As she stumbles down the sidewalk, her frail body swaying like a naked winter tree fighting against the wind, our eyes catch each other. Around her irises are red as a fire engine, and what should be white as snow is stained with blood in my own eyes. She cries a lot, and I rarely sleep at night. We are not so different.

She raises both twig arms to the sky and a toothless gap in the middle of her face that is her smile spreads across her leathery cheeks. I smile back with a closed mouth that hides my thirty pearly whites as we run to each other. The crosswalk of this godforsaken street is a bridge between separated chunks of the same mountain, and we abandon the cliff sides of our individual sidewalks to embrace in the middle of it.

She usually charges a fee for physical touch, but I have something to give that no customer ever has offered her under the glow of a light no redder than her weary eyes. I give her all the love that I have to give. And love, because she so seldomly sees it, is more valuable in her eyes than any rubber-band wad of cash left on the motel room dresser. She is my sister, though I often cannot even remember her name.

As I pulled off the road to park under the overpass, a line of nearly one hundred smiling faces with hungry bellies were already marching behind my car. My heart was instantly warmed to see the excitement engulfing my rear view mirror. I smiled, put the car in park, and plopped my worn-sole slip-on shoes into the slippery mud. An immediate exchange of smiles and handshakes took place as I walked to the back of the car and opened up the hatch, exposing the large bin of goodie bags, chips, socks, and water bottles. A spirit of joy and excitement was overwhelming among the hundred-plus people crowding around my little family SUV.

Some people took what they needed, gave a smile and a thanks, and went on their way, but a few stayed nearby to help distribute the goods and just to hang out and talk.

One man approached me after partaking from the food in his bag and asked if I made the sandwiches. I told him my mom and I did, and he said in a gruff but soft and sincere voice that I can never forget, “This is the best sandwich I’ve ever had in my life.”

Honey ham, lettuce, and tomato on round-top organic whole wheat bread, when made and served with intense love, can literally be one of the greatest and most memorable gifts in the world to some people.

After all of the sandwiches, socks, cookies, toothpaste, toothbrushes, and Valentine’s cards had been given away, I hung around under the bridge and talked with some friends, mostly with Anthony. Anthony has seventeen years of experience under his belt as a cook. When he lived in Louisiana, he spent most of his work time in a kitchen of some sort. I can picture him cooking up a mean pot of seafood gumbo or jumbalaya, sweat beads dancing on the brim of his brow, eyes intense and sharply focused on his passion—the hot food below him, as he whips it all up, spoons it into a bowl, rings a bell, and calls “Order up!”

It could be a completely different scene that takes place when Anthony is in the kitchen, but that’s how I imagine it.

Anthony shared excitedly about a job he had landed as a cook for the rodeo coming up in March, and after that he said he has it lined up for him to work at Minute Maid Park. He seemed very excited about his upcoming cooking opportunities, and asked me to pray for him. I told him I certainly would and he said, “Thanks man. I’ll be prayin for you too.” Anthony is a hand-shaker; we shook hands about five times every ten minutes.

George then came up, gently touched my shoulder and grabbed my hand and said, looking me in the eyes (his eyes are very light blue, almost how a blind man’s eyes look, that’s how light they are, but the mirrors to his soul are worn and beautiful), “I appreciate so much how much time you take in doing this. God is gonna bless you. And I needs’ta ask you something.”

Still holding his hand, floating in the depths of each others’ eyes, I asked my brother George what he needed.

“I’m gonna say a prayer for you tonight, Kelby,” he said in his ever-soft tone, “and I need you to do the same for me. I need it bad.”

I told him I would, and a corner of his mouth turned upward into his small cheek. “Bless you, brother,” he said in a voice smooth as jazz, and then patted my hand.

I stuck around for a few more minutes, talking mostly about my wife and kids and our upcoming move to Texarkana and listening to stories of work, hardships, family, memories, dreams, goals, and God. Then goodbyes and words of love and assurance of prayers were exchanged as I hopped back in the car.

Anthony—one of my best friends in this world, one of my brothers—shot a large smile at me and held up the peace sign, and I did the same as I drove off.

Please pray for Anthony, George, and all of our other brothers and sisters, friends and neighbors, living on the cold and dirty streets. Their lives are worth more than all the riches this world could ever offer.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning church service under an overpass in Houston!

Agape,
Kelby

^“and Abraham calleth the name of that place `Jehovah-Jireh,’ because it is said this day in the mount, `Jehovah doth provide.’” -Genesis 22:14. (YLT)

My heart is in the streets. I have said those words to so many people in my life, over and over. And it is true. There is nothing more fulfilling in this life to me than seeing the pure, untainted love of Christ in the faces of those He told us to serve and have compassion for. Next to fly-infested dumpsters and urine-stained walls, beneath bridges and overpasses, on uncomfortably barred park benches, within the judgmental eye radius of passers by and injust police officers—these are the places I have encountered God the most. Every fabric of my being screams out to Him as if in a foreign tongue that I cannot describe. Wherever He leads, I want to follow, and I have been lead to cracked sidewalks, overpasses, tent communities in parks and in the woods, and dingy gutters next to crack hotels. The Kingdom of Heaven is so upside down from the social norm.

