SEED PLANTER

Destinee Fontaine has decided to become a Seed Planter... as in plant seeds in this world that will bear fruit for years to come...

After our church’s mission trip to Mexico, I had a revelation.  All through high school I thought I knew what I wanted to do with my life.  I wanted to play basketball in college, go on to the WNBA and play professional basketball, then coach on the college or pro levels.  But after I gave up basketball, and spent some time in a mental hospital, my future got very blurry.  Not only had I lost my identity, but I didn’t even know how to begin to build up a new one.  The trip to Mexico helped me to rediscover one of my biggest passions… helping people. 

        I thought long and hard about how exactly I could use the gifts that God had given me to help people.  Not only that, but there are so many different people, or groups of people on this earth that need help, how do I choose who to help.  In the end, I decided to use what I had learned in the mental hospital to help those that I felt needed help the most.  The mental hospital offered a cooking class, and before I took the class I thought I could cook pretty well.  My mom taught me well enough I thought, to be able to cook for my man, and that’s all I thought that I needed to know how to cook for.  Once I was in the class, I realized that there was so much more to cooking that I really didn’t know; like how adding different spices changed the flavor in the same meal, so much that it would literally be the same ingredients, but a different meal.  When I finished the class, I wasn’t a professional chef, but I was very good.  It gave me a new perspective on food and meal preperation.  A greater appreciation for all things culinary. 

        I decided to feed the homeless, and plant my seeds that way.  My mom and dad thought it was the most noblest of things to do.  I don’t know if there was a day in my life where I made them as proud.  My dad told me that I had the total resources of the church at my fingertips.  Whatever I needed from them, all I had to do was ask. 

        I was twenty years old and I wanted to affect some real change.  I didn’t want to drive up to a red light and throw some change out of the window as the light was turning green anymore.  I wanted to set up a system where homeless people could come and get three meals a day with no questions asked.  Somewhere that was centrally located, and free of course.  I guess I’m thinking of something like a soup kitchen, only with better food. 

        The first thing that I needed to do was to come up with a menu.  Something nutritional, but tasty; something that wouldn’t break the bank, but wouldn’t be slop either.  I settled on toast and oatmeal for breakfast, Turkey sandwiches with apples and oranges for lunch, and Spaghetti with meat sauce for dinner.  It was only the beginning, but I really felt that this menu was a good mix of nutrition and taste, and could stretch a long way.  Considering how high the homeless population is today, having meals that could stretch a long way became increasingly more important. 

        Next, we needed to find a location to do all of this in.  There was an abandoned warehouse in the middle of town that I thought would be perfect.  We could not find the owner.  As it turns out the city took it over for nonpayment of taxes.  My dad was pretty well-known in and around town, so he reached out to the Mayor about this.  He explained what we intended to do, and let the mayor know that this was all my idea.  The mayor thought the idea was great, but that the execution of the idea would be key.  I can remember him asking me “Destinee, how are you going to get all of the homeless people of this city into the middle of town every day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner”.  “Mayor, that’s the million dollar question”, I said…

        We decided it wouldn’t be everyday but every other day.  We just didn’t know how long the food would last.  Monday �" Wednesday �" Friday, and lunch only on Sunday, after church, around 3:00p.m.  After seeing how big I wanted to take it, my dad urged his congregation to get involved.  Pretty soon we had enough volunteers to where my vision of people working in 4 hour shifts was realized. 

        I taught a cooking class to all of the volunteers, regarding how I wanted each meal prepared.  I didn’t want any thrown together mess.  Though, we were feeding the bottom of society, people who would have accepted anything from us, so long as it coated their aching bellies.  I let it be known that we would respect the process.  We would treat the homeless just as you would patrons who came to a 5 star restaurant and paid for a fifty dollar meal.  If we intended to make a difference, this is how we would do it.  I was very passionate about this, and very particular about my meal preparation.  I needed the volunteers to feel the same way.  After about a week’s worth of classes, I felt good about the volunteers’ commitment to giving the homeless quality food, and extraordinary service.  You see, my dad worked out a deal with the city where he would pay the back taxes on the building.  Since the church was a non-profit organization, with a clear goal for the building in mind, the city gave the warehouse to the church for free, and the church would be absolved from paying taxes moving forward, so long as the building continued to be used in a non-profit capacity. 

        The warehouse would become a restaurant for the homeless.  They would have waiters and waitresses, booth seating, and a hot meal.  There would be a check at the end of each meal, but it would not have an amount on it. There would be the church’s address inviting the patrons to come worship at my dad’s church.  Underneath that, the check would also read…”Paid in full by the blood of Jesus”, “Jesus paid it all”, “God serves those who serve him”, or some form of acknowledgement that Jesus, or God has already paid for the meal, or most importantly, the experience.  What I understand most about the homeless, or the downtrodden from my experiences in Mexico, and abroad, is that they don’t want to be considered second class citizens.  If they were only given the respect that first class citizens are given, a lot of them could, and would change their situations.  Respect is more than money, it’s more than a hot meal.  It’s how you treat them as you give them that change in the bottom of the cup holder of your vehicle.  It’s how you treat them as you fix them that hot meal.  Did you look them in the eyes; did you smile at them; give them encouraging words… The homeless want people to know, that they are people too. 

        The restaurant would be called Wayward House, and it would be jointly financed by the city and my dad’s church.  The city’s commitment would consist of remodeling the entire warehouse until it was a beautifully full functioning restaurant.  My dad’s church would supply the volunteers, buy the necessary ingredients to supply the meals, pay for or provide all necessary training, and the most important thing, spreading the word about the restaurant throughout the homeless community. 

