Trust First

Trust First Plot Summary

Introduction

Twenty years ago, Bruce Deel stood in one of Atlanta's roughest neighborhoods with a van full of food, attempting to serve a hot meal to people living on the margins. Within minutes, he found himself face to face with a woman pointing a gun at a man in the crowd. In that critical moment, Bruce stepped between them, gently placed his hand on the woman's arm, and with a slight downward pressure asked, "You don't really want to do this, do you?" This encounter became the foundation of his life's work—discovering that genuine transformation begins with radical trust. Bruce's journey from a rural Virginia pastor to the founder of City of Refuge, a comprehensive support center for people in crisis, demonstrates the extraordinary power of extending trust to those whom society has deemed untrustworthy. His approach challenges conventional wisdom about poverty, addiction, and homelessness. Through two decades of work in Atlanta's 30314 zip code, Bruce has developed a philosophy that turns traditional charity on its head: rather than treating those in need as problems to be solved, he recognizes them as people with potential who simply need someone to believe in them first. His experiences reveal how trust, when combined with time and compassion, can transform not only those receiving help but also those extending it.

Chapter 1: The Courage to Trust: Bruce's First Steps into Atlanta's Margins

Bruce Deel's journey into Atlanta's toughest neighborhoods began with a temporary assignment. As a white Christian pastor from rural Virginia, he was asked to evaluate a struggling inner-city church that was on the verge of closing. The plan was simple: spend six months assessing the situation, then return to his comfortable suburban life with his wife Rhonda and their four young daughters. But fate had other plans. On his fifth or sixth Sunday at the small church, a woman who appeared exhausted and disheveled walked in during the service. After the congregation dispersed, she approached Bruce, took his hand, and through tears asked a question that would alter the course of his life: "I've been hooking and stripping for fourteen years. Can you help me get out?" This desperate plea for assistance touched something deep within Bruce. He helped her find safe housing, gave her clothes, and provided her with bus fare and food. The following Sunday, she returned with someone else in need of help. Soon, a pattern emerged. Each week, more people in crisis came to the church—homeless individuals, drug addicts, and neighbors facing profound challenges. The offering plate began receiving more than just money; sometimes it contained baggies of crack, syringes, or even weapons—sacrifices representing commitments to change. The congregation grew from a handful to nearly a hundred people within months. These weren't middle-class churchgoers but individuals living on society's margins who had heard that "the preacher at the church down the street would help." This experience forced Bruce to confront his own assumptions about poverty and the people experiencing it. He had always believed that bad decisions caused homelessness, addiction, and destitution. But as he listened to people's stories and witnessed their struggles firsthand, he began to understand poverty as a cause of desperate choices rather than merely an effect. He saw how the deck was stacked against those born without resources, support systems, or opportunities—what he would later term "opportunity injustice." Rather than return to his suburban church as planned, Bruce made the radical decision to resign and accept the pastorate of the struggling inner-city church. He founded City of Refuge, a nonprofit designed to assist those experiencing various forms of crisis. His approach was different from traditional charity models. Instead of offering handouts with strings attached or services that treated symptoms rather than causes, Bruce committed to extending radical trust—believing in people's inherent worth and potential despite their current circumstances. This approach wasn't without risk. Bruce soon discovered that trusting people who society had labeled as untrustworthy meant accepting that some would disappoint him. But he also found that many would rise to meet his expectations when given dignity, opportunity, and someone who believed in them. This fundamental insight—that trust extended first could become the catalyst for profound change—would guide his work for the next two decades.

