Note: These are the personal opinions of Lenore Wilson, and do not represent corporate policy or the views of any staff or Continuum of Care member.
If you have ever talked to legislators about funding homelessness, education, universities, services for the disabled, the Everglades - whatever your major interest - you have probably heard the question: "But if we fund your favorite cause, we will have to cut something else. What do you suggest?"
This is difficult, because there is so much of value being cut. You rather think that anything that stays in the budget has to be even more valuable than education, the Florida Highway Patrol, water resources, vocational training, etc., and you don't want to be the person pointing the finger at it. Generally I end up talking about increasing revenue streams - for instance, closing the loophole that mandates the state charge sales tax on a $10,000 fishing boat, but collect no sales taxes on a million dollar party yacht. I can't say this has ever been productive for me, but it does save me from saying, "I think we should take the money from the university system."
How you answer such a question is totally up to you, but I would like to mention that, in fact, there are some earmarks that could stand some scrutiny. A perennial favorite of cost cutters everywhere is the staggering multi-million dollar recurring subsidy for the World Hall of Golf in Daytona Beach. This year there is a related project that seems to me, at least, to be even more worthy of attention.
A pair of bills filed in Tallahassee, SB 1846 and HB 1239, would require that at least one state park in each of Florida's districts have a top-of-the-line golf course. The measures, filed by Florida Sen. John Thrasher and Florida Rep. Patrick Rooney, would have tax payers foot the bill for the courses designed by Jack Nicklaus. The retired pro golfer would be paid $625,000 for each course. The bill was prompted by conversations with Rick Scott, a friend of Nicklaus, who was moved by Nicklaus' desire to leave a legacy for the state, and to promote tourism.
To put this in context, there are already 33 Jack Nicklaus golf courses in Florida. Also, this is part of a proposal to close 53 state parks, which collectively bring in 20 million tourists per year. Gov. Scott has said this is part of his deficit reduction plan, which might make sense, except that the state parks actually generate more revenue than they cost. The only state park so far named as being slated for closure is John Dickerson, which costs $2.3 million to run, but brings in over $3 million per year, and protects the water resources for the Jupiter area.
I probably don't need to add that the process of converting state parks into golf courses would cost more than the $625,000 per course set to go to Mr. Nicklaus (who is far from broke), but it might be worthy of note that Florida already has more golf courses than any other state (over 1000), few make money, and many are closing. The issues of fertilizer, pesticides, filling in wetlands and creating artificial water traps are not considered environmentally sound.
You may well feel this is an excellent use of state resources, in which case I encourage you to say so to your legislators. I gave the references to the bill numbers so that you can study it further. But if you feel that in a time of shared sacrifice, this money could be used in better ways, I would encourage you to make that opinion known.
Personally, I believe in the state park program, and the role state parks play in maintaining our ecology and guarding our water supplies. And I would really hope we would not have to choose between state parks, homeless funding, schools, universities, vocational training, funds for the developmentally disabled, the Florida Highway Patrol, etc.
The sales tax, already a regressive tax, could be evenly applied so that even the richest of us had to pay for luxury goods like season rentals of sky box seats at athletic events and luxury yachts - it wouldn't even be a tax hike, as the sales tax would remain the same. We can stop subsidizing all our professional sports teams (a base payout of a million dollars per year per team, with many getting more than that). And finally, quashing the idea of destroying a state park system that serves every resident in Florida and substituting it with a golf course system "The Jack Nicklaus Golf Trail," that would charge high fees and serve only a few of the rich.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
The Invisible Man
Last night I was talking to my son, a senior at FSU. He mentioned encountering a homeless man while biking to the store. The man had been a musician at one point, and struck Tom as being kind, gentle and oddly youthful even now. As the two continued to talk, Tom began to pick up symptoms of mental disorder and/or addiction. Toward the end of the conversation the homeless man described hearing voices which could not be suppressed.
Eventually Tom had to leave, pausing to give a few dollars. The man was grateful, but far more so for the conversation, for having been seen. Tom reported his last image was of the man waving, and asking that Tom do well so that he could help “my kind.”
Of all the things homeless persons leave behind - safety, shelter, decent clothing, a chance of a good job, regular meals, possibly sobriety and sanity – the most painful loss is their humanity. The homeless are no longer visible to society, and on those rare occasions when they are noticed, they are viewed with contempt. And we wonder why a few of them get in our face, walk around flying signs where they are clearly not wanted, and in other ways become a nuisance to the upstanding citizens around them.
There is a bravado about men and women who proclaim their love for the homeless lifestyle, and pledge they would live no other way. It is their way of affirming their humanity, insisting that they have choices in their life and are not victims of mental illness, circumstance, and despair. But I have met very few homeless for whom that act is anything but a façade. Given a true choice, they leave homelessness behind very quickly.
This summer uncovered a deep well of homelessness among young families, and theirs is a difficult situation that has rightly gotten a lot of attention, from the public and from service providers. But as winter approaches, it is well to remember those who haven’t had a home in years, and whose hope and opportunities were crushed a lifetime ago by rejection, abandonment, developmental disabilities, mental illness and addiction.
One of these women, abandoned by her spouse, moved me to tears as she described an earlier point in her life, when all her possessions were reduced to a single grocery bag, placed in the back of a stroller which contained her infant daughter. She walked up and down the streets, wondering how she had lost every vestige of normal human contact, how no one she knew or saw cared if she and her daughter had a place to sleep, a meal, or a way to get out of the rain. She eventually lost her child to the foster care system, and soon thereafter lost her last hold on self-respect. But to this day she still hangs on to a thread of hope, that her life will change and she will have a place of her own.
