“A Boy, His Dog, and a Wooden Cross”

Homelessness is a growing, sometimes misunderstood community challenge. However, challenging as it might be, the answer is quite simple. See them, understand them, and above all else, be willing to help in some way. Genuine compassion requires us to act, and it requires us to believe there is an answer.

When a homeless person dies on our streets, it hurts and affects many others within a community. I know it hurts’ me tremendously! It hurts because I have lived it, I have seen it all my life, and I continue to live my life doing what I can to bring men, women, and children, off the streets and into a safe, warm shelter…home.

In our community, the homeless population is very dear to Mission Solano. When one requires help, hope, and a friend, they are always there. They do all they can to provide a way out, a way up, a way home.

Homelessness is not just a physical state of being, "not having a roof over us," but also a mental, emotional, and spiritual state of being. Therefore, bringing someone "home" to must include bringing them home completely…holistically. When understood this way, bringing them “home” takes on a whole new dynamic for those working to help break the cycle of homelessness and poverty.

We know that physical death is permanent, and life is a beautiful gift and given to us daily. However, when home and hope is forgotten or gone, life and death become one, each day becomes a day of just existing and surviving. We see it every day in the eyes of what I call the walking aborted...the homeless. Those looking for what they have not found yet are looking for what they desperately want…peace-purpose-love-hope, and a home. Life!

As this day continued, I parked my car and began my journey to a makeshift memorial. It was the kind we all see on the side of the road, marking the place where someone lost their life. Someone whose life meant something to somebody. We typically glance at these memorials wondering how this person died, why they died, and then we quickly forget.

As I stood there, saying a prayer for this young man, thinking about how and why he died, my mind journeyed back to a time forgotten. A time when the sidewalk I stood on was not even there. A time when the man by this memorial honored was just a little boy. And so was I.

You see, this young boy was about 10 when we first met. My brother, who was the same age as him, was his best friend. They did everything together, dreaming of their tomorrows. I was probably 13 at the time. The place was Suisun City, Ca. in one of the old low-income apartments projects that have long been torn down to make way for growth.

Logan lived with his grandmother because his mom and dad were not around. He loved his grandma, and she loved him deeply. Logan was a typical little boy, who at that young age was filled with creativity and imagination with dreams of becoming a policeman, fireman, or cowboy! He didn't worry about his tomorrows and no worries for the day. He had food, shelter, and the love of his grandma. Life was good, and so was he.

However, somewhere between the innocence's of childhood, and the dreams of tomorrow, Logan's world fell apart. The road he would soon travel would be one of brokenness, pain, and sorrow. No hope, and no home. He traveled a path that many still do. A road that ended for him at that wooden cross that day.

Unfortunately, Logan ended up losing what little security and hope he had with his grandma long ago. His grandmother passed away, and Logan began a journey that would take him far from the dreams of his yesterdays and into the horrors of homelessness.

Somewhere despite love, security, hopes, and dreams nurtured by the love of a grandma, Logan lost his way and became homeless. He found himself surviving in a place where death and life become one in a world of homelessness and hopelessness. Where sanctuary and security, being loved, and giving love becomes a fairytale, a dream, a hope lost, or never to be found.

Yes, like so many today, Logan was homeless. However, like many today, Logan was not only physically homeless, but mentally, emotionally, and spiritually as well.

His family tried to reach out to him, my brother and I wanted to reach him, and others tried to reach him as well, to bring him to safety and home to no avail.

Logan was found dead at that spot in the bushes. The place I prayed that day, where the only love around him was his dog; a dog that had become his life, his friend, his family. They found Logan with his dog by his side waiting for him to awake, though he never would.

I stood there, reminiscing of a time gone by. Remembering a boy, and remembering the somewhat hidden of our communities, our neighbors, friends, and family who have fallen away into a life that erodes all hope to live and die a life of homelessness, and hopelessness. They are the disenfranchised of our communities. The one's life and humanity have seemed to have forgotten, where loneliness and despair have found them in a place that should not be!

I then became thankful. Thankful for the Shelters and compassionate people across our Country, in all the communities that support them. I was also grateful for the “Spiritual Home” I believe Logan found. He found his home of no pain, no sorrow, no hunger, no pain, and no tears. Where the essence of hope, he now sees face to face! The hope that when it left said, "I go to prepare a place for you"! The hope we call Jesus.

I know I and many more will continue bringing that “hope” of restoration. A restoration with God, family, and community. The hundreds of Rescue Missions across this Country and the people who support them believe change can happen...if just given a chance.

I will remember Logan Ray Biles. We tried and tried to help him but could not bring him home. Well, he is home now. The peace, hope, love, and security he longed for is now found. Rest in peace, my friend. Where you once were lost, now you are found.

You will not see an obituary with Logan’s accomplishments, his family, his short life laid out in print. No, none of that. But I will remember a boy, his dog, and a wooden cross.

Ron Marlette