Kapitel 1
Breaking the Cycle: When Trust Comes First
When Bruce Deel stepped onto Atlanta's dangerous Bankhead Highway corner with a van full of food in 1997, he had no idea that a woman pulling a gun during his first meal service would transform his understanding of human potential. This moment of crisis-where he gently placed downward pressure on the weapon while asking, "You don't really want to do this, do you?"-became the foundation for a revolutionary approach to helping those society had written off. What began as a small food ministry has grown into City of Refuge, a comprehensive urban transformation organization that has helped thousands of people escape poverty, addiction, and homelessness. Endorsed by leadership expert Simon Sinek, who wrote the foreword, "Trust First" has become a manual for those seeking to create meaningful change in broken communities. The book's radical premise-that offering trust before it's earned can transform lives-has resonated with readers across political and social spectrums, making it a favorite among social entrepreneurs and community activists nationwide.
Kapitel 2
The Power of Radical Trust in a Suspicious World
Twenty years ago, I arrived on a rough corner of Atlanta's Bankhead Highway with a van of food and my new nonprofit, City of Refuge. My first meal service quickly turned terrifying when a woman pulled out a gun during an argument. As people scattered, I found myself watching a standoff between Gloria and a rail-thin man. While my volunteer hid, I stepped between them, gently placing my hand on Gloria's gun with downward pressure, asking, "You don't really want to do this, do you?" After a tense moment, she relented.
Exhausted afterward, I questioned my ability to make a difference, but realized I could offer something beyond food: radical trust. I wondered how many others might make better choices if shown trust, especially after experiencing so much suspicion and dehumanization throughout their lives. When I returned two nights later, the lot was empty - everyone assumed I wouldn't come back after the incident. Meeting Jake, a local who became my impromptu assistant, I made a simple promise: "We come back."
The concept of trust is inherently more challenging than compassion or empathy because it's dynamic and two-way, forcing us to share control. Most people guard trust like a precious resource, offering it only after someone has proven themselves worthy. But what happens when we reverse this equation? What if we offer trust first, not as a reward for good behavior, but as a catalyst for transformation?
This approach flies in the face of conventional wisdom. Society teaches us to be cautious, to verify before trusting. But for those who have never been trusted-who have been treated with suspicion their entire lives-being offered trust can be revolutionary. It says: "I see your humanity before your history. I believe in your potential before you've proven it."
Twenty-one years later, City of Refuge has transformed into a holistic program serving thousands in Atlanta's 30314 zip code, built on the foundation of trusting people from day one - not for who they will become, but for who they already are.
Kapitel 3
From Preacher's Son to Urban Minister
My childhood prepared me perfectly for my future work. Growing up as a traveling preacher's son, I lived a nomadic life staying in parsonages and cheap motels while my father held revival meetings. Rather than finding this difficult, I saw it as an adventure - meeting new people and sleeping in strange places. Being slight with bright red hair made me a target for bullies, but I learned to "hit first, hit hard, and hit last" - a fighting spirit inherited from my tough West Virginia lineage. Moving frequently (attending ten schools in twelve years) meant constantly proving myself against new bullies. Though never considered particularly smart or athletic, I developed independence and resilience, backed by my father's high expectations.
After barely surviving college academically, where I worked multiple jobs simultaneously to support myself, I married Rhonda, who shared my work ethic. I entered traditional ministry, serving churches across several states before landing at a church north of Atlanta. There, I began leading groups into tough downtown neighborhoods to help the homeless, but felt we were "putting bandages on heart attacks" - superficial efforts with little lasting impact. Living in comfortable Stone Mountain with my wife and four daughters, I felt disconnected from those truly in need.
Everything changed when I was asked to evaluate a dying inner-city church called The Mission. What began as a six-month assignment transformed when a weeping woman approached me after service saying, "I've been hooking and stripping fourteen years. Can you help me get out?" Soon she brought others seeking help, and within four months nearly a hundred people in crisis were attending, placing not just money but drugs and weapons in the offering plate as symbols of their commitment to change. Their trust placed an enormous responsibility on me that I couldn't turn away from.
After resigning from my comfortable church of five years, I launched a nonprofit to assist those in crisis. I knew they needed more than spiritual guidance. I started with meals - not just any meals, but quality food served with dignity. We learned everyone's names and preferences, treating them as we would guests in our home. We also began after-school programs for at-risk children, which quickly expanded from twenty to over a hundred kids.
