Poetry, Faith, and Second Chances: Jacob Maxlow’s Story

After a divorce, Jacob Maxlow found himself suddenly displaced. Jacob moved in with his sister, but with past trauma resurfacing, he had nowhere stable to go. He made the difficult decision to leave an unsafe situation in the middle of the night. “God gave me the ability to be able to leave,” he said. “So I just packed up as fast as I could.”

This last time when Jacob returned to the Mission, he says something small but powerful happened. As he opened his truck door, he noticed a dog tag. “It says, put on the whole armor of God, Ephesians. And I kind of just busted out crying.” That moment marked a shift, one that opened the door for faith, community, and honesty.

Jacob has experienced God moments since staying in the mission. One specific day, he prayed before heading into a store to grab a few things, “Please help me with anything that I need, anything.” Minutes later, his cards were declined, and a stranger stepped in. “She said, ‘No, sir, I got you.’” Then she handed him ten dollars and asked him to put it toward gas. Everything he needed was covered.

Inside the Mission, Jacob became sober and started to share something deeply personal, his poetry. “Because my words weren’t being suppressed by marijuana, I was able to actually speak it.” After two sober days, he wrote poems that captured homelessness, dignity, pain, faith, and resilience.

After being handed a Bible, something shifted. “I want to quit smoking.” Acting quickly, he gathered everything and asked the staff to dispose of it. When asked if he was sure, he replied simply, “Yup, that’s it.”

Today, Jacob is working, he writes poetry late at night, and lifts others up however he can. “Everybody needs kind of like…something to lean on. And I feel like I’m that something.” At 34 years old, he draws strength from his grandfather, now 94. “He’s the best man that’s ever been in my life. He gives me the inspiration to not quit and to not give up.”

Jacob says this is the first time he’s ever felt this low, but also the first time he’s felt this seen. “I’ve never been able to have my story, ever be told, because I feel like nobody ever wants to listen.”

And we are honored to share not just Jacob’s story, but his words.

Sleep with the Moon

By Jacob Maxlow

I sleep with the moon as blanket, as concrete as bed.
Sirens sing lullabies inside my head.
Cardboard dreams folded underneath my spine,
time moved slow when you got nowhere on time.

Hunger talk louder than thoughts I suppressed.
Pride in my pocket, but that pocket got less.
Eyes passed me like I’m part of the street,
invisible soul with just worn out feet.

They say “get a job” like it’s simple math—
try doing interviews with a backpack and past.
Showers cost quarters, dignity too.
I count every dollar like it’s something to prove.

Winter nights bite, summer days burn.
Seasons don’t care whose turn it is to learn.
I seen rich hearts broke, poor hearts gold.
Stories on the sidewalk never get told.

Lost my address, not my name.
Still got ambition, still got flame.
Faith in my chest even when hope thin,
praying to God through cracked-up tin.

Libraries raised me when schools shut doors—
knowledge for warmth, wisdom for wars.
I watch the city eat and waste
while I measure meals by smell and taste.

Cops knock me awake like I’m doing a crime,
existing without property, doing time.
My reflection bent in a broken glass,
still see a future behind the past.

People fear me but don’t know my story.
I was one paycheck from their territory.
Lost family, lost friends, lost route,
found myself when there was nothing to loot.

Pain built muscle, silence built skin.
I learned how to lose before I learned to win.
Every bridge I sleep under taught me a lesson—
survival my major, pressure my profession.

I talk to my shadow, it never lies.
It stick with me when the world pass by.
Dreams feel heavier when you carry them awake,
but I refuse to let my spirit break.

I’ve shared meals with strangers, hearts still warm.
Humanity live where systems don’t form.
I seen angels dressed in thrift-store coats,
heard God in whispers, not in notes.

My life ain’t trash, just misplaced.
Value don’t drop ’cause it’s disgraced.
One chance, one door, one spark—
I’ll light my way out the dark.

Don’t pity me, just understand:
I’m still a man with a plan.
Homeless ain’t hopeless, don’t confuse.
I’m bruised, not broken, still got views.

If you listening close, hear the truth:
this sidewalk raised more kings than you knew.
I’m more than a sign, more than spare change.
I’m proof how fast a life can change.

When I rise, I rise with all
who slept through hunger, pain, and fall.
Remember my face when I touch success—
same soul, just less stress.

From concrete nights to stable ground,
I was always rich—
I just hadn’t found it yet.

(Poem published with permission. All rights remain with the author.)

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