Chapter 2: From Suburbia to the Streets: A Family's Radical Relocation

In the early days of City of Refuge, Bruce was commuting from his comfortable suburban home to serve meals and offer support in Atlanta's most challenging neighborhoods. The contrast between these two worlds became increasingly difficult to reconcile. After several months of this arrangement, Bruce's wife Rhonda made a suggestion that would dramatically alter their family's trajectory: "If we are really going to impact a city, we have to be in the city." This wasn't just a practical consideration about commute time. Rhonda recognized that genuine transformation required proximity, relationship, and sustained presence. How could they expect people to trust them if they weren't willing to fully commit? How could they truly understand the daily realities of those they served if they retreated to suburban comfort each night? The Deel family needed to close the distance. The decision was made: they would move from their beautiful three-story suburban home with hardwood trees and a tire swing to the very community they were serving. With limited finances, Bruce searched for affordable housing near the mission but found nothing suitable for a family with four young daughters. The solution emerged when they looked at the empty third floor of the church building itself—a cavernous space with dormitory-style rooms, communal bathrooms, and stained glass windows so dark they blocked most natural light. Life in the church building was a far cry from suburban comfort. The windows were painted over, providing no view of the outside world. The bathrooms were so dark and dank that Rhonda called them the "Wicked Bathrooms." Their first night was punctuated by the sound of shattering glass as a drunk man hurled chunks of asphalt through their bedroom window. The family adapted to the constant noise of traffic, sirens, and street conversations that filtered through the walls. Their daughters' playground became the church sanctuary, where they would rappel from the balcony and swim in the baptistery. The relocation represented more than a change of address. It was a profound statement of commitment that transformed how Bruce and his family related to those they served. No longer were they visitors dispensing help from a distance—they were neighbors sharing the same daily challenges and inconveniences. This proximity built trust in ways that occasional charity never could. The people they served recognized that the Deel family had skin in the game, that they were willing to sacrifice their own comfort to be present. Moving into the church also attracted more volunteers and supporters. People were intrigued by the family who had abandoned suburban comfort to live among those they served. Some came as "tourists"—visiting briefly out of curiosity. Others stayed for a season, contributing significantly before returning to their previous lives. A small number became "lifers," fully committing to the mission alongside Bruce and his family. This radical relocation became the physical embodiment of the trust-based approach Bruce was developing. By sharing vulnerabilities, challenges, and daily life with those they served, the Deel family demonstrated that trust isn't a one-way street. Their willingness to trust the community by living among them, despite warnings about danger and discomfort, invited reciprocal trust in return.

Chapter 3: Creating a Sanctuary: The Birth of City of Refuge

As Bruce and his family settled into life in the church building, they transformed the space into more than just their home. The Streetlight Café, an area that had once hosted Georgia Tech students, became a gathering place where homeless individuals could share meals with volunteers, students, and community members. These communal dinners were intentionally focused on conversation topics everyone could comfortably discuss—sports, weather, current events—rather than lectures about what needed fixing in anyone's life. This approach represented a fundamental shift from traditional charity models. Instead of creating an environment of "us helping them," Bruce fostered a community where distinctions between helper and helped gradually dissolved. The atmosphere of acceptance and dignity proved transformative. People who had grown accustomed to being viewed with suspicion found themselves treated as friends and equals. Walls of distrust built over years began to crumble during these shared meals. The evolving community soon expanded beyond meals. Bruce initiated an after-school program for neighborhood children, many of whom were growing up in environments of anxiety and opportunity injustice. The program quickly grew from twenty to over a hundred kids. They were transported from dangerous housing complexes to the church for tutoring, activities, and meals. Summer camps provided children with experiences many had never known—clean clothes, personal attention, and affirmation of their worth and potential. Bruce's understanding of the community's needs continued to deepen. He was particularly moved by the situations of young women, many of them mothers, trapped in cycles of addiction, homelessness, and abuse. The church dormitory spaces provided an opportunity to offer housing to these women and their children. Soon Bruce was receiving collect calls from the county jail, as word spread that "Pastor Bruce" would help women in crisis. The church building became an informal halfway house for women seeking to escape prostitution, addiction, or abusive relationships. The Deel family's commitment to creating sanctuary sometimes placed them in difficult situations. When Bruce took temporary guardianship of two-year-old Hannah while her mother Valerie was incarcerated, he faced the complexities of balancing child welfare with family reunification. After Valerie's release, her mental health challenges made co-parenting impossible, culminating in a physical altercation that resulted in Bruce's arrest (though charges were later dropped). Such experiences, while painful, deepened his understanding of the complex, interwoven challenges facing those in crisis. By 1997, Bruce's vision had expanded beyond the limitations of the church building. He established a men's shelter in a rented building near the original food distribution site. On Christmas Day, with temperatures dropping to twenty-three degrees, Bruce and his staff hurriedly prepared mattresses on the floor for more than fifty men who would otherwise have spent the night in the freezing cold. Bruce himself spent that night sleeping on the shelter floor alongside his guests, a gesture that embodied the essence of his approach: closing the distance between helper and helped. These early initiatives formed the foundation of what would become City of Refuge. Rather than creating programs based on theoretical models or administrative convenience, Bruce built services in direct response to the needs he encountered daily. The sanctuary he created wasn't defined by physical spaces but by relationships characterized by dignity, acceptance, and trust. While many charitable organizations maintained professional distance from those they served, City of Refuge deliberately blurred these lines, recognizing that genuine transformation happens in the context of authentic community.

