Teens Opposing Poverty

10/27/2026

White Socks, Shoes & Underwear
It was a beautiful, sunny day in 1988. Our dedicated group of TOP's founders and I parked our van at a corner of Lafayette Square behind McKenna’s Wagon, the food truck for homeless people. The White House was across Pennsylvania Avenue from the park.

When we started unloading bags of clothes, some of the people who were lined up for food came over to see what we had. Those folks got what they needed and returned to the food line as a second group joined us after they got their meals.

The second group was more talkative. They thanked us for bringing clothes and engaged in the usual small talk. One of the men stood by, listening to a conversation I was having. When there was a pause, he blurted out, “What we really need is underwear! Nobody brings underwear. When we get a pair, we wear them until they fall apart, then we go commando. I’m going commando right now.”

It had never occurred to us to bring underwear.

That was the first of many times we learned of needs that weren’t being met. We already knew about the demand for socks, but another conversation taught us to bring mostly white socks. The dye in socks can make people break out in a rash if they have to wear them too long. I would have never thought of that.

Years ago, David, our DC Ministry Director at the time, spoke with a woman in McPherson Square, just a couple of blocks from the White House. She was quiet and reserved, but David could tell from her expression something was bothering her. As they spoke, he noticed her slip-on shoes were in bad shape. She never mentioned them and was grateful when he offered to get her a new pair. Although she usually kept to herself, she made a point of speaking to David whenever she saw him after that.

At about that same time, our old friend, Duke, asked for new pair of steel-toed boots so he could get a new job. Duke had worked with temp agencies and was on Social Security Disability but could never make enough have stability in his life. This opportunity was a game changer for him that paid him well. We got him a pair of work boots. He started his new job the next week.

These are just a couple of examples of ways we were able to meet specific and important needs of the people we serve simply by taking the time to listen.

Since 1987, we have reunited homeless people with their families, provided specific material needs, and referred them to other agencies for jobs, housing, legal help, and medical assistance. Our youth volunteers have led people to Christ, given them motivation to kick addictions, and even stopped a man from committing su***de all because we took the time to listen.

Most groups that serve homeless people hand out stuff and leave. My heart breaks for them. They miss opportunities to impact people in a transformational way and miss the blessings they can receive through these special relationships. I wouldn’t trade places with them for anything.

I’m so glad we learned about white socks, shoes, and underwear.
by Steve Jennings

10/22/2026

10/20/2026

Just Surviving
by Steve Jennings
An icy wind is blowing the dusting of snow that fell last night. I was outside earlier, but I didn’t stay long. Now I’m sitting in front of the woodstove, soaking in that radiant heat that warms you to your bones.

I’m always grateful for the warmth. Years of working with homeless people in all seasons doesn’t allow me to forget those who struggle with the cold. When you live on the street, winter is not a time to pursue hopes and dreams. You’re just surviving, searching for a place where you can escape the eyes of authorities and the brutal cold. Most nights you’re successful, but sometimes things don’t work out.

I’ve known several men who succumbed to hypothermia. George was a veteran with an alcohol addiction. He had started collecting Social Security and was on a waiting list for subsidized senior housing. One cold night, he got drunk. Sometime that night he got out of his sleeping bag and fell asleep without getting back in it. He was dead the next morning.

When the cold winds chill to the bone, it’s hard to think about trying to find a job or plan a future beyond the next hour. A hot meal and warm place to go to the bathroom become the order of the day. If you can afford a cup of coffee, you can sit for a while in a warm restaurant. If the library is open, you can find a place to sit and read a book or take a nap while pretending to read a book. I’ve seen some homeless people who mastered pretend reading.

This all came into focus when I went with a youth group to serve people at Franklin Park, just a few blocks from the White House. It was about 20 degrees. The trees bowed to the force of the frigid wind. The park was normally crowded with around 100 people, but not that day. About 20 desperate people braved the weather, hoping for warm clothes or something hot to put into their bellies.

That wasn’t a day for long conversations. While savoring their hot drinks and chili, almost everyone we served thanked us and told us we were the only group to come down that day. I can’t speak for the youth, but knowing we helped when others didn’t made our exposure to the cold worth it.

I was never so happy to climb into my old Chevy pickup. As I sat in the parking space waiting for the heater to do its job, I looked out over the park. The last of the people we served were leaving the park as fast as they could. We weren’t out there for very long, and we couldn’t think about much of anything except getting out of the cold. That trip gave me a clear understanding of why winter is all about survival for people who live on the streets.

10/13/2026

Inappropriate
by Steve Jennings
John’s dark, pain-filled eyes pierced my heart. He stood on Lafayette Square facing the White House. His back was to St. John’s Episcopal Church, a quaint but elegant yellow building.

He asked the usual questions homeless people ask us when we start conversations with them. Where are you from? How long does it take you to get here? How often do you come down?