These children opened my heart in unexpected ways. At our summer camp, I encountered a little girl whose hair hadn't been washed in months. After we bought her clothes and supplies, and a counselor spent an hour gently washing her hair, this transformed child approached me asking, "Pastor Bruce, am I pretty?" When I assured her she was beautiful, she worriedly asked if she could keep the clothes. Her question floored me - it had never occurred to us to specify they were gifts.
Kapitel 4
Breaking Down Barriers Through Immersion
People often think of lack of empathy as an emotional deficit, but it's frequently a knowledge deficit - how can you understand someone's experience when you don't know what it looks like? I discovered that closing the distance between myself and those I hoped to help made trust easier and deepened my empathy. I began to understand poverty as a cause, not just an effect, of bad decisions.
My wife Rhonda catalyzed our most significant step toward closing this distance. With emotion in her voice, she declared, "If we are really going to impact a city, we have to be in the city. We need to be among the people so we can know them better and they can trust us."
Her insight struck me deeply. Despite my daily work serving the community, we remained interlopers rather than neighbors. We were still looking at the people we served instead of looking forward together, and if I'm honest, I still partially blamed them for their own crises. Rhonda recognized that our commitment would never be taken seriously until we fully immersed ourselves in the community.
This led to our radical decision to move into the church building itself - a gloomy space with stained glass windows, dormitory-style layout, and community bathrooms Rhonda called "the Wicked Bathrooms." We faced immediate challenges: drunk people throwing asphalt through our windows, homeless people smoking crack on the porch, attempted car theft, and the emotional weight of leaving our comfortable suburban home behind.
As our community grew, I rejected the ugly stereotypes blaming poor people for their situations. Through daily close contact with people in crisis, I saw that what others dismissed as "bad decisions" were often rational choices made in desperate circumstances. I embraced "judgeless" care, not questioning how someone arrived at our door but simply asking, "How can I help?" I began believing not in second chances but in thirtieth chances.
We began inviting women and children to live with us, sometimes assuming guardianship of children whose mothers entered rehab or jail. With seventeen guests at our peak, our church home became a safe haven where love and possibility flowed through once-gloomy corridors. Even Rufus, one of our most challenging cases, eventually joined our growing commune, though his path to recovery would be long and difficult.
Kapitel 5
From Crisis Management to Comprehensive Care
Robert D. Lupton observes that mercy compels us to compassionate acts, but eventually collides with injustice. When facing someone in need, we quickly calculate our response-give money, buy food, or ignore but donate to an organization? These dilemmas mirror what I faced running a growing benevolent-care organization. Six years in, our programs were thriving-after-school activities, camping, food and clothing outreach, a 65-bed men's shelter, and housing for single mothers. We'd helped countless people take small steps toward stability.
A disturbing incident with Michael, a mentally ill shelter resident, became a turning point for City of Refuge. After Michael inappropriately demanded medical attention and defecated on a staff member's truck, I banned him from returning. Michael later threatened my family, making a gun gesture in court and declaring his intention to "hunt the son of a bitch down." Though Michael was incarcerated for three years, the encounter left me deeply shaken-the first time I'd truly feared for my family's safety. The incident forced me to question whether our approach was adequate for people with complex needs like severe mental illness.
The experience highlighted how our crisis triage and resource referrals felt woefully inadequate. While services existed, the people we served faced overwhelming barriers-navigating multiple unconnected agencies across Atlanta's sprawl without reliable transportation or money, enduring bureaucratic humiliations. I worried we were "pouring water in front of a thirsty person without giving them a cup." I also questioned whether a lifetime of crisis management was sustainable without becoming callous or bitter like others I'd seen in similar work.
One hot day, I had a transformative parking lot encounter with a homeless man who asked for my old shoes. After giving them, the man hesitantly requested socks, then finally asked, "Any chance I could wash my feet?" The shame in the man's eyes as he made this simple request branded my soul. I provided shower supplies and fresh clothes, spending thirty minutes in self-recrimination-why hadn't I noticed the man's needs sooner? Why had helping someone feel clean and dignified felt like an interruption to "more important work"?
Between Michael's threats and this humbling encounter, I realized City of Refuge needed to evolve. No longer could I be satisfied with haphazard resources and referrals. The time had come to develop a One Stop Shop - an array of services giving individuals in crisis every possible resource under one roof: doctors, therapists, addiction recovery programs, job training, day cares, and schools.
Kapitel 6
Building the One Stop Shop Against All Odds
I asked a real estate friend to find a building in The Bluff - Atlanta's highest-need neighborhood with the state's highest crime and incarceration rates. Some longtime supporters refused to follow, fearing the dangerous location. Eventually, my friend found an eight-acre property with five acres of warehouse space, surrounded by razor wire fencing. The $1.6 million price tag was impossible for us, but after months of meetings with the owner Malon Mimms, he surprisingly donated the entire property to City of Refuge in August 2003.
