Written by Kokomo Urban Outreach was officially started in January of 2006. For 15 years we have been serving the greater Kokomo Community. This site will be used to tell the stories of KUO.
This is the first chapter of my unpublished, partially finished book. I thought I would share it as it tells the story of how Kokomo Urban Outreach began.
To be honest with each person reading this book right now, I’ve had a great deal of difficulty with writing it all. Overall, I’ve tussled with this project for the better part of three years. I mulled this over with my life coach, Rev. Dr. David Mullens. He asked: Why are you really writing the book?”
Hmmm, good question. I can’t even tell you why.
My initial thoughts were to tell the story of how the Kokomo Urban Outreach (KUO) began, how it evolved, and to express my thankfulness to everyone who supported us here. I also thought that by telling the KUO story, the community would be even more supportive to further embrace our mission and what we do. I’d share the stories of folks that would’ve sadly gone on unheard if I didn’t give a voice to their many faces. They’d be seen as real people, viewed through fresh eyes of new understandings and beyond ignorant, crippling prejudices and stupidly impounding stereotypes. I’d tell the story of guiding our nonprofit organization through a challenging metamorphosis which stopped me dead in my tracks. Maybe this book would be a sort of “how-to” on building relationships with people who are different from you and outside of your comfort zone. How can people be helped without being hurt? While the specifics of what has occurred here in Kokomo, Indiana can’t be applied in the same way everywhere, perhaps the constructive principles behind them can be applied to any situation in some way, anywhere.
Finally, I found it important to leave something behind to inspire others to keep their faith, cling hard to their dreams, take the big risks, do their absolute best, and most of all, leave their own legacy in this world.
These were the general reasons that I gathered on why I wrote this book. I still needed more time to reflect on things and make them solid in my psyche and in my spirit. That’s when Reason #1 arose: sharing MY story.
I, Jeff Newton, am a “changed story.”
In the 15 years since KUO’s genesis, every person I have ever had contact with are who I modernly refer to as, #StoryChangers (no, I’m not too old to know how to use a hashtag).
I’ll tell you what I mean.
I saw a hungry little boy asking for a third hotdog during our very first Sunday night meal so that he could have dinner for another day. Another boy saw a roll of bathroom tissue as a prize that he was happy to “win.” A young girl who was bullied nonstop is now a business owner.
I learned a great deal about what poverty really is, the ramifications of generational poverty, and the people trapped in its crushing jaws.
As for me, I had the privilege of growing up in a middle class family. My dad (Richard) worked, while my mom (Barbara) was a housewife. I was a kid who grew up with the same two parents throughout the 60’s and 70’s. I safely walked to school and rode on a bike with a banana seat (remember those?). I spent all of my free time outside. I was a Boy Scout, played the baritone in my Kokomo High School band, and spent loads of time in church. I never even thought about being homeless, having no food, or not having any money. I was a good kid who did well in school and bought home good grades, but I was still expected to learn about hard work values. At 12, I delivered the Indianapolis Star every morning for three years, I mowed grass all summer long, and I even babysat for parents all over my neighborhood. At 15, I worked for a landscaping service. At 16, I purchased my own pickup truck and pulled a trailer with mowers and lawn equipment. My life was good. I worked, went to school, and had good times. At 19, just a month shy of turning 20, I married my sweetheart, Chris.
At 23, I graduated from the University of Indianapolis with a Bachelors degree in nonprofit management, focusing on the youth. That same year, I became a restaurant manager with a luxury apartment, driving new cars, and living the high life. A huge blow came when my mom transitioned to eternity, still while I was 23. Another 180° turn came when my first son Patric was born…still at 23. Things moved so fast, maybe too fast, but I still worked my tail to the bone and enjoyed a lot of success.
At 26, I experienced the call to become a pastor. Yeah, 26. I was not excited about this. Full-time ministry at 26? I’d have to return to school. I’d knowingly have to take a drastic pay cut from my well-to-do lifestyle and start all over. Was God playing some kind of joke on me?
Ingalls, Indiana is a tiny town 25 miles slightly northeast of Indianapolis, with a high percentage of people living below the poverty line. My growing family would equally endure a huge lifestyle turnaround when I first pastored over a church there. It’s 1984, and my family is living on a $50-per-week salary. Though the parsonage we lived in was rent-free, we still had to pay the utilities. We also had to make a budget for the first time ever. Gosh, a budget. We had to carefully plan meals and buy groceries on just $12.50 each week. 21-cent boxes of mac ‘n’ cheese and 49-cent cans of tuna were a staple in our new home. We still didn’t consider ourselves “poor.” My wife and I knew that this temporary period of frugality would end once I finished attending seminary. We were middle class people and knew how to live like it (and we felt eventually that we’d return to actually living it). People living in generational poverty have never known what “middle class” life is even like, and they have no idea of how to even get there. They don’t know what they don’t know. There are rules to middle class life in the form of keys. These “keys” come only through mentoring and education to break the centrifugal forces of the poverty cycle. These keys for better living are hidden and hardly ever taught properly.