Chapter 4: Weathering Storms: Facing Failures and Finding Purpose

The journey of building City of Refuge was far from smooth. Six years into living at the church, Bruce faced a moment that shook him to his core. A resident named Michael, who suffered from mental illness, had been asked to leave the men's shelter after inappropriate behavior. Days later, Michael confronted another resident with a cinder block, threatening to kill him. When Bruce intervened, Michael turned his threats toward Bruce's family: "I'll be back to kill you and Rhonda and your girls. I know when Rhonda leaves in the morning taking the girls to school, and I know when she gets home." This incident forced Bruce to confront the potential consequences of his radical trust approach. Was he putting his family at risk? Were there limits to who could be helped? While Michael was arrested and eventually institutionalized, the experience left Bruce questioning whether his current methods were adequate. He realized that crisis triage and resource referrals weren't enough for people with complex, overlapping challenges. The services existed in Atlanta, but they were fragmented, requiring people already in crisis to navigate a maze of agencies, appointments, and paperwork—often with limited transportation and resources. Around this time, Bruce had another humbling encounter that shifted his perspective. While cleaning the church parking lot, he was approached by a homeless man who asked for his old sneakers. Bruce readily agreed but was caught off guard when the man then asked if he could wash his feet before putting on the shoes. The shame and vulnerability in the man's voice as he made this simple request branded Bruce's soul. He realized he had nearly missed an opportunity to help someone experience dignity because he was too busy with his own tasks. These experiences catalyzed Bruce to envision something more comprehensive: a "One Stop Shop" where individuals in crisis could access everything they needed in one location—medical care, addiction recovery, job training, housing, childcare, and education. This vision required significantly more space than the church building could provide. Bruce asked a real estate friend to find a property in an even tougher neighborhood, the area surrounding "The Bluff," Atlanta's notorious open-air drug market. The search led to an eight-acre property with a 210,000-square-foot warehouse. The asking price was $1.6 million—far beyond Bruce's resources. His counteroffer was simple: "We don't have any money." Over several months, Bruce developed a relationship with the property owner, Malon Mimms, sharing his vision for transforming the space into a comprehensive support center. To Bruce's astonishment, Mimms eventually decided to donate the entire property to City of Refuge. The donated warehouse quickly became Bruce's "Bull in the Ring"—a relentless challenge that charged at him from all directions. The fifty-year-old building had a leaking roof, broken doors, outdated systems, and a massive rat infestation. Thieves regularly broke in, chiseling holes in the brick walls during passing trains to mask the sound. Bruce spent nights sleeping in the warehouse or his truck to deter break-ins, accompanied by a former drug kingpin and a motorcycle gang member who had become volunteers. While the practical challenges were daunting, the deeper struggle was philosophical. Many advisors told Bruce his vision was too ambitious: "Focus on doing one thing really well," they counseled. "Spreading yourself too thin will not allow for success." Donors hesitated to fund an organization trying to be "all things to all people." Bruce was variously described as foolish, unintelligent, misguided, arrogant, and doomed to failure. Despite these criticisms, Bruce remained committed to his comprehensive vision. He recognized that the fragmented nature of social services was itself part of the problem. People in crisis needed a coordinated approach that addressed the full spectrum of their challenges simultaneously. His experiences had taught him that trust could flourish only when barriers to participation were removed and when people felt seen and supported in their entirety. The period of establishing the warehouse facility tested Bruce's resolve in unprecedented ways. Yet through the struggles, his purpose clarified. He wasn't building programs to achieve metrics or satisfy funders; he was creating a community where people could find whatever they needed to move from crisis to dignity and independence. This clarity of purpose carried him through the storms of criticism, financial uncertainty, and logistical challenges.