Then he shared his battle with depression and his other afflictions. I asked him if he ever turned to the church. This is his story:

“I did turn to a church once. It was a Sunday morning. My depression was real bad. I needed to talk to somebody. So I decided go into a church, stay through the service and talk to the pastor after it was over. I was dressed pretty much like you see me now, army jacket, jeans. They weren’t even all that dirty. I had just washed them a couple of days before.”

“Just after I walked in the door these men in suits came up to me and said, ‘We’re sorry, but you’ll have to leave. You’re not dressed appropriately for this service.’ I couldn’t believe my ears. I never felt so hurt in my life. All I wanted was to go to church and talk to the pastor. To get a little comfort, y’know. So, I left. Then I did this.”

John thrust his arms out of the sleeves of his fatigue jacket and showed me the scars from where he slit his wrists. None of my lame words could console his disappointment in the church. I gave him the name and address of a church where I knew he would be welcome and asked him to try again, but I don’t know if he ever did.

I never saw John again.

That church let John down. That church let Jesus down. How often do we as the church let down those who most need our help, who desperately need to see Jesus in us, who are hungry to receive God’s unconditional love? From similar stories I’ve heard, it’s more often than I care to think about.

John’s story should fuel the fires of compassion that burn in all of us who share the desire to reach out to the last, the least, the lost, the lonely, and the left out.

Nobody is “inappropriate” for the love of Jesus.

10/06/2026

Adventure!
by Steve Jennings
I’m getting long in the tooth.

Every year the age gap between me and the youth we serve grows. I realized this even more at Impact the Valley this year. I’m staring down the barrel at my 70th birthday in a few months. Most of the youth were middle schoolers.

As I gave the message at worship each evening, I looked out at their young faces. Some nights most of them paid attention. On other nights, their fatigue from working in the 100+ degree heat all day took their minds elsewhere. I knew it would and kept the messages as short and pithy as I possibly could while still expounding on our theme of “We’re on a Mission from God.” If you remember “The Blues Brothers” movie, you know where that came from.

It’s a little tougher to put a message together as the age gap widens. The connection feels strained to me. I don’t know most of the slang they use, and I look like their grandpa. Fortunately, my sense of humor never advanced beyond my 12-year-old self. So at least I had that going for me. But this year, I shared an aspect of the Christian life they may not have heard before.

Adventure.

A mission trip, even with its hardships and challenges, can be a great adventure. So can our walks with God throughout our Christian lives. In my 43 years of following Jesus, I’ve had the opportunity to see and experience things I could have never dreamed of without Him. It’s been a life with plenty of ups and downs, but also a life of awe, wonder, and miracles when I have seen the hand of God at work, especially through TOP’s ministries.

It’s my prayer that TOP has had the opportunity to instill that sense of wonder and adventure of the Christian life into the hearts and minds of at least some of the thousands of young people we have worked with over the last 38+ years. By introducing them to the joy of serving and the blessings of compassion, I hope they have found a sense of adventure from being on a mission from God.

10/01/2026

09/29/2026

Dignity and Respect
by Steve Jennings
I hadn’t been to Washington, DC for our Street Ministry with homeless people for a while. It’s not necessary because William Daniels, our DC director, does an outstanding job of leading groups. But on March 8th, I took Dave Thompson, our Program Director, on his first trip to see the Street Ministry in action.

We got off the subway and walked to McPherson Square, just two blocks from the White House. William got off the bus a few minutes after we arrived. While we waited for the youth group, William gave Dave a preview of what to expect.

Before the youth group arrived, four DC police cars and two Secret Service cars pulled up. None of the officers seemed to be in a hurry as they walked over to a man who was sitting on a bench and arrested him. As they put on the hand cuffs, he said, “I didn’t do nuthin’ man. All I did was shake his hand!” William assured us it was nothing to worry about. I noticed most of the people in the park went on about their business. It seemed like an everyday occurrence to them. Sadly, that might be true.

The bus from Fairlington Methodist Church pulled up to the corner of the park as the police officers were wrapping up. After William assured everybody that everything was OK, a group of teens ranging from middle school to high school swarmed out of the van with hands full of food and drinks. The adults didn’t have to do much. This youth group showed their experience and functioned like a well-oiled machine.

As they were getting everything ready, the people in the park lined up and patiently waited. Dave was impressed by the efficiency of the youth group and by the orderly and respectful way the people in the park responded to the youth.

The teens were ready to serve just 5 minutes after they stepped out of the bus. As the people in the park started to go through the line, interactions between them and the youth were brief and mostly dealt with making sure people got what they needed. But what really impressed me was the kindness, dignity, and respect they showed the people they served. They made eye contact They smiled. And they conveyed to the people in the park that they were happy to be there serving. In return, the denizens of the park thanked and complimented their servers.

I can guarantee that some of the people at McPherson Square had not eaten anything yet that day, and they relished the chili, hot chocolate, and snacks. But I can also guarantee that everyone who was served wasn’t treated as an object of pity. Economic class or race meant nothing. They were just people who needed help, a kind word, and a hearty dose of respect and dignity. Without a doubt they got all those things in abundance.