I did everything I could in my power to become a United Methodist pastor, graduate from seminary, be a hospital chaplain for a year, write papers, be interviewed, and serve churches through a probationary time of pin and needles before I was finally ordained as a pastor. I was willingly appointed to serve churches under the direction of the bishop, to the best of my abilities. I followed the familiar path of the many United Methodist pastors before me by moving upward to churches of greater size and even greater responsibility. I had to completely exit my comfort zone to use the skills, gifts, and abilities that the Lord placed within me.
After two decades of pastoring, I sensed that God was calling me to something new. I was already the pastor of a wonderful Northwest Indiana church in a community of people that I absolutely loved. I strangely felt a foggy restlessness. My spirit tossed and turned inside of me; I wondered if I was really doing what God wanted me to do with my life. I sank into a sticky depression that made me want to quit ministry for good. Things weren’t bad at all. Actually, things were peachy. Was I too complacent? I didn’t know. Everything felt so odd. I was already deeply saddened from the 9/11 terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center at this time, devastating New York City, The Pentagon, and our nation. Life looked so fragile to me. Was it also because my children had grown up and were moving on? Chris and I were becoming empty-nesters, so did I need a new life purpose? Maybe I had become overly comfortable in my life and I did not push for anything new. Midlife crisis, maybe? I was soon to turn 50. I couldn’t pinpoint this stubbornness of depression that covered me like my skin.
In 2002, these lingering doldrums gave way to a full blown panic attack. I tried everything. Prayer. Medication. Several counselors. These things helped, but I remained restless.
In my personal prayer times that I set aside, I’d say to God, “I need to be recalled into ministry.” I then took a week off. My plan was to go back to each of the United Methodist churches where I previously served. I’d go into every sanctuary to sit, reflect, and pray. I desperately ached to hear something from God.
I went to the Attica, IN church where I had ministered, beholding the immaculate sanctuary adorned with lovely two-story stained glass windows. I then headed over to Ingalls. The slated pews inside felt hard like park benches, leading me to reminisce of the simpler times. My next church would be Hillsdale United Methodist Church just east of Kokomo. I checked into a motel that night and was going to rest before visiting Hillsdale the next morning. That night, the depression I tussled with for so long became an avalanche right on top of me. I questioned everything.
What good have I ever done? Have I truly affected anyone’s life? If so, who? Had anything of lasting worth come out of my entire ministry?
I was emotionally worn out and fell asleep. When daylight broke, I sat and flipped through TV channels. I was stunned to see a young man—Charlie Riley—on TV preaching. I thought, no way, but indeed it was him. Charlie attended Hillsdale when I was there in the ‘90s. I took this as a sign from God. The church sits in the countryside near the Kokomo Reservoir. I paced the church grounds, admiring the calm water and the peaceful scenery. I liked the garden there, and into the sanctuary I walked and felt God’s presence all over me. Strangely though, I left there still unsure of exactly what God would have me to do.
I did feel that God was leading me in some brand new direction. Where, exactly? Still no clue. In 2003, my vacation was spent in my hometown, Kokomo. I walked around a lot in various places and neighborhoods. I sought God’s guidance and prayed constantly. I talked with people and listened to them. I’ll never forget the day when I walked down a street past a row of houses when an epiphany bolted inside of me. Through my mind’s eye, the front sections of these homes separated and visually fell down in front of me, exposing their full interiors. Beyond the carpet, furniture, and flat-screen TV’s were emotionally strained families, downtrodden children, and frayed marriages. My heart couldn’t have been big enough to hold all of their pain that I could feel pressing on me like giant concrete weights. They probably didn’t go to church or even care to. It was likely that they didn’t understand that God loved them and that He could restore them.
Right then, a voice reverberated through my heart: “If people won’t go to church, then take the church to the people. Return to Kokomo and invite every church out of their walls and into their neighborhoods.” I argued with God. My excuses were like picking up boulders and hurling them back at the sky: I can’t leave the church I love so much. I have a wife and three sons to think about. I’m just one human being, just how can I do such a daunting task? I’m no charismatic Elijah the Prophet, so who’s gonna listen to me? I went on and on and on. A response to all of that came clearly: “If not you, then who?” I will never forget when I finally gave an obedient, “Yes.”
I was walking in one of my most holiest of places: the Kokomo Mall. Seriously, folks. For some reason, when I’d do my morning walks circling around this mall, I always experienced God. During my time of visiting Hillsdale, I’d go to this very mall to pray. I found it to be peaceful, quiet, and hardly ever busy in the morning. On this summer day in 2004 at Kokomo Mall, I gave God a “yes” that I would return to Kokomo. I still didn’t have the exact direction as to how I would “invite churches out of their buildings and into their neighborhoods.” So back to work I went, doing my ministerial duties. I did have a better frame of mind, though, and I started to attempt at working out all of the details. I wrote a small book titled “Re:Church” which outlined why the church should go to the people. This book was influenced by what I learned from the “Missional” Church Movement. I emphasized the importance of churches being more involved with people individually, for greater changes in the community as a whole.
