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.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
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.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Point of Despair; Points of Hope
At the end of each January, a dedicated and talented team of volunteers works together to get an accurate sense of who is homeless in Okaloosa and Walton Counties. This year they found kids, lots and lots of kids. They crowd my dreams.
The point-in-time survey starts with service providers, who use census count tools rather than sign-in sheets for the specified time. The census tools allow us to check for non-duplication. We then download the data in our databanks at the office and through HMIS,and check those to see how many clients are still actively homeless. We request surveys from community stakeholders accessing different demographic groups, ones that those of us at Opportunity, Inc. are unlikely to come across. One such source is the school district; another is the list of people being discharged from jail to homelessness. Finally, on the last weekend of January, we head outdoors and count the people who do not come to our door or call for help.
Generally, we go with law enforcement for these runs, but there are times when having a law enforcement officer may impact the count we get. This year in Destin an extremely pleasant and capable young man took me to all the homeless haunts, every one of which was deserted. That evening I came back and skulked in my car as I counted them going into the abandoned buildings on 98, the fishing cottages without water or electricity, and the woods, counting one by one, putting down whatever I could detect - male, female, approximatey age and race. These all looked like chronically homeless to me.
At the end of the count, this year, it was the kids that shot up in numbers. Most of these were members of briefly homeless families, who then became perilously housed. Such families call us, or we find them, the day they become homeless, or a few days later. Becoming homelessness is devastating, and families find themselves doing things they never believed they would. Mom moves with one kid over to her mom's. Dad lives with his brother. The two other kids go live with an aunt. At any moment, the situation can crack apart, and the cycle start again.
Meanwhile, a family is broken, and who only knows when or if it comes together again. What has often been a strong and supportive family group can be crushed under the stress and strain. In the worst case scenarios,the kids go to live in foster care, and the parents live separately on the street.
But, there are always those families that somehow manage to thrive when the hits start raining down. They are the ones who take the writing on the wall seriously - which is often a notice of eviction placed on the wall itself. They cling to the job no matter how few the hours have become, or they find a part-time job making beds, but they keep something together. They start calling for resources, and, since they still have some form of employment, they may be lucky enough to get a place at FRESH Start, or Catholic Charities when they have funds for rent, or Lydia on a day when her network is buzzing with hope and help.
People ask us for success stories. We are immersed in them. We have provided options to domestic violence victims who can finally leave their abusers, now that freedom from abuse doesn't equate to homelessness. A formerly homeless mother of two has an excellent position running a food services program for a local not-for-profit, and is fully self-sufficient. A young man, who once worked construction in the morning and fast food in the afternoon, now works as a cook in a "real restaurant" and is proudly awaiting his parents' visit. The only thing we did was give him a place to take a shower between jobs, and a lot of encouraging words. From there, it was all him, but no one can be more grateful.
One of the single dads we work with is a constant favorite, a bedtime story of happily ever after made better because it is true. A young man, broken by the foster care system he survived, became an alcoholic, a drug user, and a father of six children. His wife got arrested for the drugs they both did, and Hurricane Ivan wiped out his home and job. But instead of despair, hope kicked in, and John came to us. That was two years ago. Today his house is one of the cleanest in Fort Walton Beach. The children are happy, loving, clean and beautifully behaved. John is a success at a well-paying job, and the kids are flourishing in school. They will be moving into their very own four-bedroom house over the summer.
Still, when it comes to the end of the day, you remember the staggering number of children who are homeless in our area (which coincidentally is the exact same ratio as that mentioned by President Obama at his press conference - one in every 50) and you wonder how this can happen. So many kids, robbed of their trust in the world, their hope, their future.
Go to the point-in-time survey on the http://www.okaloosawaltonhomeless.org, and look at the numbers, and focus on those kids - or the veterans - or whatever group you care most about.
It will cause you to feel the first tentacles of despair. Run right away - come help us, and let us help you light the candles of hope. For the kids.
The point-in-time survey starts with service providers, who use census count tools rather than sign-in sheets for the specified time. The census tools allow us to check for non-duplication. We then download the data in our databanks at the office and through HMIS,and check those to see how many clients are still actively homeless. We request surveys from community stakeholders accessing different demographic groups, ones that those of us at Opportunity, Inc. are unlikely to come across. One such source is the school district; another is the list of people being discharged from jail to homelessness. Finally, on the last weekend of January, we head outdoors and count the people who do not come to our door or call for help.
Generally, we go with law enforcement for these runs, but there are times when having a law enforcement officer may impact the count we get. This year in Destin an extremely pleasant and capable young man took me to all the homeless haunts, every one of which was deserted. That evening I came back and skulked in my car as I counted them going into the abandoned buildings on 98, the fishing cottages without water or electricity, and the woods, counting one by one, putting down whatever I could detect - male, female, approximatey age and race. These all looked like chronically homeless to me.
At the end of the count, this year, it was the kids that shot up in numbers. Most of these were members of briefly homeless families, who then became perilously housed. Such families call us, or we find them, the day they become homeless, or a few days later. Becoming homelessness is devastating, and families find themselves doing things they never believed they would. Mom moves with one kid over to her mom's. Dad lives with his brother. The two other kids go live with an aunt. At any moment, the situation can crack apart, and the cycle start again.
Meanwhile, a family is broken, and who only knows when or if it comes together again. What has often been a strong and supportive family group can be crushed under the stress and strain. In the worst case scenarios,the kids go to live in foster care, and the parents live separately on the street.
But, there are always those families that somehow manage to thrive when the hits start raining down. They are the ones who take the writing on the wall seriously - which is often a notice of eviction placed on the wall itself. They cling to the job no matter how few the hours have become, or they find a part-time job making beds, but they keep something together. They start calling for resources, and, since they still have some form of employment, they may be lucky enough to get a place at FRESH Start, or Catholic Charities when they have funds for rent, or Lydia on a day when her network is buzzing with hope and help.
People ask us for success stories. We are immersed in them. We have provided options to domestic violence victims who can finally leave their abusers, now that freedom from abuse doesn't equate to homelessness. A formerly homeless mother of two has an excellent position running a food services program for a local not-for-profit, and is fully self-sufficient. A young man, who once worked construction in the morning and fast food in the afternoon, now works as a cook in a "real restaurant" and is proudly awaiting his parents' visit. The only thing we did was give him a place to take a shower between jobs, and a lot of encouraging words. From there, it was all him, but no one can be more grateful.
One of the single dads we work with is a constant favorite, a bedtime story of happily ever after made better because it is true. A young man, broken by the foster care system he survived, became an alcoholic, a drug user, and a father of six children. His wife got arrested for the drugs they both did, and Hurricane Ivan wiped out his home and job. But instead of despair, hope kicked in, and John came to us. That was two years ago. Today his house is one of the cleanest in Fort Walton Beach. The children are happy, loving, clean and beautifully behaved. John is a success at a well-paying job, and the kids are flourishing in school. They will be moving into their very own four-bedroom house over the summer.
Still, when it comes to the end of the day, you remember the staggering number of children who are homeless in our area (which coincidentally is the exact same ratio as that mentioned by President Obama at his press conference - one in every 50) and you wonder how this can happen. So many kids, robbed of their trust in the world, their hope, their future.
Go to the point-in-time survey on the http://www.okaloosawaltonhomeless.org, and look at the numbers, and focus on those kids - or the veterans - or whatever group you care most about.
It will cause you to feel the first tentacles of despair. Run right away - come help us, and let us help you light the candles of hope. For the kids.
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