Experiencing Homelessness
I promised I'd write about Ian.
He's just one of many stories that get forgotten in my rage against the inevitable daily repetitions of living in one place. But he's the very sort of reason WHY we MUST live and grow roots right now, the kind of mind-blowing beauty that comes out of being in a place for more than brief shallow exchanges, and here's why...
We crossed paths with him in the park one afternoon. I had seen him plenty of times before, giving the occasional nod as I strolled past his usual post on the bridge on my way to the civilization of the neighborhood playground. He, often sleeping next to or on top of a well worn and soiled backpack. He, was part of the Austin backdrop and landscape to me. He, and the 100s of others on their posts at street corners with their worn cardboard signs and disheveled everythings.
It's not that I particularly avoid such as these. It's just that there's never been an obvious ground of connection. Especially since prior to this encounter, I always assumed giving money to those in homelessness was just giving money to addictions or bad patterns, which isn't really helping anyway right? Or other experiences where I tried to communicate as a fellow friendly human, invariably lead to being asked for money. Or maybe occasionally having food to give, but..then what, they're gone, and our paths never cross again. Just to be left in a state of knowing homeless is obviously not good, but also not knowing what really else there is to do that really helps beyond a momentary passing "good will" moment.
That was, until my heart got involved.
Danforth did his wandering childhood thing down to the park's bridge with his almost-twin friend Billy. My dear friend, Kristen, and I followed along leisurely letting them explore the expanses of their world...while occasionally corralling them away from the excitements of the street. Kristen went after them at one point, and meanwhile my path crossed with Ian.
Like the magic charm kids are to striking up conversations, the topic of the cute little explorers led to that common ground I have never known with someone in homelessness. And we had a conversation.
Soon Kristen joined me...and to his obvious surprise, we lingered in that moment, sharing casual conversation. He made us laugh with his goofy jokes of tricky word plays he kept on crumpled sticky notes tucked in his camouflage jeans. He really enjoyed watching our kids play together, and made all sorts of delighted observations of their genius and camaraderie together.
At one point, a moment came (I've learned often occurs with little ones), when one of the kids came flying by him, and paused looking up, giving him a funny look, and continued on their energetic way.
Ian looked down at his feet and backed up to apologize to us, "Oh, I'm so sorry. Am I scaring him?"
We of course assured him this of this normal toddler behavior and continued to get to know him, and the conversation moved on. Though my heart stirred along with some tears in my eyes, wondering what sorts of kids had maybe said he was scary before...?
We asked him how long he'd been homeless and why, where he sleeps, how he gets food, and so on. We learned of a decade of struggle and loss. Of overcoming one major addiction by sheer willpower, while still being trapped in another. Of life on the streets and a long lost daughter of his out somewhere in the world. Of the joys and dreams of his heart and the physical pains in his legs and feet.
Of course, the conversation didn't turn into a Q&A, but the kind of things one learns over an hour or so of lingering. There were plenty of interruptions of kids darting off and the "chase-down" of which at every point he backed up assuming we were "done with him" and going to move on our merry way, and every time we returned to the conversation, a small speckle of light came into his sad eyes.
Another random moment hopped in the middle of an off topic exchange between humans. He removed his hat and asked us with all genuine concern
"hey, does my hair look so bad? They call me 'sonic the hedgehog'."
We again, assured him it wasn't THAT bad, and moved into the sorts of practical ways of being able to possibly meet some small needs. Like shoes for his sore feet, and maybe a haircut. This moment hit me like the other though, and tears again crept into the corners of my eyes. He continued to apologize for his hair....and I realized he must feel like a monster, an undignified beast, sleeping on the floor of a bathroom, smelling of urine and beer, while all the civilization of children and their clean parents go about their business around him day after day, year after year. And year after year, he continues to beg for change on the street corner because if he doesn't, his poor addicted body might end up in a seizure of withdrawal.
We begged out of him what he could eat if he could have ANYTHING. Knowing we were already planning to bring him some shoes and a couple other odds and ends, he was really insistent on "not wanting to put y'all out"....but exuberance filled his frail bony body as he dreamt of a steak dinner and salty fries!!
That was that. We needed to get our sweaty children to their naps, but we told him we'd be back that evening with a steak dinner for him.
Which we did, complete with our own dinners and husbands. We laid out the feast, and woke him from a very dazed stupor under a tree. When he realized it was us, he hopped up to greet us. We brought him to his feast.