It took a year to iron out the finer details of this new ambition, prepare for leaving my present church, relocate back to Kokomo (with a new awareness and passion for living in an impoverished section the town), and writing down these new ideas that were later presented to hosts of people. In 2005, Chris and two of my sons choosing to join us, moved to Kokomo.
We were given the roles of part time pastors at the Trinity United Methodist Church. It was a small church sitting directly across the west edge of the Garden Square Apartments (colloquially known as ‘Gateway’ by locals from its former name, Gateway Gardens). This was impoverished housing complex that most people in town avoided, because they believed it to be unsafe. My family moved into the parsonage adjacent to the church on the corner of Hoffer and Locke Streets. It was time for us to brace for a new chapter in our lives. Unbeknownst to us, that chapter would become this book.
My family was blessed with several weeks’ pay from the church we transferred from (Lowell United Methodist Church); this would help us to get by until things lined up in our current assignment. We happily received needed support from other United Methodist churches in the area. I was agog with speaking in churches, encouraging them to move outside of their walls. I’d say while vehemently pointing to a wall, “Through those eighteen inches, there are people who need Jesus!”
In November 2005, a meeting was called at the home of Frank Beard, the Kokomo District Superintendent of the United Methodist Church. He was also both a friend and a personal supporter of mine. His influence led others around the region to give me a chance. Kokomo Urban Outreach probably wouldn’t have existed without Frank. At this crucial meeting, I was surrounded by several United Methodist Church (UMC) pastors. I then presented the rundown for what Kokomo Urban Outreach would be. After this, we talked and prayed over it, and support for my plan was gained from all of these pastors and their respective churches. During this meeting, the first Board of Directors had formed to systematize my organization. The Reverend Kevin Miller became the board’s first president, with Rev. Judy Adams; Rev. Barbara Kinsler; Rev. Evan Strong; Monica Arrowsmith; Travis Taflinger; Emily Beard, Ron Harper; Rod Ledbetter; and April Mozingo completing the board.
On January 13, 2006, the first board meeting would facilitate the passing of by-laws, the application to incorporate, and the opening of a checking account. My salary would be set, but only one-fourth of it could be paid to me at the time. It took six months for me to reach a full salary. In that period of time, it was evident that Chris and I needed jobs to supplement this limited income. My wife was employed as the caretaker of a sick friend, and I became a substitute teacher at the Kokomo Academy. This was not a regular school by any means. It was an all-boy detention center that was quite rough for me. I was instructed that if a fight broke out, to hunker behind my desk as a shield. Every room had cameras and a guard. Everyday, I had six classes, yet only a handful of boys were even interested in being in school. The majority were simply serving their given time. The boys would manipulate me and cuss me out all throughout any given day. Chairs were hurled at me. Books were ripped apart and thrown. Fights happened every single day. In spite of this, I learned how to deal with difficult students and listened carefully to their heartbreaking stories of life. I gained an upfront understanding of how hard things were for them. After just a few months, my organization was in a position where I could make a full-time salary. I felt prepared from this whole experience to not only work in Kokomo’s hardscrabble streets, but to also show non-judgmental compassion.
I don’t see this book as a collection of tearjerker stories, but a collage of people’s changed lives through the Kokomo Urban Outreach. This book also outlines how I—Jeff Newton—have personally been changed. It’s my story just as much as it is theirs.
This book is dedicated to all who are in one way or another previvors of HOPE.
Memory from Pam Grohman from before the first day.
One of the first times I met Jeff Newton was at a Mission’s Sunday sponsored by St. Luke’s UMC. He shared his vision for Kokomo Urban Outreach. He presented the idea of Sidewalk Sunday School, taking ministry to people and the message of HOPE. Not just meeting them where they are located, but where they are spiritually. Not only did he help to meet the spiritual needs of the people around him; but he helped with their physically needs as well. On that Sunday morning he shared stories that I will remember for the rest of my life! The story of the “Hot dog”, “toilet paper”, “napkin”, “baby shower”, etc. He had enough stories to fill a book! For many the first introduction to KUO was reading his book entitled “Life on the Porch”, the same stories that he shared at St. Luke’s UMC. These stories reached the hearts of individuals, including myself. Volunteers began showing up, which meant we needed a volunteer database! More individuals, churches, businesses and organizations began to give, which meant expanding the record keeping. Increased donations of food, household items, and clothing meant that an organized way of recording and recognizing gifts in kind needed to be developed; along with a fair way of distributing these items to folks who needed them. As the Outreach grew, the ministry and its programs expanded to meet those needs. My responsibilities also expanded! My faith grew! I saw answers to prayer; prayers for a copier, prayers for an air conditioner; prayers for refrigerators, prayers for a truck, prayers for volunteers and donors, prayers for the neighbors; the list went on! The focus on what KUO is doing – even though the programs may have changed — is the same; it is all according to God’s will for the people of Kokomo! KUO is about HOPE and Jeff Newton is the “Hope Peddler”, and I was the “Keeper of all Knowledge”.
15 year celebration 