Chapter 5: The One-Stop Shop: Transforming Crisis Response

By 2005, City of Refuge had transformed the warehouse into a functioning facility, but Bruce's comprehensive vision was still seen by many as unrealistic. Then came Hurricane Katrina. As evacuees flooded into Atlanta, government and social service agencies contacted City of Refuge, asking if they could provide temporary housing and serve as a distribution center. Within days, the organization was sheltering and supporting thousands of displaced individuals and families. This large-scale relief effort showcased City of Refuge's capabilities and attracted attention from potential partners. Shortly after, the Regional Commission on Homelessness in Atlanta approached Bruce with a proposal: they would provide $1.5 million to renovate part of the warehouse into a transitional living center for homeless women and children. This became "Eden Village," offering forty family units with comprehensive support services. Eden Village represented the beginning of Bruce's One Stop Shop vision becoming reality. Unlike traditional shelters, it offered a continuum of care and a map to independence. Women entering the program found not just housing but access to financial literacy training, addiction recovery, mental health care, childcare, and education—all under one roof. Within its first year, Eden Village was consistently at full capacity with a waiting list. The city soon funded an additional eighty beds for single women without children. The success of these initial programs enabled Bruce to expand services further. A medical clinic provided healthcare, dental care, vision services, and mental health support. A daycare center served children from six weeks to five years old. Vocational training programs began with culinary arts and expanded to other high-demand fields. Each addition brought City of Refuge closer to Bruce's vision of a comprehensive support center where all barriers to transformation were removed. As the organization grew, Bruce maintained his commitment to seeing each person as an individual with unique needs and potential. When Vanessa, a homeless woman with a history of addiction and trauma, asked if she could "go home with" Bruce after a Sunday breakfast, he found her placement in a recovery home. Despite her challenging behaviors and health issues, the staff treated her with dignity and patience. Years later, when her health deteriorated further, they continued supporting her with housing, financial management, and practical care. The expansion of City of Refuge's facilities was matched by an evolution in Bruce's understanding of transformation. A conversation with L.C., a homeless man with a history of addiction and incarceration, proved particularly enlightening. When Bruce asked why people repeatedly returned to destructive behaviors despite experiencing their negative consequences, L.C. responded simply: "Some people just get stuck on stupid." This perspective helped Bruce release his messiah complex—the belief that he had to save everyone. His calling was to serve people in crisis, not make judgments or demands. This insight led to a fundamental shift in approach. Rather than focusing on the endgame of complete transformation, Bruce and his staff began celebrating incremental progress—a day without relapse, a meal without conflict, a smile where there had been only anger before. They stopped talking about changing lives forever and instead worked to help people make one better choice at a time. This shift brought immediate, observable returns as many residents began winning small victories in their personal battles. By 2008, City of Refuge had established itself as a unique model of comprehensive support. The One Stop Shop wasn't just a physical space but a philosophy that recognized the interconnected nature of the challenges facing those in crisis. By removing practical barriers and providing coordinated services, Bruce created an environment where trust could flourish and transformation could unfold at each person's own pace.