Those women and men who run the cold night shelters and soup kitchens throughout the two counties have a deep empathy and understanding for those for whom life has been difficult and confusing. They dole out not just stew and pillows, but warmth. They place a value on all human life, and learn to know each individual on their own terms. They play cards and checkers, and listen, and affirm the existence of a human soul within everyone who comes for help.
This generosity of spirit makes an enormous difference to many of the homeless, though there are some so damaged and torn over the years that not even the most amazing radiance can penetrate the dark. But in every case, such light is a blessing to those who who live in it and with it, and for those like me who are surrounded by the loveliest people on earth.
Eventually Tom had to leave, pausing to give a few dollars. The man was grateful, but far more so for the conversation, for having been seen. Tom reported his last image was of the man waving, and asking that Tom do well so that he could help “my kind.”
Of all the things homeless persons leave behind - safety, shelter, decent clothing, a chance of a good job, regular meals, possibly sobriety and sanity – the most painful loss is their humanity. The homeless are no longer visible to society, and on those rare occasions when they are noticed, they are viewed with contempt. And we wonder why a few of them get in our face, walk around flying signs where they are clearly not wanted, and in other ways become a nuisance to the upstanding citizens around them.
There is a bravado about men and women who proclaim their love for the homeless lifestyle, and pledge they would live no other way. It is their way of affirming their humanity, insisting that they have choices in their life and are not victims of mental illness, circumstance, and despair. But I have met very few homeless for whom that act is anything but a façade. Given a true choice, they leave homelessness behind very quickly.
This summer uncovered a deep well of homelessness among young families, and theirs is a difficult situation that has rightly gotten a lot of attention, from the public and from service providers. But as winter approaches, it is well to remember those who haven’t had a home in years, and whose hope and opportunities were crushed a lifetime ago by rejection, abandonment, developmental disabilities, mental illness and addiction.
One of these women, abandoned by her spouse, moved me to tears as she described an earlier point in her life, when all her possessions were reduced to a single grocery bag, placed in the back of a stroller which contained her infant daughter. She walked up and down the streets, wondering how she had lost every vestige of normal human contact, how no one she knew or saw cared if she and her daughter had a place to sleep, a meal, or a way to get out of the rain. She eventually lost her child to the foster care system, and soon thereafter lost her last hold on self-respect. But to this day she still hangs on to a thread of hope, that her life will change and she will have a place of her own.
Those women and men who run the cold night shelters and soup kitchens throughout the two counties have a deep empathy and understanding for those for whom life has been difficult and confusing. They dole out not just stew and pillows, but warmth. They place a value on all human life, and learn to know each individual on their own terms. They play cards and checkers, and listen, and affirm the existence of a human soul within everyone who comes for help.
This generosity of spirit makes an enormous difference to many of the homeless, though there are some so damaged and torn over the years that not even the most amazing radiance can penetrate the dark. But in every case, such light is a blessing to those who who live in it and with it, and for those like me who are surrounded by the loveliest people on earth.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Summer of Lost Hopes
This has been the summer of lost hopes. The recession and loss of jobs in tourism and fishing have left many young families destitute. Older individuals and couples struggling to maintain jobs and housing have been literally dumped into the streets, where they live in cars or tents. On any given day, 28 people look for rooms at Opportunity Place that are not there. Most of these are children.
Responding to a call from Sen. Bill Nelson’s office, the staff at Opportunity, Inc. collected data for a single point in time, not just on people served, but people calling or coming in requesting service. These calls came into the offices in Crestview, DeFuniak Springs, and Opportunity Place in Fort Walton Beach.
On August 30, 65 persons needed emergency shelter. There was room for 34. Sixty-two households were facing loss of utilities. There were funds available to help nine of them. Forty-seven families came with notices of eviction. Again, we had funds to help nine. Thirty-seven families needed food. Food baskets went out to a different set of nine. Thirteen people asked for services we do not provide, such as health care and mortgage assistance. We provided referrals for each of these.
These numbers are not an aberration, nor are they unique to Opportunity, Inc. On that same day, Sharing and Caring in Crestview provided food to 97 families. Tri-County in Fort Walton Beach took applications for rent and utility assistance from another 92 families.
The women and families who come to us by and large will work hard to provide a life for their children if given the opportunity. For those who show up at the right time on the right day, the opportunity is often there. Ninety percent of our shelter residents leave Opportunity Place with a job and secure housing. But most do not get that chance. There is very little room in the inn right now.
Melinda came to Opportunity Place six months pregnant, with a 19-month-old girl. She had no job, no money, and no friends or family. But she had a goal: to make a life for her growing family. And she came at a good time. We had space available.
Through JobsPlus and Okaloosa Walton Child Care Services, she secured child care for her toddler. Through Opportunity Place, she got the contacts for a job. She knew she had three months to save enough money to have her baby and care for her small family for those first precious few weeks after the baby’s birth. She decided she didn’t need a cell phone, or minutes, or sodas, or new shoes. She saved every penny, and at the end of three months, had $2,000 in the bank.
Melinda had her baby boy on August 5. On August 9, they moved into their own home, with the financial security to get them through the next six weeks. Soon, Melinda returns to work, while her children attend safe, secure, quality child care programs.
