tug of war

I am not sure how to write this but am going to give it a shot. First, I wanted to mention that the shoe guy from yesterday IS staying at a shelter now, but I still consider him homeless because it's nothing long term and could change tomorrow.

Second, I want to explore something with you. When I read your lovely comments, the praise you so generously bestow parts of me feel awkward. I don't share these stories thinking I am going to get so much lovely feedback and it makes me wonder if I write in such a way that it somehow asks for it. If that is indeed the case let me state for the record that I Am Not Anything Special. (I mean sure, we are all special, blah de blah I saw Mr. Rogers I know the drill) but I share these stories because of them. Because that guy was so endearing and funny and human. I want to share bits of them with you because they touch me in such deeply profound ways.

I have said it before: I have never met more beautiful people than the ones I do through my work. Over the years I have endless stories of kindness and generosity. Of humor and resilence and faith. Of how I've been humbled a thousand times by the strength of a single mom, or an elderly man, or a guy with no shoes. Of how I have people sleeping outside tell me how much how God loves them. And they have absolutely nothing to be (in my selfish, jaded opinion) to be thanking God for and yet their faith is strong. One of many reasons I have so much to still learn and they have so much to teach.

And you know, the part of me that isn't hiding behind a rock loves your praise. I read your comments more than once. I start to believe you. But Ego is a slippery slope, and sometimes I can feel like I am doing enough when I am really not doing much at all.

So I also want you to tell me what my shoeless friend did, because there are still homeless people everywhere and maybe we are doing a shitty job. Because I agreed with him the other day. It's not enough, shoes and a nurse. A cot on the floor. It's nowhere near enough. They are the heroes, the ones who survive everyday life with little more than a nickel in their pocket. They are the ones who deserve the praise for simply making it through another day, a long day of being mistreated and moved in circles and being stepped over. I doubt I'd last a day on the streets, my middle class whiteness would certainly self-destruct.

And lastly, thank you for listening. For allowing me to again and again bring homelessness to the table. For giving me a space to talk about these encounters and experiences that I've never before had a forum for. It's meant more than you know.

Now tell me to shut the hell up and get back to work.