Chapter 6: Extending Second Chances: Stories of Rufus, Jake and Ryan

Among the thousands of individuals who found refuge at City of Refuge, three men's stories particularly illuminate the power of Bruce's approach: Rufus, Jake, and Ryan. Each man arrived with a history of trauma, addiction, and destructive behavior. Each received not just second chances but multiple opportunities to rebuild their lives. Their journeys reveal both the challenges and possibilities of transformation through radical trust. Rufus was known throughout the neighborhood for his belligerence, volatility, and hateful attitude. A prostitute since childhood, he had been introduced to heroin by a madam who became his first source of affection. His life was marked by violence—both received and inflicted. His angry outbursts and manipulative behavior made him so difficult that staff repeatedly suggested Bruce stop helping him. Yet Bruce persisted, recognizing that Rufus's behavior stemmed from profound childhood trauma and decades of survival on the streets. For years, Rufus would accept meals, clothing, and occasional shelter from City of Refuge, only to disappear for days or weeks, returning dirty, hungry, and as cantankerous as ever. Progress came in barely perceptible increments—a decreased frequency of outbursts, an occasional expression of gratitude, a moment of vulnerability. After ten years of this pattern, during which Bruce never gave up on him, Rufus experienced a health crisis that became his turning point. He has now been sober for nine years, lives independently, and regularly contributes to his community. Jake's story unfolded differently. He was the first person Bruce met when starting his street outreach, a homeless golf hustler with charm and a perfect swing. Jake became a fixture at City of Refuge, helping with security at meals and working in the warehouse. He struggled with crack addiction and alcohol abuse, experiencing periods of stability followed by disappearances and relapses. During one relapse, Bruce tracked him to a notorious drug house, risking his own safety to bring Jake back. Despite these efforts, Jake's health and mental stability gradually declined. One morning, staff discovered him dead in the back seat of Bruce's truck, where he had been sleeping. The loss devastated Bruce, triggering months of grief and questioning. Had all his efforts been in vain? Eventually, Bruce found peace in recognizing that Jake had chosen to return to City of Refuge in his final hours—a place where he knew he was accepted and loved. In Jake's pocket was a small New Testament Bruce had given him years earlier, with John 3:16 circled in red. Ryan's journey represents the most dramatic transformation. A former gang member with a history of violence and PCP addiction, he had spent seventeen years terrorizing and robbing people. After a spiritual awakening following a planned robbery, Ryan came to City of Refuge seeking a complete change. Bruce offered him housing in a small office space and provided work on campus. Despite this support, Ryan initially struggled with the transition, once disappearing back to gang life before returning remorseful. Instead of giving up on Ryan, Bruce pushed the office keys back across the desk, saying simply, "Let's start over." This extension of trust after betrayal became a pivotal moment in Ryan's journey. Over time, he experienced many positive firsts—his first birthday party with cake and candles, his first Easter egg dyeing, his first legal driver's license. He completed anger management courses, earned his GED, opened a bank account, and eventually reconnected with his estranged daughter. Years later, Ryan surprised Bruce by starting his own security company. He had secretly obtained certification, saved money, secured contracts with homeless shelters, and hired employees—all without asking for help. When Bruce expressed pride in his accomplishment, Ryan's face lit up with joy: "I knew I could make you proud." Today, Ryan operates a security training school that helps others from similar backgrounds find employment. These three stories demonstrate the highly individualized nature of transformation. Rufus needed a decade of persistent care before making significant changes. Jake never achieved lasting sobriety but found acceptance and community. Ryan transformed his life completely and now helps others do the same. In each case, Bruce's willingness to extend trust repeatedly, without conditions or timelines, created the space for positive change to emerge at its own pace.