The donated building became my "Bull in the Ring" - like the dreaded football drill where players charge from all directions. The warehouse needed over $10 million in renovations to fix leaking roofs, broken doors, outdated systems, and walls breached by thieves. I slept nights in the building alongside a former drug kingpin and motorcycle gang member to prevent break-ins. We also battled a massive rat infestation, eventually realizing we needed to seal the building rather than just exterminate.
Despite numerous people calling my vision "crazy" and advising me to "focus on one thing," I remained committed to the One Stop Shop concept. Critics said I was trying to be "all things to all people," but I refused to hold back. The people we served needed everything, and I was determined to provide it all under one roof.
The transformation of the warehouse took two years of grueling work - eliminating rats, installing systems, adding lighting and fresh paint, and even building basketball courts. Meanwhile, we expanded our crisis programs with "Safe Haven" offering meals, showers, haircuts and social worker consultations. Despite being a tiny, unproven organization scrounging for resources, everything changed in 2005 when Hurricane Katrina hit. City of Refuge suddenly became a hub for hurricane relief, housing and helping over 3,500 people, which brought media attention and credibility.
In 2008, Eden Village opened with forty mothers and eighty-two children moving in during the first two weeks. Unlike a mere shelter, it offered comprehensive transitional housing with financial literacy training, addiction recovery, and mental health services - a complete pathway to independence. Less than a year later, the city funded construction of Eden Village II for single homeless women, adding eighty more beds that were immediately filled. For thirteen years, both facilities maintained 100% occupancy with a waiting list (7,000 requests for just 500 spots in 2017 alone).
Kapitel 7
No Lost Causes: Ryan's Redemption Story
As City of Refuge evolved from chaotic startup to established organization with comprehensive support services for 225 women and children, I made a controversial decision that tested my staff's trust: welcoming Ryan, a violent former gang member with a PCP addiction and a bond on his head, and even giving him a master key to our facility. Though aware of the risks, I remained committed to our founding principle of accepting even "lost causes," believing Ryan desperately needed someone to believe in him.
Ryan Marchman's life had been shaped by trauma and violence from childhood. His stepfather, Big Ivan, would lock him in a dark basement while going on violent rampages upstairs, often beating Ryan's mother. After witnessing a particularly brutal assault when he was thirteen, Ryan confronted Ivan, who hospitalized him with broken bones and a concussion. When his mother allowed Ivan to return home, Ryan fled, finding "protection" with a gang that initiated him through brutal beatings and forced him to commit violence. By thirty, he was leading crews robbing rival drug dealers, addicted to PCP and cocaine, with most of his original crew executed.
Ryan's life changed unexpectedly during a planned robbery. High on cocaine, he began trembling uncontrollably and backed out, shocking his crew. Walking home in tears - his first since childhood - he encountered Greg Washington, a neighbor he'd previously wanted to harm. Greg, a former cocaine distributor who'd served federal time before finding redemption at City of Refuge, shared his story and introduced Ryan to the ministry. After attending a Bible study that offered unprecedented support and humility, Ryan decided to abandon his criminal life.
Though City of Refuge's formal housing programs were for women, I offered Ryan a tiny monk-like room in the main building. Ryan initially thrived despite occasional struggles with loneliness, fear of retaliation from his former gang, and financial frustration earning only $10/hour. Eventually, the street life began calling him back, and he disappeared one night - with full access to the facility's keys.
When Ryan disappeared with access to all City of Refuge keys, I tracked him to a known drug area. After a confrontation with an armed decoy, I wisely retreated following my brother Jeff's calm advice: "He's got a gun and we don't." Days later, Ryan returned, looking beaten down, and returned the keys with a genuine apology for robbing people. Despite my anger, I pushed the keys back to Ryan, offering him a second chance that brought tears to his eyes.
At City of Refuge, Ryan experienced many firsts-birthday parties, Christmas presents, Easter egg dyeing-and achieved milestones like getting his driver's license, GED, and opening a bank account. Though still struggling with anger, Ryan eventually reconnected with his teenage daughter, whom he hadn't seen since a terrifying incident where a rival gang member shot at his car while she was inside.
Kapitel 8
When Healing Becomes Paying It Forward
Transformation means finding dignity in both caring for yourself and others. Today, a third of City of Refuge's staff were once residents, program participants, or formerly incarcerated individuals who now help others begin their own healing journeys. Ryan exemplifies this transformation despite his rocky path. After completing numerous requirements and facing constant employment rejection due to his violent record, Ryan finally secured a full-time position as night security at Eden Village.