Not wanting to "dirty" our blanket, he sat in the damp grass hardly touching the blanket while he ate his minimal bites with his hands. The moment ebbed and flowed between awkward and beautiful, and we learned more parts of his story while our husbands were off chasing the little wild mini-men around the park.
Stories were shared, as almost accidental side-notes to the conversation, of abuse and neglect, from those whom no one should ever have to question their safety. And before I had a moment to react, the moment would pass and he would be thanking us profusely for everything we had done for him.
Music came up, and soon he held a phone to his hear and belted out as if all the world was no-more one of his favorite Rush songs. It was a wild sort of passion, almost scary and yet brokenly beautiful. It was this window for me into a conflicted complex human, this dark and light, Gollum vs Smeagol (excuse the LOTR movie reference) character of corruption and innocence.
And this is where the friendship began.
There were many more encounters at the park, and at his street corner post. He never asked for money, except once by accident before he recognized me. We plotted to treat him to a Target trip and after many 'no-shows' of meeting times, we spontaneously succeeded on Mother's Day. As he told his other 'friends' that he would be gone for the evening, there was definitely some dramatic dynamic of power and heirarchy I got a window into--and almost lost my temper at one of the guys for wrongly portraying the situation. I had to step away and accept that I wouldn't understand, and couldn't understand.
Ian was a misfit in a suburbia of new everything. He reeked of his smells, talked louder than anyone around, and everyone's heads turned toward this character. Yet, when he and Corey went off to pick out a pair of pants and shoes...I learned of the inside jokes they made. Just two dudes in a department store, you know.
After this, we made our way to Kristen's house, wanting to offer him some food and a shower if he wanted it. During the ride, he hesitantly asked us if we could pull into a gas station, and started apologizing with intensity. "I'm so STUPID that I'm this way, so STUPID....I'm so sorry....I don't know why I'm in this place man...."
He needed beer. I mean, he needed beer. His body was at war against him.
He got what he needed, and we were on our way. One of the most cherished evenings of my life followed.
After feeding him his minimal bites and hanging out for a while, we offered a shower for the hundredth time, and finally eased him in that direction. Much time passed, putrid clothes were washed....and into a living room of record music spinning, children climbing and giggling, and friends that feel more like family....walked fresh and clean, Ian.
Ian who had not bathed in one year.
Ian wearing clean and new clothes, with shoes that didn't feel like boards on his feet. Ian surrounded by life, and health, and music, and children.....like family. Like...home.
As if it might be too much, he went outside to sit alone and quietly sip on a beer. We gave him time, and eventually joined him. It was the kind of evening where peace is tangibly felt in the perfect temperature of the evening air. And his face shone with a contentment I wondered the last time it might have been there. He apologized for being in no hurry to leave, that he was truly "enjoying this moment." And we all felt it too.
You see, he brought depth to our lives, a richness that only diversity and difference can bring. And we brought him all we could give, home, family....and fellow human dignity.
His fuzzy hair stood up on all its ends, and it was a shame that that moment had to end at all. That he would return to the bathroom floor and the confused homeless society hierarchies.
We continued to cross paths, some days were quick "hey, see you later" and some days were plotting his upcoming 40th birthday. Every time we saw him, we reminded him we hadn't forgotten and would have just what he could dream of: pizza and BBQ chicken, and a cake with 40 candles!
When the day finally came after weeks of discussion and talk. Kristen and I showed up with our bags of streamers and balloons, and found a slumped over Ian who wasn't sure if we'd remembered. Together we all began decorating the park's pavilion area. Life and color filling the air. He was full of joy. And eventually other friends showed up and of course food. Kristen and I fell into the backdrop of a true Heavenly scene (the sort that is found in the senses of one's heart).
While we all gathered around him, to sing a chorus of Happy Birthday with he and a cake of 40 candles, I didn't know then, that would possibly be the climax of our story. Perhaps even the end.
As the "party" went on, he slowly shrunk to the outskirts of everything. He was obviously grateful, but there was a tangible tug-of-war between our world and his...as his 'park buddies' all ate near but not with us.
I was left with such an abundance of joy in my heart, at the simplicity of celebrating someone who has maybe ever only known living on the fringes of being valued. After all, he shared, this was his second birthday party of his life, the first having left a slightly bad taste in his mouth with a trick candle when he was 8.