        My job as it was, was to spread the word about the restaurant throughout the streets, so that we would have less loitering from the homeless, and in turn, have more respect for their situation, so that we can all work together to decrease the homeless population, while at the same time, increasing our awareness.  It seemed like it would be easy enough, I figured once a few homeless people experienced what we had to offer, word of mouth would make this a hit right off the bat.  After about a week, we continued to see the same 15-20 homeless faces.  We knew there were hundreds more homeless people in our city.  Why are they not getting the message?  After talking with some of the homeless people who come regularly, it turns out that they were not spreading the word.  They kept the restaurant to themselves because they feared that if they told anyone else, we might run out of food, and they would not get any.  At that moment it occurred to me that not only would I have to change my staff’s perception of the homeless, but I had to change the homeless’ perception of the homeless as well; and that would prove far more challenging. 

        I began by peppering the city with flyers of the restaurant, its address, and the times that each meal would be served.  I then had the church buy me an old used van, and I put the same information that was on the flyers on the van.  I drove the van around to all the spots where there was a big homeless presence.  I stopped, talked to them, and let them know what was going on.  The biggest problem that I got from the homeless, was that they didn’t want to lose their spot, by leaving it for a few hours.  I found out that the homeless are very territorial.    When you don’t have a home to go to, and you find an area, around town that is semi-good to you, you don’t want to give it up, not even for a hot meal.  I was told by one homeless man that, “you guys are just going to give us slop anyway”.  A homeless woman stated that she could eat better on the streets with change from strangers than with what the ‘soup kitchens’ of the world hand out.  I was very taken aback, because I thought it would be a lot easier to sell this idea, than it was.  The homeless really are just like everyone else.  They are pessimistic like most people.  They have pre-conceived ideas just like everyone else.  They hate on other homeless people just like everyone else.  And some of them were plain rude, just like a lot of non-homeless people that I know.  I don’t know why we treat homeless people differently, because they are just like us. 

        I talked to my dad about some of the complaints that the homeless were making.  He was surprised by some of the comments as well, but thought that a lot of what they were saying was valid.  He explained to me that the homeless perspective is different than that of someone who goes to a nice, comfortable, warm home each night.  Most of them live like animals, so they are going to have that animalistic view of the world, where they have to fight for everything that they get.  It’s hard for them to believe that anyone would give them anything more than slop; or set up something as wonderful as Wayward House.  He said that once we see things from their point of view, it becomes easier to find solutions.  My dad said that there are a few former homeless people in his congregation, and from his talks with them throughout the years, his respect for the homeless person’s plight has grown.  After reminding me that this is what I signed up for, he asked me if I had any solutions.      

        I told my dad that I had identified the top five areas in the city where the homeless congregated.  I needed three buses to transport these guys back and forth to the restaurant; at least for a little while, until they felt comfortable with what we were doing for them to make the trek on their own.  My dad agreed, and within a week, I had three used greyhound buses.  He also had three paid drivers, whose only job was to pick up homeless people from these five locations, and drop them back off at these five locations once they were finished with their meals.  After talking to what seemed like a hundred homeless people, they finally agreed to get on the buses, and go to the restaurant and check us out. 

        I will never forget that first day the buses arrived.  We had staff waiting at the front door; these guys were greeted with a handshake and a smile.  As they were being ushered to their seats, you could see it in their faces, that they knew this was no ordinary soup kitchen.  When the meals were finished, and the checks were handed out, the looks on their faces when the checks read, balance $0.00, paid for by the blood of Jesus Christ…priceless.  Throughout that day, many people told us that they would commit to Christ right then and there.  We were told by a countless number of people that they would be at church on Sunday.  We just nodded and said God Bless you. 

        My dad and the Mayor were there looking in amazement, at how my vision had come true; but telling me how I will really see the fruits of my labor in the years to come.  Boy were they right.  The lines grew longer and longer.  That was a good sign, it meant that the word was getting out about Wayward House, and the homeless population was less apprehensive, and more receptive to receiving help.  The lines were probably at their longest after about two years.  After that, they started to slowly decrease, until they stabilized about two years after that.  I didn’t understand it.  I thought we were going backwards.  My dad explained it to me.  He said that the shorter lines were not a bad thing, but a good thing.  He said that means there are less homeless people on the streets.  He said that the seeds that I planted four years prior were starting to bear fruit.  He said “Don’t you see all the new faces in church.  A lot of them are former homeless people.  People that we served right there at Wayward House.  Because of Wayward House, because of the church, and especially because of you Destinee, these people got up the courage to change their situation.  Most of them chose our church to worship at, but there are quite a few former homeless out there worshipping at other churches that you had a direct hand in helping as well”. 

I was crying at this point.  The fact that little Destinee Fontaine could impact people in such a way was overwhelming.  It began in Mexico, with me wanting to affect enormous change in this world.  I move into the next phase of my life, having put into motion something that will leave a legacy that I could never have imagined. 

All these years later the Wayward House is still serving the under-served in our community, and giving them the confidence to change their situation.    Like my dad always used to say… Isn’t God good?

Author's Note

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[Coyote Poetry]

This is very interesting. Is the story true?
"All these years later the Wayward House is still serving the under-served in our community, and giving them the confidence to change their situation. Like my dad always used to say… Isn’t God good?"
I like the organizations who serve the needy. If I live long enough. I will volunteer my time in retirement to helping one. Thank you for sharing the outstanding story.
Coyote