I read the address on the piece of paper again. I was familiar with the street name but it was not one I generally drove on. In fact, in certain parts of town at least, it was a street I avoided. It ran through downtown and I had been on that part of the street before. It was an area full of shops, restaurants and clubs. However the further North you traveled on this street the further into the part of town I avoided you went.

That was where I was going now. Beyond my comfort zone and into a part of town I had spent the past twenty years avoiding. Avoiding it first because my parents avoided it and then as I was old enough to navigate the city myself, avoiding it by my own choice. There was no way to avoid it now though. The address was right there on the crumpled piece of paper beside me on the seat. This was where I had to go.

My twelve year old son sat in the passenger seat, keeping an eye out for addresses on the rundown buildings we were passing. We came to a twisted intersection with streets going at random angles from each other on the opposite sides. "Ok, where do we go now?" I asked quietly. My son pointed to a street twisting a bit to the Northwest, "I think this street continues over there" he said. I smiled over at him, "I think you're right buddy. Thanks."

I kept the irony of the situation to myself. The reason for the twisting jumble and randomness of direction each road took was the railroad tracks. The tracks cut through in such a way that the roads could not continue on in a straight pattern. The irony? We were crossing over the tracks. How many times had I heard the expression "the wrong side of the tracks". Well, we were certainly headed for the wrong side of the tracks now.

A few short blocks up the road I saw the building we were looking for. Open Hearts Ministries. That was the name on the paper at my side. Crumpled from the days I had picked it up reading it again and again, telling myself it hadn't come to this. There was no way I was really going to have to do this. That morning I had opened the cupboards and realized that, yes, I really did have to do this. A couple of packs of instant noodles and a half jar of peanut butter stared back at me, telling me it was time.

I found a spot to park, it was the last one. The lot was full. We were not the only family here for help. Still, I felt less than myself. Less than what I should be. This was not a place we belonged. We were not the kind of people that needed help like this.

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