My friend Lindsay Krinks works tirelessly, lovingly, and intelligently with homeless people in Nashville, Tennessee, as Director at Open Table Nashville.  Had to share her facebook status today:

“Last night, I had to go figure out what to do with the group of East Nashville guys who were intoxicated, rowdy, and more aggressive. After I talked them down and they agreed to keep it cool at our sites, one of the guys showed me a scar across his neck where his throat had been slashed. ‘I’ve died on these streets,’ he said, ‘and every ounce of blood in my body came from someone else.’ He lost ¾ of his blood and barely survived. Same with one of the other guys who was beaten to a pulp, left for dead, and was in critical condition for weeks. These guys look out for each other and now tell their own strange tales of resurrection. Their stories are haunting and endlessly complex. Yes, they sometimes drive us crazy. Yes, they can be rough. Yes, they desperately need to find healthier rhythms of life because they’re killing themselves. But they can’t be dismissed and written off. I see a spark of life in them that is still burning, and this is why we do what we do.”

 

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