I didn't know this would be one of the last times I'd see him. The rumor is that he got ticked for drinking and is elsewhere in this city.
It's hard to just let him go. My heart skips every time I see someone who matches his build. I wonder if he's okay, or even alive. But, there's still a story going on, whether or not I get the chance to know or impact his ever again.
Our hearts have changed. I no longer see the people on corners as "homeless people" but as other humans experiencing the tragedy of the dehumanization that happens to the soul during homelessness.
I no longer see giving a tiny bit of cash as feeding addiction, but just a gesture that my heart needs to make in acknowledgement of a fellow human's existence and their worth and dignity for simply just being a human created in the image of God.
For all the dignity they have been stripped of, no matter if it is their "fault" or another's....I have learned it is not my right or place to determine or judge, but to follow that heart's prompting and leading to give. Sometimes the mind is not the primary compass that should determine our actions. And it is far too easy to rationalize away the urge to be generous.
But more than money, it truly became for me, about the posture of my heart when I see those in this particular disposition. Of course, it's not every time. I've not become a walking humanitarian or anything...but the mystery that separated me from them has faded slightly, and I see them as much as I see myself...
....a broken human.
You see, my brokenness runs just as deep, I just do a better job of cleaning it up and packaging it in a way that isn't so culturally offensive. It's a different kind of brokenness of course, but I believe that brokenness isn't scalable or comparable. We're all fighting hard battles.
I'm learning more about mine, and for one of the first times in my life, am learning how the Gospel applies to my own story. And it didn't come to me in the form of a packaged Sunday sermon with neck-ties and formulas, it came through other broken humans coming alongside me. They let me be broken and misplaced without trying to jump in and change me all at once. It was Grace that led me to believe in the real un-packaged Jesus. This was five years ago, and there is no greater truth or life that I found in my prior quests.
Another one of the beautiful parts of this story, alongside of getting to love someone who knows not what dignity they deserve, was that we loved someone together. As two families of "ordinary" lifestyles loving with all different forms of variation to another of a completely different disposition.
We each have something beautiful to give that no one else can. I've never before experienced the depths of such a tangible picture of the beautiful complexity of this "living church" with all the personalities and gifts that come from it. The kind that lives in modest homes and walks to parks with their children. The kind that contains hidden-to-the-eyes gigantic hearts full of tenderness and compassion.
We--fellow broken and ordinary human beings that love Jesus and love to share with the world His Grace and Truth that we have abundantly received--We, are the church.
And this whole story is just a small glimpse my heart got to take into a greater understanding of what that means.
Sincerely,
M
We crossed paths with him in the park one afternoon. I had seen him plenty of times before, giving the occasional nod as I strolled past his usual post on the bridge on my way to the civilization of the neighborhood playground. He, often sleeping next to or on top of a well worn and soiled backpack. He, was part of the Austin backdrop and landscape to me. He, and the 100s of others on their posts at street corners with their worn cardboard signs and disheveled everythings.
It's not that I particularly avoid such as these. It's just that there's never been an obvious ground of connection. Especially since prior to this encounter, I always assumed giving money to those in homelessness was just giving money to addictions or bad patterns, which isn't really helping anyway right? Or other experiences where I tried to communicate as a fellow friendly human, invariably lead to being asked for money. Or maybe occasionally having food to give, but..then what, they're gone, and our paths never cross again. Just to be left in a state of knowing homeless is obviously not good, but also not knowing what really else there is to do that really helps beyond a momentary passing "good will" moment.
That was, until my heart got involved.
Danforth did his wandering childhood thing down to the park's bridge with his almost-twin friend Billy. My dear friend, Kristen, and I followed along leisurely letting them explore the expanses of their world...while occasionally corralling them away from the excitements of the street. Kristen went after them at one point, and meanwhile my path crossed with Ian.
Like the magic charm kids are to striking up conversations, the topic of the cute little explorers led to that common ground I have never known with someone in homelessness. And we had a conversation.
Soon Kristen joined me...and to his obvious surprise, we lingered in that moment, sharing casual conversation. He made us laugh with his goofy jokes of tricky word plays he kept on crumpled sticky notes tucked in his camouflage jeans. He really enjoyed watching our kids play together, and made all sorts of delighted observations of their genius and camaraderie together.
Ian looked down at his feet and backed up to apologize to us, "Oh, I'm so sorry. Am I scaring him?"