Chapter 7: Trust + Time = Transformation: A Philosophy of Radical Change

After more than two decades of working with people in crisis, Bruce Deel has distilled his approach to a simple equation: Trust + Time = Transformation. This formula captures the essence of what makes City of Refuge's model successful and challenges conventional approaches to addressing poverty, addiction, and homelessness. The first element, trust, remains radical in a society that typically demands people prove themselves worthy before receiving help. Bruce's approach inverts this dynamic by extending trust first—believing in people's inherent dignity and potential regardless of their current circumstances. This trust isn't naive; it's a deliberate choice made with full awareness of the risks involved. When Bruce gave Ryan, a former gang member with violent tendencies, the master key to their facility, he knew it might backfire. But he also understood that Ryan desperately needed someone to believe in him. Trust extended first creates the conditions for reciprocal trust to develop. When people who have experienced betrayal, abuse, and institutional indifference are met with genuine belief in their potential, many begin to trust not only those offering help but also themselves. This self-trust—the belief that their own actions can lead to positive outcomes—is essential for lasting change. The second element, time, acknowledges that transformation happens at different rates for different people. Bruce has learned to abandon rigid timelines and predetermined outcomes in favor of patient accompaniment. Some residents make dramatic changes within the six-month Eden Village program; others, like Rufus, need years or even decades of support before experiencing significant breakthroughs. By allowing each person's journey to unfold at its own pace, City of Refuge creates space for authentic transformation rather than temporary compliance. This approach challenges outcome-based measurements that dominate nonprofit funding. While City of Refuge tracks metrics like employment rates and housing placements, Bruce recognizes that these measures fail to capture the full spectrum of transformation. A former gang member who no longer resolves conflicts with violence, a mother who maintains sobriety long enough to reconnect with her children, an addict who reduces use from daily to weekly—these incremental changes represent profound victories that often go unmeasured. Bruce's philosophy also redefines success in ways that honor individual dignity. Vanessa, who continues to need support managing her finances and health issues after a decade, is considered a success not because she achieved complete independence but because she escaped life on the streets and now lives with dignity. Rufus, who will likely never work a traditional job due to health issues, is celebrated for his sobriety, community engagement, and weekly financial contributions to City of Refuge. The transformational impact extends beyond those receiving services. Bruce has witnessed former residents become powerful agents of change for others. One-third of City of Refuge's staff previously lived on campus or came through their programs. Their lived experience creates authentic connections with current residents that professional credentials alone cannot achieve. When Ryan operates a security training school for people facing employment barriers, when Tennie mentors women escaping sex trafficking, when former residents volunteer to help others—these represent the ultimate transformation from crisis to contribution. Perhaps most importantly, Bruce's approach transforms not just individuals but communities. By creating a space where trust flourishes and dignity is restored, City of Refuge has become a beacon in a neighborhood often defined by its challenges. The organization has expanded beyond its warehouse to develop affordable housing in the surrounding area. Community dinners bring together long-time residents to envision a neighborhood where children graduate, families thrive, and residents feel safe. After twenty-one years, Bruce views City of Refuge's work as just beginning. The warehouse that once seemed impossibly ambitious now serves as the foundation for an expanding vision. While he's frequently invited to share his model nationally, Bruce remains most energized by direct engagement with the community he serves. His ultimate measure of success isn't awards or recognition but the continued opportunity to extend trust to those society has deemed untrustworthy—and witness the transformation that follows.

Summary

Bruce Deel's life work embodies a profound truth: radical trust has the power to transform both individuals and communities. Through City of Refuge, he has demonstrated that when we trust first—believing in people's potential before they've proven themselves worthy—we create the conditions for authentic transformation. By combining this trust with patient accompaniment that allows change to unfold at its own pace, Bruce has helped thousands of individuals move from crisis to dignity and independence. The legacy of Bruce's work extends far beyond the walls of City of Refuge's warehouse facility. His approach challenges conventional wisdom about addressing poverty and homelessness, offering an alternative to both callous neglect and paternalistic charity. The model he's developed—a comprehensive "One Stop Shop" that removes practical barriers while fostering genuine community—has been replicated in cities across the country. But perhaps his most important contribution is the reminder that transformation is possible for everyone, given sufficient trust and time. His stories of Rufus, Jake, Ryan, Vanessa, and countless others demonstrate that there are no lost causes—only people who haven't yet received the right combination of belief, opportunity, and patience. For anyone seeking to make a difference in their community, Bruce's journey offers a powerful invitation: trust first, and watch what happens.

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Bruce Deel

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