We often dismiss the homeless as a handful of panhandlers who cause distress to many in the downtown area. These are real people also, with mental health and substance abuse issues that are often virtually incurable. But out of the 2040 homeless people in Okaloosa and Walton Counties, the numbers they represent are but a rounding error.
The tragedies among the homeless concern those who have been dropped out of the economy and cannot find their way back in. Some of them are nearing retirement age, and may never find another job. Others graduated from high school and college and have been unemployed or underemployed ever since. And some of them are babies and toddlers, whose lives are being blighted by disruption and despair.
My job is joyful. Everywhere I go, I meet families who have encountered homelessness, and prevailed. Melinda’s story is one of many tales of triumph over adversity. The churches, non-profits and individuals working with her colleagues need your help to create a few more.
Responding to a call from Sen. Bill Nelson’s office, the staff at Opportunity, Inc. collected data for a single point in time, not just on people served, but people calling or coming in requesting service. These calls came into the offices in Crestview, DeFuniak Springs, and Opportunity Place in Fort Walton Beach.
On August 30, 65 persons needed emergency shelter. There was room for 34. Sixty-two households were facing loss of utilities. There were funds available to help nine of them. Forty-seven families came with notices of eviction. Again, we had funds to help nine. Thirty-seven families needed food. Food baskets went out to a different set of nine. Thirteen people asked for services we do not provide, such as health care and mortgage assistance. We provided referrals for each of these.
These numbers are not an aberration, nor are they unique to Opportunity, Inc. On that same day, Sharing and Caring in Crestview provided food to 97 families. Tri-County in Fort Walton Beach took applications for rent and utility assistance from another 92 families.
The women and families who come to us by and large will work hard to provide a life for their children if given the opportunity. For those who show up at the right time on the right day, the opportunity is often there. Ninety percent of our shelter residents leave Opportunity Place with a job and secure housing. But most do not get that chance. There is very little room in the inn right now.
Melinda came to Opportunity Place six months pregnant, with a 19-month-old girl. She had no job, no money, and no friends or family. But she had a goal: to make a life for her growing family. And she came at a good time. We had space available.
Through JobsPlus and Okaloosa Walton Child Care Services, she secured child care for her toddler. Through Opportunity Place, she got the contacts for a job. She knew she had three months to save enough money to have her baby and care for her small family for those first precious few weeks after the baby’s birth. She decided she didn’t need a cell phone, or minutes, or sodas, or new shoes. She saved every penny, and at the end of three months, had $2,000 in the bank.
Melinda had her baby boy on August 5. On August 9, they moved into their own home, with the financial security to get them through the next six weeks. Soon, Melinda returns to work, while her children attend safe, secure, quality child care programs.
We often dismiss the homeless as a handful of panhandlers who cause distress to many in the downtown area. These are real people also, with mental health and substance abuse issues that are often virtually incurable. But out of the 2040 homeless people in Okaloosa and Walton Counties, the numbers they represent are but a rounding error.
The tragedies among the homeless concern those who have been dropped out of the economy and cannot find their way back in. Some of them are nearing retirement age, and may never find another job. Others graduated from high school and college and have been unemployed or underemployed ever since. And some of them are babies and toddlers, whose lives are being blighted by disruption and despair.
My job is joyful. Everywhere I go, I meet families who have encountered homelessness, and prevailed. Melinda’s story is one of many tales of triumph over adversity. The churches, non-profits and individuals working with her colleagues need your help to create a few more.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
A Season of Hope
One huge difference between those of us who work with the homeless, and those who do not, is that those who do know how little difference there is between the homeless and ourselves.
Last Monday, a young woman, resident at Opportunity Place for 90 days, came to our stakeholder meeting to give her perspective on what it meant to be homeless and the mother of a one-year-old daughter with almost total hearing loss.
A little background may help. Tarisa is a veteran, who spent 3-1/2 years in the military before getting a medical discharge based on an injury that compromised her knees and feet. She underwent several rounds of surgery, but when we met her, was still dependent on a cane in order to walk.
As Tarisa was in and out of the hospital, she entered into an unfortunate relationship, that ended badly in all respects except for the arrival of a little girl. Between the medical treatment, the lameness, the pregnancy and birth, Tarisa was not able to work. When the relationship finally ended, she was left with nothing but her child.
I have known Tarisa for three months now, and we have talked often. She is articulate, lovely, bright and poised. Although she has only a GED, she could and should have a college degree. Anyone seeing her would think she could be a school teacher, a nurse, or manager of a store. She could be your daughter, your sister, your friend. The description, "homeless," would seem impossible.
And yet, for a little while, Tarisa was walking up and down the streets, pushing her baby in a stroller, with all her possessions reduced to fit into two grocery bags. She had no idea if she and her daughter would eat, where they would sleep, how they would stay out of the rain. Her own words go straight to the heart:
"I didn't just lose my home, my car and my possessions. I lost myself. I was so totally alone. There was not one relative, one friend, one acquaintance, who cared enough about me and my daughter to make sure we were well and safe."
She thought of the bridges burned, the opportunities lost, and fell into despair.
But the one thing we all know is that, just as quickly as hope can turn into despair, despair can turn into hope. Tarisa found a church that knew about Opportunity Place, and brought her and her daughter to us - a soggy, sobbing mess - but whole and well.