We of course assured him this of this normal toddler behavior and continued to get to know him, and the conversation moved on. Though my heart stirred along with some tears in my eyes, wondering what sorts of kids had maybe said he was scary before...?
We asked him how long he'd been homeless and why, where he sleeps, how he gets food, and so on. We learned of a decade of struggle and loss. Of overcoming one major addiction by sheer willpower, while still being trapped in another. Of life on the streets and a long lost daughter of his out somewhere in the world. Of the joys and dreams of his heart and the physical pains in his legs and feet.
Of course, the conversation didn't turn into a Q&A, but the kind of things one learns over an hour or so of lingering. There were plenty of interruptions of kids darting off and the "chase-down" of which at every point he backed up assuming we were "done with him" and going to move on our merry way, and every time we returned to the conversation, a small speckle of light came into his sad eyes.
Another random moment hopped in the middle of an off topic exchange between humans. He removed his hat and asked us with all genuine concern
"hey, does my hair look so bad? They call me 'sonic the hedgehog'."
We again, assured him it wasn't THAT bad, and moved into the sorts of practical ways of being able to possibly meet some small needs. Like shoes for his sore feet, and maybe a haircut. This moment hit me like the other though, and tears again crept into the corners of my eyes. He continued to apologize for his hair....and I realized he must feel like a monster, an undignified beast, sleeping on the floor of a bathroom, smelling of urine and beer, while all the civilization of children and their clean parents go about their business around him day after day, year after year. And year after year, he continues to beg for change on the street corner because if he doesn't, his poor addicted body might end up in a seizure of withdrawal.
We begged out of him what he could eat if he could have ANYTHING. Knowing we were already planning to bring him some shoes and a couple other odds and ends, he was really insistent on "not wanting to put y'all out"....but exuberance filled his frail bony body as he dreamt of a steak dinner and salty fries!!
That was that. We needed to get our sweaty children to their naps, but we told him we'd be back that evening with a steak dinner for him.
Which we did, complete with our own dinners and husbands. We laid out the feast, and woke him from a very dazed stupor under a tree. When he realized it was us, he hopped up to greet us. We brought him to his feast.
Not wanting to "dirty" our blanket, he sat in the damp grass hardly touching the blanket while he ate his minimal bites with his hands. The moment ebbed and flowed between awkward and beautiful, and we learned more parts of his story while our husbands were off chasing the little wild mini-men around the park.
Stories were shared, as almost accidental side-notes to the conversation, of abuse and neglect, from those whom no one should ever have to question their safety. And before I had a moment to react, the moment would pass and he would be thanking us profusely for everything we had done for him.
Music came up, and soon he held a phone to his hear and belted out as if all the world was no-more one of his favorite Rush songs. It was a wild sort of passion, almost scary and yet brokenly beautiful. It was this window for me into a conflicted complex human, this dark and light, Gollum vs Smeagol (excuse the LOTR movie reference) character of corruption and innocence.
And this is where the friendship began.
There were many more encounters at the park, and at his street corner post. He never asked for money, except once by accident before he recognized me. We plotted to treat him to a Target trip and after many 'no-shows' of meeting times, we spontaneously succeeded on Mother's Day. As he told his other 'friends' that he would be gone for the evening, there was definitely some dramatic dynamic of power and heirarchy I got a window into--and almost lost my temper at one of the guys for wrongly portraying the situation. I had to step away and accept that I wouldn't understand, and couldn't understand.
Ian was a misfit in a suburbia of new everything. He reeked of his smells, talked louder than anyone around, and everyone's heads turned toward this character. Yet, when he and Corey went off to pick out a pair of pants and shoes...I learned of the inside jokes they made. Just two dudes in a department store, you know.
After this, we made our way to Kristen's house, wanting to offer him some food and a shower if he wanted it. During the ride, he hesitantly asked us if we could pull into a gas station, and started apologizing with intensity. "I'm so STUPID that I'm this way, so STUPID....I'm so sorry....I don't know why I'm in this place man...."
He needed beer. I mean, he needed beer. His body was at war against him.
He got what he needed, and we were on our way. One of the most cherished evenings of my life followed.
After feeding him his minimal bites and hanging out for a while, we offered a shower for the hundredth time, and finally eased him in that direction. Much time passed, putrid clothes were washed....and into a living room of record music spinning, children climbing and giggling, and friends that feel more like family....walked fresh and clean, Ian.
Ian who had not bathed in one year.
