “Chris started helping me and I told him about the emergency shelter I wanted to do, but we just didn’t have staff to spend the night, and Chris was like, ‘I might be able to do that.’”

And he did. The emergency shelter was held at the Tualatin Methodist Church, with Rolling Hills volunteers. But – only available on weekends.

With Monday morning’s record-breaking lows, Chris just couldn’t think of leaving the homeless on the streets.

So he made that phone call to Faith: “Can we open up the church to the homeless this week?”

There was no program in place, no committee meetings, just a simple man with a simple heart, wanting to make God’s Living Room available.

Church members came, bringing community and food and overnight assistance. And the homeless came.

“I let them know they can come. I want this to be a place of refuge. We’ll take anybody as long as they are not rambunctious. I have had the same issues; I have had the drugs, the loneliness,” says Chris.

He bought food for God’s Living Room with the Fred Meyer Gift Card someone gave him for his personal use.
Chris talks about doing God’s work.

“I try to use my story to help others. I try to communicate that God can forgive you,” Chris shares, “and that He gives you hope.”

And a place of refuge from the cold.

Sometimes literally.

Contact Cornelia at writermom5kids.blogspot.com

Sheltering Eaves

By Terri Conlin

From the warmth of the car through raindrops splashing on the windshield, Courtney caught sight of her again wandering between stores. Did she have a roof over her head or the shelter of His wing? The sight of her walking in the distance knocked at the door of Courtney’s heart. Then months passed with no sight of her.

Late one night with temperatures near freezing, a bundled Courtney unexpectedly came face to face with her. She appeared in distress. They exchanged names and crossed a threshold.

“Where will you sleep tonight?” slipped out with her next heartbeat.

“I have no place tonight, but tomorrow I have a room across the freeway. A nearby church put me up for the holidays. A woman. . . I think her name was Faith . . .” 

Courtney asked a tough question, “Are you clean?”

“Well, I need a bath” she began.

“No . . . are you clean of drugs and alcohol?”

“Oh yes, I don’t even smoke,” she sighed.

Then Courtney said what was in her heart the moment their eyes met, perhaps even before, “Do you want to come to my house for the night?”

“I have to tell you, this makes me nervous,” Courtney confessed.

“Me too,” she said.

“I have kids at home and this will surprise my husband. . . but he’s great. . .”

To calm her heart on the ride home, Courtney chatted easily as with a familiar friend. A window into her life opened a crack. She worked part time, desperate that her employer not know she was homeless, struggling to rebuild her life. She had attended West Linn High School, married young, fled a bad marriage. There were two daughters, one she’d lost touch with, the other in foster care. Beneath the porch light, she remembered growing up in this very neighborhood. In fact, her childhood home once stood on the lot across the street from Courtney’s front door.

She took a long hot bath, shared a meal with Courtney’s family and fell into a seamless sleep beneath sheltering eaves. Courtney fretted, awake most of the night worrying about this lost soul and her own three children sleeping soundly nearby. The next morning over a hot breakfast, Courtney shared her phone number with a request for privacy. Courtney told her, “We will have to trust each other. I want to help you, but don’t depend on me for survival.” Her new friend graciously took what was offered never demanding anything.

Courtney took her to catch the bus for work and redeem her collected pop cans. Courtney prayed with her and rolled out the welcome mat to Bible study, but her new friend worried she was unworthy and unwelcome.  As she drove away, Courtney burst into tears, exhausted. She had not taken a deep breath for the last 16 hours.  Back home, she noticed her guest’s empty pop can left neatly by the kitchen sink.

Within days, temperatures dropped into the low twenties and winds whistled through the trees. For the first time, Rolling Hills opened as an emergency shelter for the homeless. One of those subfreezing nights, Courtney brought her new friend to what they call “God’s Living Room” for a hot meal and a good night’s sleep. The next morning Courtney’s new friend sat at Bible study listening to her sing a song she had written about God’s mercies when we find ourselves where we never thought we’d be.©

Contact Terri at www.whitepitchers.com