Tarisa was asked what she expected when told she was being taken to a homeless shelter, and she quickly answered: "jail." She had seen the movies and read the newspaper articles, and she was expecting a room full of cots, or perhaps just a floor and sleeping bags. When asked what she found, she said, "home."
I have led a privileged life. I attended college, worked for a major metropolitan newspaper and national news magazine, got married, went to law school while my husband went to medical school. I had the luxury of being able to stay home and raise my four children for 18 years. While never rich, I have never been in want for a single second.
But of all the privileges I have had, having the resources and wherewithal to help Tarisa, her daughter, and over a hundred more of her sisters and their children, is the greatest privilege I have known. It is a privilege granted to me by a community of caring and concerned volunteers, ministers, social workers, public servants, donors, and stakeholders of all kinds. The Opportunity Place staff stands in for hundreds of loving people, and get to watch lines of anxiety fade, tears dry, and hope blossom again, even in the most unlikely places.
Tarisa's story has a happy ending. She is working with the VA and DAV to get benefits based on her injury, she has a job, and she and her little girl are getting their own place. Her daughter (who, by the way, is adorable) is getting excellent care through subsidized child care, including a teacher specializing in working with the deaf.
Not every story ends as well as hers, though many do. But whether the women and families who seek the help of any of our service providers find a way home isn't the point. The point is that they were given a path that would lead them there.
Merry Christmas to all those who provide the means through which our homeless neighbors can find safety and self-sufficiency, and to those who use that road to find themselves again.
Last Monday, a young woman, resident at Opportunity Place for 90 days, came to our stakeholder meeting to give her perspective on what it meant to be homeless and the mother of a one-year-old daughter with almost total hearing loss.
A little background may help. Tarisa is a veteran, who spent 3-1/2 years in the military before getting a medical discharge based on an injury that compromised her knees and feet. She underwent several rounds of surgery, but when we met her, was still dependent on a cane in order to walk.
As Tarisa was in and out of the hospital, she entered into an unfortunate relationship, that ended badly in all respects except for the arrival of a little girl. Between the medical treatment, the lameness, the pregnancy and birth, Tarisa was not able to work. When the relationship finally ended, she was left with nothing but her child.
I have known Tarisa for three months now, and we have talked often. She is articulate, lovely, bright and poised. Although she has only a GED, she could and should have a college degree. Anyone seeing her would think she could be a school teacher, a nurse, or manager of a store. She could be your daughter, your sister, your friend. The description, "homeless," would seem impossible.
And yet, for a little while, Tarisa was walking up and down the streets, pushing her baby in a stroller, with all her possessions reduced to fit into two grocery bags. She had no idea if she and her daughter would eat, where they would sleep, how they would stay out of the rain. Her own words go straight to the heart:
"I didn't just lose my home, my car and my possessions. I lost myself. I was so totally alone. There was not one relative, one friend, one acquaintance, who cared enough about me and my daughter to make sure we were well and safe."
She thought of the bridges burned, the opportunities lost, and fell into despair.
But the one thing we all know is that, just as quickly as hope can turn into despair, despair can turn into hope. Tarisa found a church that knew about Opportunity Place, and brought her and her daughter to us - a soggy, sobbing mess - but whole and well.
Tarisa was asked what she expected when told she was being taken to a homeless shelter, and she quickly answered: "jail." She had seen the movies and read the newspaper articles, and she was expecting a room full of cots, or perhaps just a floor and sleeping bags. When asked what she found, she said, "home."
I have led a privileged life. I attended college, worked for a major metropolitan newspaper and national news magazine, got married, went to law school while my husband went to medical school. I had the luxury of being able to stay home and raise my four children for 18 years. While never rich, I have never been in want for a single second.
But of all the privileges I have had, having the resources and wherewithal to help Tarisa, her daughter, and over a hundred more of her sisters and their children, is the greatest privilege I have known. It is a privilege granted to me by a community of caring and concerned volunteers, ministers, social workers, public servants, donors, and stakeholders of all kinds. The Opportunity Place staff stands in for hundreds of loving people, and get to watch lines of anxiety fade, tears dry, and hope blossom again, even in the most unlikely places.
Tarisa's story has a happy ending. She is working with the VA and DAV to get benefits based on her injury, she has a job, and she and her little girl are getting their own place. Her daughter (who, by the way, is adorable) is getting excellent care through subsidized child care, including a teacher specializing in working with the deaf.
Not every story ends as well as hers, though many do. But whether the women and families who seek the help of any of our service providers find a way home isn't the point. The point is that they were given a path that would lead them there.
Merry Christmas to all those who provide the means through which our homeless neighbors can find safety and self-sufficiency, and to those who use that road to find themselves again.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Safe For Now
Listening to the storm, hearing the winds whip through the trees, the sound of an occasional limb cracking and falling on the roof or deck, I couldn't help but reflect how much our community owes the churches providing cold night shelter and meals.
Not every member of the community acknowledges this debt, and some are quite vocal in their opposition to even the slightest service to those they feel are inferior to themselves. But I can't believe that, as the cold sets in, and the winds rage past, anyone truly thinks this is a lifestyle freely chosen and followed.
Compassion is easy to feel; hard to act upon. It takes real work to stay up night after night with a room full of often cranky and frightened men and women. Preparing meals for many takes physical effort and stamina. The emotional toll mounts with every time you look in a face and see the mother's son, the lost brother, the missing friend that person once was. It becomes even more difficult when, as happens more and more often lately, you see a small child and a shaking mom, looking for help in a world that has turned very unsafe.