Though still struggling with his temper, Ryan experienced a breakthrough when he felt compelled to call his abusive stepfather, Big Ivan. Despite initial resistance, Ryan obtained Ivan's number from his half-sister, who surprisingly was at the hospital with Ivan. During their conversation, Ivan apologized for his past actions, asking for forgiveness. Ryan accepted the apology and felt an incredible weight lift from him. His sister called later to say Ivan had died that same day.
After this reconciliation, Ryan's life improved dramatically - he moved into his own apartment, had his record expunged, and reconnected with his teenage daughter, eventually visiting her for the first time since she was a toddler. Ryan went on to establish his own security company, Watchmen Protective Services, which now employs thirty people and serves homeless shelters throughout Atlanta. He even offers free training to homeless individuals at City of Refuge's Workforce Innovation Hub.
Those who find healing at City of Refuge invariably redirect their energy toward helping others. Vanessa, despite her physical limitations, volunteered as the "lunch lady," meticulously preparing three hundred sack lunches daily with fierce dedication. Tennie Woods, who grew up in a nearby housing project, spiraled into addiction after losing her husband. After dealing and using cocaine, she hit bottom and surrendered herself to police, ready for change. At City of Refuge, she volunteered in the kitchen before becoming a full-time security guard at Eden Village. Now celebrating over ten years with the organization, Tennie works specifically with sex trafficking victims, using her past experiences to connect with women in ways I cannot.
As I acknowledge, despite being the leader, I remain an outsider in some ways - "Ghetto Rev," the white mountain guy who never experienced addiction or incarceration firsthand. This is why transformed residents like Ryan, Tennie, and Greg are vital to the organization's success - they lead from shared experience, making the most dignified and satisfying work possible.
Kapitel 9
Confronting the Horror of Sex Trafficking
Nothing in my experience at City of Refuge prepared me for the courage I would witness from women escaping sex trafficking. Michelle arrived terrified, brought to us after fleeing traffickers. For a month, she remained in bed facing the wall, emerging only for basic needs. When she finally asked to see me, her desperate plea shook me to my core: "I need you to take me downtown to the courthouse and wipe away the fact that I ever existed. I need my name changed, my Social Security number changed, and a new birth certificate. We have to change everything or they will find me and they will kill me."
As she shared her horrific story of being imprisoned and repeatedly assaulted for over three years, I witnessed her emotional detachment-a coping mechanism that frightened me more than tears would have. This wasn't someone seeking a fresh start; this was someone whose very identity needed to be erased to survive. I promised to help, and walking back to my office, I committed to building a new program for trafficking survivors, despite knowing nothing about the industry.
I threw myself into fundraising with passion, telling Michelle's story despite pushback from those who wanted me to "tone down" the harsh realities of trafficking. Some established agencies expressed disappointment that we were entering "their" space, but I couldn't understand their territorial attitude when they had no beds available for women like Michelle. Within a year, we raised $1 million to build a beautiful, welcoming home designed to make every woman feel loved and valued. What started as ten beds in one house eventually grew to forty beds across four houses. By 2018, more than five hundred women had found shelter in our restoration homes.
When I first met Stephanie, I thought she had no chance of recovery. Hard as stone, she avoided eye contact and radiated hostility, especially toward men. Born into a cult that trafficked daughters for profit, she had endured rape and abuse since age five before escaping at twenty-three. Though our staff recommended psychiatric hospitalization, I believed unconditional love-something she'd never experienced-was the better treatment. Despite her shattering windows, running away, and curling into an unreachable ball for hours, we remained patient. Slowly, like grass emerging from frozen soil, Stephanie began to soften-first with whispered hellos, then participation in worship, eventually building trust day by day.
When the director of Colorado's beautiful Wind River Ranch visited us, he committed to hosting our survivors for a week of respite. On their final day, I flew out with flowers and chocolates for each woman. Though Stephanie had never before allowed physical contact, she surprised everyone by running to embrace me, accepting the roses and chocolate, and even kissing my cheek. Later, she revealed she had prayed to hear a man say "I love you" without wanting something in return-and God had answered by sending me. Weeks after returning home, Stephanie legally changed her name to Victoria Hope, embracing her new identity built on love and trust.
Kapitel 10
The Equation of Transformation
We have little control over life or those we care about, yet we must never love or trust less because of it. My father Cecil Deel, who first taught me unwavering trust, died on May 14, 2017-receiving only three months instead of the eighteen the doctors predicted. He showed me how to finish well by staying committed despite challenges. Though I once resented his calling as a preacher and missionary that kept our family struggling financially and often separated, I came to understand his unshakable persistence through the stories he shared in his final days.