Ian wearing clean and new clothes, with shoes that didn't feel like boards on his feet. Ian surrounded by life, and health, and music, and children.....like family. Like...home.
As if it might be too much, he went outside to sit alone and quietly sip on a beer. We gave him time, and eventually joined him. It was the kind of evening where peace is tangibly felt in the perfect temperature of the evening air. And his face shone with a contentment I wondered the last time it might have been there. He apologized for being in no hurry to leave, that he was truly "enjoying this moment." And we all felt it too.
You see, he brought depth to our lives, a richness that only diversity and difference can bring. And we brought him all we could give, home, family....and fellow human dignity.
His fuzzy hair stood up on all its ends, and it was a shame that that moment had to end at all. That he would return to the bathroom floor and the confused homeless society hierarchies.
We continued to cross paths, some days were quick "hey, see you later" and some days were plotting his upcoming 40th birthday. Every time we saw him, we reminded him we hadn't forgotten and would have just what he could dream of: pizza and BBQ chicken, and a cake with 40 candles!
When the day finally came after weeks of discussion and talk. Kristen and I showed up with our bags of streamers and balloons, and found a slumped over Ian who wasn't sure if we'd remembered. Together we all began decorating the park's pavilion area. Life and color filling the air. He was full of joy. And eventually other friends showed up and of course food. Kristen and I fell into the backdrop of a true Heavenly scene (the sort that is found in the senses of one's heart).
As the "party" went on, he slowly shrunk to the outskirts of everything. He was obviously grateful, but there was a tangible tug-of-war between our world and his...as his 'park buddies' all ate near but not with us.
I was left with such an abundance of joy in my heart, at the simplicity of celebrating someone who has maybe ever only known living on the fringes of being valued. After all, he shared, this was his second birthday party of his life, the first having left a slightly bad taste in his mouth with a trick candle when he was 8.
I didn't know this would be one of the last times I'd see him. The rumor is that he got ticked for drinking and is elsewhere in this city.
It's hard to just let him go. My heart skips every time I see someone who matches his build. I wonder if he's okay, or even alive. But, there's still a story going on, whether or not I get the chance to know or impact his ever again.
Our hearts have changed. I no longer see the people on corners as "homeless people" but as other humans experiencing the tragedy of the dehumanization that happens to the soul during homelessness.
I no longer see giving a tiny bit of cash as feeding addiction, but just a gesture that my heart needs to make in acknowledgement of a fellow human's existence and their worth and dignity for simply just being a human created in the image of God.
For all the dignity they have been stripped of, no matter if it is their "fault" or another's....I have learned it is not my right or place to determine or judge, but to follow that heart's prompting and leading to give. Sometimes the mind is not the primary compass that should determine our actions. And it is far too easy to rationalize away the urge to be generous.
But more than money, it truly became for me, about the posture of my heart when I see those in this particular disposition. Of course, it's not every time. I've not become a walking humanitarian or anything...but the mystery that separated me from them has faded slightly, and I see them as much as I see myself...
....a broken human.
You see, my brokenness runs just as deep, I just do a better job of cleaning it up and packaging it in a way that isn't so culturally offensive. It's a different kind of brokenness of course, but I believe that brokenness isn't scalable or comparable. We're all fighting hard battles.
I'm learning more about mine, and for one of the first times in my life, am learning how the Gospel applies to my own story. And it didn't come to me in the form of a packaged Sunday sermon with neck-ties and formulas, it came through other broken humans coming alongside me. They let me be broken and misplaced without trying to jump in and change me all at once. It was Grace that led me to believe in the real un-packaged Jesus. This was five years ago, and there is no greater truth or life that I found in my prior quests.
Another one of the beautiful parts of this story, alongside of getting to love someone who knows not what dignity they deserve, was that we loved someone together. As two families of "ordinary" lifestyles loving with all different forms of variation to another of a completely different disposition.
We each have something beautiful to give that no one else can. I've never before experienced the depths of such a tangible picture of the beautiful complexity of this "living church" with all the personalities and gifts that come from it. The kind that lives in modest homes and walks to parks with their children. The kind that contains hidden-to-the-eyes gigantic hearts full of tenderness and compassion.
We--fellow broken and ordinary human beings that love Jesus and love to share with the world His Grace and Truth that we have abundantly received--We, are the church.
And this whole story is just a small glimpse my heart got to take into a greater understanding of what that means.
Sincerely,
M
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