What humbles me is that this physical strength and emotional stability is generally provided by women and men in their 70s and 80s. Our younger people, including me, beg off. We have jobs to attend to in the morning; we have family obligations that often keep us up late at night; we are needed somewhere, anywhere, but where the hardest work is done. And we don't think about who is filling the gaps. It might be a bit hard to live with ourselves if we did.
And yet, the number of churches offering help to our most fragile neighbors continues to grow. Three FWB downtown churches: First Presbyterian, Seventh Day Adventist, and St. Simon's on the Sound, have been at this the longest - going on nine years now. I do hear mention from time to time that they were promised they would only be needed for a year or two, and that it is only the hope that this will come to an end that keeps them going. I don't know who made this promise, or how it was expected to be kept, and I doubt anyone working in these churches sees an end in sight any time soon (I never give up, though!).
And still, leaders like Yvonne Franklin, Mary Hauge, Gloria Battle, Chris Levebvre, Lydia Barton and many others from these churches keep not only opening up each winter, but volunteering at newer churches, and lending their aid and expertise to churches thinking about starting new programs in new locations. And they seem to always radiate good humor and joy.
Each of the other churches that have joined have shown courage, in tackling not just the community at large, but their congregations in specific, not all members of whom are happy about seeing their churches used even as the most temporary of homeless shelters. And still they keep coming: Gregg Chapel AME not only offers cold night service, but meals every Tuesday throughout the year, and Saturdays in the summer, First Baptist, Mary Esther United Methodist, and now First Christian have all looked at the pain experienced by too many in their midst, and said, "if not me, who?" and joined the effort.
Ann Sprague, Cynthia Hall and the Busavages have been inspirational in motivating churches and groups in Crestview, where it gets colder more often, and participating churches see more service than those on the coast. They, and others, have ensured that the homeless in the north end of the county have someplace to get warm and find nourishment, body and soul, every day the temperature turns cold.
The cold night program is so well established now that it seems a permanent solution to the issue of people who have no place to go when the weather turns on us, but it isn't. Not everyone can find space, and heavy rains at 42 degrees are more unpleasant to live through than a dry night where the temperature falls to 40, but we have nothing to offer on those occasions. And unless we can recruit a whole new bunch of strong, caring and stalwart volunteers in their later years, we will face an even greater crisis in the next few years.
So as the rain falls, and the cold winds foreshadow the winter ahead, we say a prayer of thanks that some of our homeless found a safe harbor for the night, and another prayer that all will find a haven on their way to a permanent home, wherever that may be.
Thanks to everyone who does so much. You provide a truly essential service for a government that chooses to turn its back on its citizens in desperate need, and a community whose support is often expressed more in its absence than its expression. You mean much to many, and more than that to me. You are my heroes.
Not every member of the community acknowledges this debt, and some are quite vocal in their opposition to even the slightest service to those they feel are inferior to themselves. But I can't believe that, as the cold sets in, and the winds rage past, anyone truly thinks this is a lifestyle freely chosen and followed.
Compassion is easy to feel; hard to act upon. It takes real work to stay up night after night with a room full of often cranky and frightened men and women. Preparing meals for many takes physical effort and stamina. The emotional toll mounts with every time you look in a face and see the mother's son, the lost brother, the missing friend that person once was. It becomes even more difficult when, as happens more and more often lately, you see a small child and a shaking mom, looking for help in a world that has turned very unsafe.
What humbles me is that this physical strength and emotional stability is generally provided by women and men in their 70s and 80s. Our younger people, including me, beg off. We have jobs to attend to in the morning; we have family obligations that often keep us up late at night; we are needed somewhere, anywhere, but where the hardest work is done. And we don't think about who is filling the gaps. It might be a bit hard to live with ourselves if we did.
And yet, the number of churches offering help to our most fragile neighbors continues to grow. Three FWB downtown churches: First Presbyterian, Seventh Day Adventist, and St. Simon's on the Sound, have been at this the longest - going on nine years now. I do hear mention from time to time that they were promised they would only be needed for a year or two, and that it is only the hope that this will come to an end that keeps them going. I don't know who made this promise, or how it was expected to be kept, and I doubt anyone working in these churches sees an end in sight any time soon (I never give up, though!).
And still, leaders like Yvonne Franklin, Mary Hauge, Gloria Battle, Chris Levebvre, Lydia Barton and many others from these churches keep not only opening up each winter, but volunteering at newer churches, and lending their aid and expertise to churches thinking about starting new programs in new locations. And they seem to always radiate good humor and joy.
Each of the other churches that have joined have shown courage, in tackling not just the community at large, but their congregations in specific, not all members of whom are happy about seeing their churches used even as the most temporary of homeless shelters. And still they keep coming: Gregg Chapel AME not only offers cold night service, but meals every Tuesday throughout the year, and Saturdays in the summer, First Baptist, Mary Esther United Methodist, and now First Christian have all looked at the pain experienced by too many in their midst, and said, "if not me, who?" and joined the effort.
Ann Sprague, Cynthia Hall and the Busavages have been inspirational in motivating churches and groups in Crestview, where it gets colder more often, and participating churches see more service than those on the coast. They, and others, have ensured that the homeless in the north end of the county have someplace to get warm and find nourishment, body and soul, every day the temperature turns cold.