We often define success by easily measurable outcomes that others value, as I once did when judging my father's ministry. Nonprofits must track metrics like meals served and employment rates to secure funding. While City of Refuge can cite impressive statistics-$65.6 million in economic impact and 139 women graduating to stable employment in 2016-numbers fail to capture the immeasurable dignity restored to human lives. If trust is the first essential resource for transformation, time is the second, and it varies tremendously from person to person.
It took Rufus years before his profanity-laden outbursts decreased and his substance abuse began declining. After a decade in our care, following a frightening diabetic episode, he called his friend Steve and committed to sobriety. He's remained clean since, even quitting smoking cold turkey after using since age eleven. Though Rufus doesn't meet society's success criteria-he depends on us for housing, utilities, and transportation-he represents profound transformation. Free from sex work, addiction, and violence, he attends church weekly and gives back financially from his disability checks.
"Transformation" isn't something you do once and finish with. We all have periods when we lose our way or need carrying. Take Vanessa, who returned for a second tour in our women's transitional program after years of independence. With health challenges limiting her mobility, she spends days watching from Eden Village's window. Despite needing adult diapers and help managing her money, she's found dignity. Once embarrassed by her health issues, she now shouts across rooms about needing diapers without shame. Though some might see her as a drain on resources, I see someone no longer living in squalor or at risk of abuse. After twenty years of solitude, she has a family that loves her, celebrates her birthday, hugs her despite her smell, and tells her she looks pretty when dressed up.
City of Refuge's greatest joy is showing people they can do more than others think they can. This requires rejecting society's limiting labels and the binary "success-failure" mindset. I personally love exceeding others' expectations, as in our campus weight room where I still outperform younger staff. Once when attempting my highest-ever bench press weight, I initially struggled and needed help. When Matt said "First time I've ever seen you fail," I immediately tried again with the same weight and succeeded. What Matt didn't understand was that in my mind, I hadn't failed-I just wasn't finished yet. This attitude has sustained me through years of offering second, third, and thirtieth chances. I've replaced the success-failure binary with recognition that we're all on lifelong journeys of becoming.
Kapitel 11
Building a Legacy of Trust
Twenty-one years have passed in a blur at City of Refuge, though I only need to look at my now-grown daughters to realize how much time has passed. Three work at City of Refuge, one teaches school, and my youngest enjoys living on our campus home. The 30314 neighborhood has changed, now in the shadow of the $1.5 billion Mercedes-Benz Stadium. Arthur Blank has invested $20 million to improve the area, though locals remain skeptical of "revitalization plans." While crime has decreased 40% after a federal crackdown, housing challenges persist despite Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms' focus on affordable housing and community development.
Despite progress, dark days still come. In August 2018, our beloved staff member Beverly Jenkins was killed during a robbery attempt after her midnight shift ended. Her death barely made the news, but our campus grieved intensely for days. Four staff members quit, feeling unsafe, while others became more committed than ever. Beverly's passion for horticulture and art had touched countless residents.
Finding safe, affordable housing remains our biggest challenge. We've purchased a decrepit apartment building and abandoned lots in our community, cleaning up overgrown areas and removing truckloads of trash. In October 2018, we broke ground on a forty-seven-unit apartment complex without fencing, trusting tenants to maintain the safe space with minimal security. Everyone who signs a lease agrees to participate in community meetings and property maintenance, with our cultural basics of love, acceptance, and nonjudgmental attitude as the foundation.
I'm now regularly asked to share our story across the country. People from multiple cities have inquired about establishing City of Refuge in their neighborhoods. We've created affiliates in over ten cities including Chicago, Baltimore, and Dallas. While recognition and accolades have come our way - a stark contrast to years of being told I was nuts - the speaking engagements that take me away from campus weary me. Some advise me to embrace this "next thing" of becoming an expert in my field, but personally, I just want to continue the work I've been privileged to do for two decades.
There are countless people like Rufus, Gloria, and Jake in cities worldwide, waiting for someone to step into their conflict and convince them that life offers more than their current circumstances. Many of our most dedicated volunteers, like board member Doug, initially came out of mere curiosity or reluctance. But upon meeting our community, their hearts shifted fundamentally, transforming any sense of "them" into "us." Deep in all of us resides a trusting, compassionate spirit. To trust and be trusted fulfills one of our deepest human urges. Life without deep community remains anxious and empty, while putting others' needs before your own brings profound satisfaction. You don't need to start a nonprofit to make a difference - small acts of compassion in your own community create light, hope, and transformation.
