The Hidden Homeless

Gabriella was 17 years old when I met her. She was a teen mom, and was struggling everyday. She came into my life not by her free will- she was court ordered to the residential program I worked for. During the time I worked with her, she shared her story- one full of pain and heartache. Her father was absent. Her mother was an alcoholic. Her son was born with significant delays, most likely due to Gabriella’s substance use when pregnant. She had lived on and worked the streets. Before she ended up in jail, she was homeless. But she was one of the hidden homeless… she wasn’t standing on the street corner with a sign, she wasn’t lined up the homeless shelter.

(#2 in a series about homelessness in preparation for Night In A Box)

The Man Who Changed My Life

I was just a freshman in college when I sat down to dinner and the man who sat next to me changed my life. His name was Ron.
I was at Agape Meal, a weekly meal provided to the homeless in Fort Worth. The meal was not your typical soup-kitchen experience. The dining room was set up for family style meals. Tables were covered with tablecloths and real dishes. Large dishes of food were brought out to each table. Volunteers either served the food or joined a table for dinner. I really wanted to serve food, keeping myself at a distance and staying in my comfort zone. But I was compelled to sit.
Ron sat down next to me. Over the course of dinner, he shared his life story with me. The next week, I went back and Ron sought me out with a big smile and a hug. This went on for weeks as I learned more of his story and his dreams. He slowly broke down many of my stereotypes of the homeless. He challenged me and encouraged me. Over time, life got busy and I stopped going to Agape Meal. But the experience never left my mind and each Thursday night I remembered. A year later, I went back. I was sitting at the table meeting new people, learning new stories. A volunteer asked if I wanted more water, I nodded, and then did a double take. It was Ron. That same smile appeared on his face. That night he updated me on his life, and how he was working, had a place to live, and came back to serve others.
Ron made a difference in my life because he challenged my perceptions of the homeless. He made a difference because he was willing to teach me. He made a difference because one meal a week meant the world to him. He knew he was loved, he was offered grace, and he didn’t lose his dignity in the process.

(#1 in a series about homelessness in preparation for Night In A Box)

Tough Decisions

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I don't always know what you need and when you need it. I'm sorry that I can't read your mind. I'm sorry I can't take the hurt away. I'm sorry that life has been so very unfair to you. I'm sorry that I don't always say, and often can't say, what you really need to hear. I'm sorry that you see me as one more person who has rejected you, abandoned you.
I hope. I hope you know that I have your best interests at heart. I hope you know that my care for you is unconditional. I hope you hear what I do not say. I hope that you see how beautiful you are, how worthy you are to be loved. I hope you stop blaming yourself for the hurt you've endured.
I pray. I pray that you are healed. I pray that you are right where you need to be.

Adventures In Missing the Point

"I'm free!" she exclaimed standing outside the Denver city jail, her arms raised to the sky. "Look at the sunshine, the blue sky. Freedom!" These exuberant cries of joy were coming from an innocent-looking, blonde haired, blue-eyed 18 year old girl. Granted, she had only spent 3 days in jail, but the relief in her voice was sincere.

I, on the other hand, had a very different expression on my face. I rolled by eyes at her dramatic expression of freedom. I was irritated that I had to pick her up from jail after she ran from our program. I had previously offered her help and she had rejected it. She had been free and knowingly chose to put herself back in jail. Now, in retrospect, I completely missed it.

I know this young lady's story. I know about her mentally ill father and alcoholic mother. I know the horrific teasing she experienced as a child. I know about her sexual assault, her meth addiction, her broken heart. I know her diagnosis, her desire to be loved and accepted, and how she seeks these things out through sex. But I completely missed it.

She has never been free. In that moment I had the opportunity to listen to the real cry of her heart. I had the opportunity to show genuine love and compassion. I had a moment to share Truth and Hope- hope that there is a Savior who can set her free. But I missed it.

I do not want to miss what is stirring in my own heart. I have opportunities to share truth and hope every single day. The face and the stories may change, but the need for truth and hope greater than this world will never change. The need for the Savior will not change.

And I do not want to miss the obvious reality that I consistently forget that I am free. In reality, I long to be that girl. Sure the story would be different, the scars of life are very different. But I long to feel the deep joy that led to her shout aloud "I'm free." Instead, I am complacent in acknowledging my freedom. It's just another part of every day and life is moving so quickly that I miss the truth. Today I am committed to not taking advantage of my ability to stand daily with my arms raised to the sky proclaiming "I am free!"

"Therefore, there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death." Romans 8:1