The cold night program is so well established now that it seems a permanent solution to the issue of people who have no place to go when the weather turns on us, but it isn't. Not everyone can find space, and heavy rains at 42 degrees are more unpleasant to live through than a dry night where the temperature falls to 40, but we have nothing to offer on those occasions. And unless we can recruit a whole new bunch of strong, caring and stalwart volunteers in their later years, we will face an even greater crisis in the next few years.
So as the rain falls, and the cold winds foreshadow the winter ahead, we say a prayer of thanks that some of our homeless found a safe harbor for the night, and another prayer that all will find a haven on their way to a permanent home, wherever that may be.
Thanks to everyone who does so much. You provide a truly essential service for a government that chooses to turn its back on its citizens in desperate need, and a community whose support is often expressed more in its absence than its expression. You mean much to many, and more than that to me. You are my heroes.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Finding a Way Home
Hard as it is to imagine, Opportunity Place has only been a part of our community, and my life, for four months. Four decades could rarely produce as much despair, hope, birth, joy, grief, and love as have been found so far in our short sojourn on Lovejoy Road.
Being a temporary shelter, four "generations" have already come through our doors. The first group was a gift. Lydia and I, along with our part-time receptionist Frances, were not the most experienced hands with running a family shelter that one could find. We were still renovating the facility and reading up on policies and procedures when the first emergencies came to our door.
A lovely Pacific Islander, with seven gorgeous grandchildren ages 2-13, was the first to arrive. Hard on her heels was a couple with a newborn, and another family with three children. An elderly woman arrived next. In the blink of an eye, we had 19persons and 15 beds. We got busy, and we have stayed that way.
No one in this first group had ever experienced homelessness before. They were stunned, heart-broken, terrified, and incredibly grateful for this shelter that had suddenly opened to help lead them out of the wilderness. They came, slept for a day, then woke up renewed and determined to make the best of this unexpected blessing. We all learned about group living together, and explored all the avenues for job searches, family reconciliation, affordable housing together.
As the original group moved out, a second group began moving in. We had couples who had never gone without work, and were willing to do anything to get back on their feet while they looked for careers. They cleaned condos, took day labor jobs, joined road crews, and pounded the pavements looking for employment. We had suddenly single moms with their children, who found living on one income to be tenuous at best. They stayed with us, arranged for child care, kept their jobs, saved their income, and found new housing that could be sustained on their salary. This is the group that helped us finish the renovations we began earlier. Any odd hour of the day, you could find residents painting walls, laying tile, installing doors, fitting plumbing fixtures.
Our third and fourth groups have been buffeted by economic storms for longer. They are mostly either very young, with inadequate education and too few skills to be competitive in the current work environment, or older, with outdated skills and too many aches and pains. They struggle against greater odds, with fewer expectations of success. These are the ones sitting for their GEDs, taking basic vocational training, signing up for vocational rehabilitation. CC Fearson joined the staff at this juncture, which was surely an act of providence. CC can find resources and opportunities for anyone who wants them, and he instills confidence in even the most discouraged.
As disparate as each of these groups has been, however, they have all been united in hope. They know things are going to get better, that life has something good to offer even when the outlook seems bleakest. They rejoice in each others' successes, and grieve at each others' loss. We celebrate each week, because we have learned that each moment of happiness must be savored, and shared.
In these past four months, we have watched babies learn to smile, to sit up, to walk and to say their first words. We have held birthday parties for one, two and twenty-five year olds. Children have headed off for their first day of kindergarten, while brothers and sisters have ventured off to their first day of middle school or high school. Parents have found jobs, and lost them, and found new ones. We have had trips to the emergency room, and trips to the beach.
Saturday we had a wedding, and it became the occasion for all the joys, hopes and dreams for everyone living at the shelter. The women transformed the shelter into the perfect wedding backdrop. Volunteers and shelter friends supplied the wedding license, the dress, the food, the flowers. A resident revealed an astonishing voice as she provided the vocals. A member of our Board of Directors, who is a pastor, officiated. I have attended weddings planned for a year that were not as successful as this one, which came together in a week.
During the ceremony, I wondered for a moment what this couple would tell their children about their wedding. It is human nature to try to blot out our traumas so that we can move on, and being homeless is certainly traumatic. But in this case, trauma was converted to peace, loss into gain. The husband has found steady work that he enjoys, the wife is discovering the joys of raising a small child in a stable environment. They have already achieved much, and they will achieve more.
Each night I leave Opportunity Place, and drive toward a home I will never again take for granted. I am thankful for all the staff, the volunteers, and the residents who have shown resilience, compassion, and good humor. We are all of us human, restless, seeking, looking for a way home. With hope, faith, and love, we shall all find a safe, secure place of refuge and comfort at day's end.
Being a temporary shelter, four "generations" have already come through our doors. The first group was a gift. Lydia and I, along with our part-time receptionist Frances, were not the most experienced hands with running a family shelter that one could find. We were still renovating the facility and reading up on policies and procedures when the first emergencies came to our door.
A lovely Pacific Islander, with seven gorgeous grandchildren ages 2-13, was the first to arrive. Hard on her heels was a couple with a newborn, and another family with three children. An elderly woman arrived next. In the blink of an eye, we had 19persons and 15 beds. We got busy, and we have stayed that way.