I have taken up this calling to serve Jesus in the ‘least of these,’ but every time I have been able to provide a homeless man, woman or child with food, conversation, money, clothing, or a warm embrace, I feel that I am the one being served. The Spirit of God has met me and I have met Him in the most unconventional places and circumstances. The greatest desire of my heart is to minister and be ministered to by our homeless brothers and sisters. And by ministry, I mean pure, unadulterated and unconditional love and service to every person I encounter. ³⁷And Jesus said to him, `Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thine understanding —

³⁸this is a first and great command;

³⁹and the second like to it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself;

⁴⁰on these — the two commands — all the law and the prophets do hang.’
(Matthew 22, YLT)

I have dreams, visions, plans, and ideas as to what this type of ministry looks like and how I will accomplish it, but the most important thing I keep in mind is to just do it and trust in the Lord to provide a way. This is all I aspire to do with the life I have been given—and that is to give it back to the One who gave it to me.

My wife and I have been drawn to Texarkana recently, and I truly feel—by prayer, faith, and opportunities that have arisen suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere (though I know where)—that that is where we are supposed to be for this upcoming season of our lives. I am currently waiting on a second interview for a stocking position at a warehouse to help establish a steady foundation for my wife, kids, and I to set ourselves up on as we move close to seven hours across the giant state of Texas. This, however, is not me trying to take the reins from God, but just another way He is providing for our transition. We are walking with Him, and he is holding our hands every step of the way. Seriously… the availability of this job opened up yesterday, I felt the need to apply last night, and received a call this morning saying they were interested in hiring me. As I said, Jehovahjireh.

Please pray for us in this transitional period. I have complete faith that God will provide, it is only a matter of meeting Him where He’s at. What this means for The Foxhole Project is we are taking steps closer and closer to being able to serve the Kingdom on a full-time and larger scale basis. Not sure how it all will happen, I only know that it will. I trust my Dad.

^“Roll unto Jehovah thy works, And established are thy purposes” -Proverbs 16:3 (YLT)

Agape,
Kelby

It’s getting to be that time where fake flowers, pink and red colors, and heart-shaped everything is being seen everywhere, so next month, in honor and love for those who otherwise have little or no family or friends to celebrate with, I’ll be taking a “Celebration of Love” to the streets of Houston to love on our homeless brothers and sisters. Location and exact date are yet to be determined, but what I’m shooting for is 150 wrapped sandwiches (50 PB&J, 50 ham/cheese, 50 tuna), 10 packs of bottled water (=240 bottles of water), 150 heart-shaped tea cakes, 150 blankets, 150 pairs of socks (just getting out of the wet and cold season, this is a major need), 150 tubes of toothpaste, and 150 toothbrushes. I’ll be doing fundraiser stuff (like a bake sale) really soon, but I’m also asking for donations. The recipe stuff I’d rather share a budget and take cash donations for so nothing expires, if that’s on your heart to help with. But any offer of blankets, socks, hygiene stuff, or bottled water would be sooooo incredibly appreciated. Thank you so much everyone.
Agape,
Kelby Losack

Let’s get the ball rolling. This isn’t some internet hype blog to stir up controversy or debate (though more than likely, it will most certainly do that). This is about justice and merging faith with activism.

Our mission with The Foxhole Project is to turn the church in its current state on its head, by serving from the bottom to lift those at the bottom back onto their feet. Put more simply and rather broadly: we serve to end homelessness, brokenness, and oppression by injecting love, faith, hope, and community into the lives of everyone. Everywhere. Regardless of background or circumstance. May it be on earth as it is in heaven.

Our plan to make this mission possible is to start with one, and go from there. Meet the needs of those around us as much as we can and meet them even better as we continue to grow and spread like an all-consuming fire that heals instead of destroys.

We are driven by faith to produce fruit. We are not religious extremists, we simply believe in the messages our faith is based on—love (for EVERYONE), community (with interdependence stemmed from compassion for our neighbor), and a commitment to show every person—no matter how “low” we must get—that they are loved by God. And there is hope.

Merging active love (unconditional, self-sacrificing, for everyone) & community (without borders or discrimination; interdependent) to bring the kingdom of heaven to earth. The Foxhole Project is an effort to serve Jesus in the faces of the ‘least of these’—the poor, hungry, naked, homeless, in prison… Starting small, but thinking with open minds and serving with open hearts, we will not put limitations on the Lord’s use of this project. From providing a meal to a starving man, woman or child.. To giving clothes.. To opening up a place of permanent shelter and peace for our brothers&sisters living on the streets… We will not stop until His kingdom come.