No one in this first group had ever experienced homelessness before. They were stunned, heart-broken, terrified, and incredibly grateful for this shelter that had suddenly opened to help lead them out of the wilderness. They came, slept for a day, then woke up renewed and determined to make the best of this unexpected blessing. We all learned about group living together, and explored all the avenues for job searches, family reconciliation, affordable housing together.
As the original group moved out, a second group began moving in. We had couples who had never gone without work, and were willing to do anything to get back on their feet while they looked for careers. They cleaned condos, took day labor jobs, joined road crews, and pounded the pavements looking for employment. We had suddenly single moms with their children, who found living on one income to be tenuous at best. They stayed with us, arranged for child care, kept their jobs, saved their income, and found new housing that could be sustained on their salary. This is the group that helped us finish the renovations we began earlier. Any odd hour of the day, you could find residents painting walls, laying tile, installing doors, fitting plumbing fixtures.
Our third and fourth groups have been buffeted by economic storms for longer. They are mostly either very young, with inadequate education and too few skills to be competitive in the current work environment, or older, with outdated skills and too many aches and pains. They struggle against greater odds, with fewer expectations of success. These are the ones sitting for their GEDs, taking basic vocational training, signing up for vocational rehabilitation. CC Fearson joined the staff at this juncture, which was surely an act of providence. CC can find resources and opportunities for anyone who wants them, and he instills confidence in even the most discouraged.
As disparate as each of these groups has been, however, they have all been united in hope. They know things are going to get better, that life has something good to offer even when the outlook seems bleakest. They rejoice in each others' successes, and grieve at each others' loss. We celebrate each week, because we have learned that each moment of happiness must be savored, and shared.
In these past four months, we have watched babies learn to smile, to sit up, to walk and to say their first words. We have held birthday parties for one, two and twenty-five year olds. Children have headed off for their first day of kindergarten, while brothers and sisters have ventured off to their first day of middle school or high school. Parents have found jobs, and lost them, and found new ones. We have had trips to the emergency room, and trips to the beach.
Saturday we had a wedding, and it became the occasion for all the joys, hopes and dreams for everyone living at the shelter. The women transformed the shelter into the perfect wedding backdrop. Volunteers and shelter friends supplied the wedding license, the dress, the food, the flowers. A resident revealed an astonishing voice as she provided the vocals. A member of our Board of Directors, who is a pastor, officiated. I have attended weddings planned for a year that were not as successful as this one, which came together in a week.
During the ceremony, I wondered for a moment what this couple would tell their children about their wedding. It is human nature to try to blot out our traumas so that we can move on, and being homeless is certainly traumatic. But in this case, trauma was converted to peace, loss into gain. The husband has found steady work that he enjoys, the wife is discovering the joys of raising a small child in a stable environment. They have already achieved much, and they will achieve more.
Each night I leave Opportunity Place, and drive toward a home I will never again take for granted. I am thankful for all the staff, the volunteers, and the residents who have shown resilience, compassion, and good humor. We are all of us human, restless, seeking, looking for a way home. With hope, faith, and love, we shall all find a safe, secure place of refuge and comfort at day's end.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Standing Up
For those of us lucky enough to frequent Opportunity Place, this month has been revitalizing, renewing, and invigorating. We have met families of all ages and composition, each of whom shares a strength of purpose and a hope that belies the heartbreak that brought them there.
I've talked a lot about the families and the children. Without doubt, the sounds of children playing in the twilit night, laughing, tossing frisbees, batting beachballs, is particularly poignant here. But there are other stories as well, both moving and incredibly brave.
On October 16, Opportunity, Inc. will be among the organizations sponsoring the Stand Down, an event held annually to prepare homeless veterans for another hard winter. Services offered include medical and dental care, help in getting IDs, veterans' benefits, winter gear, showers, a hot meal, and an optional misdemeanor resolution court. It's a good day, and one in which homeless vets can feel support and gratitude from the public. It's a stand out day, because homeless vets don't always feel the love.
Most days of the year, the general public lumps the homeless veteran in with all the other chronic homeless on the streets. They see the mental illness and the substance abuse, and they judge.
But just as the public at large cannot or will not see the homeless families and children I work with every day, they also miss the diversity and dedication amongst the homeless vets as well.
There is a couple living at Opportunity Place, both in their mid-40s. He is an Army veteran of Desert Storm. She was a Marine.
Eighteen years ago, John flew into battle with nine of his comrades. He was the only one to fly back, carrying a bullet in his lungs. John mourns his buddies with every breath he takes. He spent today, the anniversary of this terrible moment, completing the rituals he carries out each year. He calls every family that lost a son that day, to let them know their child still lives in at least one heart. Most families are grateful. One mother screams at him every year, saying that he should have died, if he could not save her son. He says, "Yes, ma'am, I agree," and gently hangs up the phone.
He sends flowers to every grave, a true sacrifice because it means money that could go to food and shelter will go to long-distance floral arrangements instead. But honoring the fallen is more important than caring for his body. Finally, when all is done, he makes one last floral arrangement, and sets it adrift in the Choctaw Bay, and says his prayers.
Tomorrow he enters into radiation therapy. Now his battle is with a virulent cancer, and it is not a battle he is predicted to win. But he is throwing his all into this fight, because he has an amazing reason to live: his wife Jennifer.
Jennifer is a beautiful woman, but no one who meets her would ever doubt her Marine credentials. She, too, struggles with her health. Although fit and strong, she has genetic disease that has already led to two heart attacks, and keeps her in pulmonary distress. She fights through it, because John needs her.
This is not a couple who is afraid of work. The road that led them to homelessness was not of their making, or at least not much of it was. They are not bitter or angry, but they aren't passive either. They clean condos, do day labor, pick up jobs as furniture movers, and when they aren't working for pay, they are working for the shelter: painting, cleaning, installing doors, fixing anything that breaks. They worry about the shelter finances as much as their own, and are constantly looking for ways to save money. John purchased a collapsible clothesline so that we could dry the constant stream of sheets and towels on a clothesline rather than use costly electricity in the dryer. Jennifer installed lock boxes on the thermostats and passed out fans so that we could keep the thermostat set at levels uncomfortable for her due to her asthma. And I never see them without a smile, at least, not now.
When they first came to Opportunity Place, smiles were on the rare side. John had his tumor removed that same day, and came in sick from the procedure and from the prognosis. He looked much like a man who felt that if he was going to die anyway, he might as well slit his wrists now and get it over with. Jennifer was grim with worry and fear.
There is nothing really that has changed in their lives. They still live on odd jobs, paying for their food and rent as best they can through invaluable service to the facility and the residents. John and Jennifer remain very ill. But they have a huge support network now, and people who care deeply about what happens, and that seems to be enough. They work as though they were healthy 20-year-olds, and they face their disease with the courage you would expect from our military war vets.
On October 16, at First Presbyterian Church in Fort Walton Beach, we will be meeting a lot of Johns and Jennifers, each with their own stories of heroism and terror, despair and strength. If you wish, please come down and listen. Our vets will be honored with a few moments of earned respect, and we will be richer for having given it.
I've talked a lot about the families and the children. Without doubt, the sounds of children playing in the twilit night, laughing, tossing frisbees, batting beachballs, is particularly poignant here. But there are other stories as well, both moving and incredibly brave.
On October 16, Opportunity, Inc. will be among the organizations sponsoring the Stand Down, an event held annually to prepare homeless veterans for another hard winter. Services offered include medical and dental care, help in getting IDs, veterans' benefits, winter gear, showers, a hot meal, and an optional misdemeanor resolution court. It's a good day, and one in which homeless vets can feel support and gratitude from the public. It's a stand out day, because homeless vets don't always feel the love.
Most days of the year, the general public lumps the homeless veteran in with all the other chronic homeless on the streets. They see the mental illness and the substance abuse, and they judge.
But just as the public at large cannot or will not see the homeless families and children I work with every day, they also miss the diversity and dedication amongst the homeless vets as well.
There is a couple living at Opportunity Place, both in their mid-40s. He is an Army veteran of Desert Storm. She was a Marine.
Eighteen years ago, John flew into battle with nine of his comrades. He was the only one to fly back, carrying a bullet in his lungs. John mourns his buddies with every breath he takes. He spent today, the anniversary of this terrible moment, completing the rituals he carries out each year. He calls every family that lost a son that day, to let them know their child still lives in at least one heart. Most families are grateful. One mother screams at him every year, saying that he should have died, if he could not save her son. He says, "Yes, ma'am, I agree," and gently hangs up the phone.
He sends flowers to every grave, a true sacrifice because it means money that could go to food and shelter will go to long-distance floral arrangements instead. But honoring the fallen is more important than caring for his body. Finally, when all is done, he makes one last floral arrangement, and sets it adrift in the Choctaw Bay, and says his prayers.
Tomorrow he enters into radiation therapy. Now his battle is with a virulent cancer, and it is not a battle he is predicted to win. But he is throwing his all into this fight, because he has an amazing reason to live: his wife Jennifer.
Jennifer is a beautiful woman, but no one who meets her would ever doubt her Marine credentials. She, too, struggles with her health. Although fit and strong, she has genetic disease that has already led to two heart attacks, and keeps her in pulmonary distress. She fights through it, because John needs her.
This is not a couple who is afraid of work. The road that led them to homelessness was not of their making, or at least not much of it was. They are not bitter or angry, but they aren't passive either. They clean condos, do day labor, pick up jobs as furniture movers, and when they aren't working for pay, they are working for the shelter: painting, cleaning, installing doors, fixing anything that breaks. They worry about the shelter finances as much as their own, and are constantly looking for ways to save money. John purchased a collapsible clothesline so that we could dry the constant stream of sheets and towels on a clothesline rather than use costly electricity in the dryer. Jennifer installed lock boxes on the thermostats and passed out fans so that we could keep the thermostat set at levels uncomfortable for her due to her asthma. And I never see them without a smile, at least, not now.
When they first came to Opportunity Place, smiles were on the rare side. John had his tumor removed that same day, and came in sick from the procedure and from the prognosis. He looked much like a man who felt that if he was going to die anyway, he might as well slit his wrists now and get it over with. Jennifer was grim with worry and fear.
There is nothing really that has changed in their lives. They still live on odd jobs, paying for their food and rent as best they can through invaluable service to the facility and the residents. John and Jennifer remain very ill. But they have a huge support network now, and people who care deeply about what happens, and that seems to be enough. They work as though they were healthy 20-year-olds, and they face their disease with the courage you would expect from our military war vets.
On October 16, at First Presbyterian Church in Fort Walton Beach, we will be meeting a lot of Johns and Jennifers, each with their own stories of heroism and terror, despair and strength. If you wish, please come down and listen. Our vets will be honored with a few moments of earned respect, and we will be richer for having given it.
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