So yesterday, coincidentally, Holy Thursday, I decided to do something a little crazy. My initial plan was to do it Friday, but, since I have Friday off, I thought Thursday might be the better choice. I got off work, came home, packed a few things and ventured out. I headed back downtown and parked in a garage. I then went to our normal downtown Sunday gathering spot. 14th and Douglas St. You see, by coincidence, that is where the local mission van picks up the homeless folks for their 2 or 3 mile trip back to the shelter. My plan? Hop in the van, head to the shelter and see what it is like to be homeless for a night. Now, since I have the back-up plan, that being a house in the suburbs, being homeless for a night is really a farce for me. But I wanted to spend a night in their world just to get a small glimpse of what it is all about. So I catch the van about 6:00 p.m. and we are off to the mission. The first thing you notice is the smell. Homelessness just has a variety of unique smells. You almost have to experience it up close and personal to really know. The van and its occupants carried the smell. It's not always a bad smell...just unique. One you never forget.
Anyway, as we are leaving downtown Omaha and heading to the shelter, my mind is racing with all kinds of thoughts. As I looked out the window at the car next to me, I get the "look". You know the "look". We've probably all given the look at one time or another. The look probably has many emotions tied up in it. Pity. Sorrow. Disgust, maybe? I've given the look. Last night I was on the receiving end. Didn't feel good. At all. I felt sad and lonely...just from a simple look. The lady in the car who shot her look at me had no idea who I was or what my story was. Or the story of any of the guys in the van. Bobby McGee who just "celebrated" his 62nd birthday was in the van. Don't know his story. Neither did she. Nor did she know mine. But she gave me the look anyway. I have to digress for a minute here, because that's what I do. I was talking to a guy last Sunday...Scott...we were talking about stuff. Homelessness. Bums. Hobos. His terms. Not mine. I'm going to paraphrase, but this is what he told me - "I didn't grow up and decide I wanted to be a bum. I didn't go to school to get a degree in homelessness". Circumstances...
So after I got the look, I'm wondering what it is exactly I'm doing in this van. What is my goal? Well, first and foremost, my goal is to simply visit some friends and see what it's like to spend a night in the shelter. What are the things that go on there at night? Secondly, and probably as important, I wanted to see what it was like from their perspective. How are they treated by the people who run the shelter? Are they shown the dignity they deserve? I mean, I realize that after working in a place like this for however many years, you are bound to become somewhat insensitive. Probably just can't help it. Anyway, those were a couple of things I wanted to see. But really, I just wanted to see what it was like. Wow…did I ever see what it was like.
I got out of the van, and headed in to the front desk to sign in. I filled out an information form, so I imagine I'll start getting snail mail spam from the mission. After I filled out the form, I got the pink ticket. The ticket represents my sleeping accommodations for the evening. The small pink ticket means I've reserved a spot in the line to get a 1 inch mat, a dirty pillow, a sheet that I hope was washed recently, and a blanket. I don't think the blankets get washed so regularly. So I pocket the ticket, and head off to the "dining hall". Chow starts at 5:00, so I'm a little late. Most everyone is finished eating by the time I get my tray. I get a pile of BBQ chicken, bones and all, a scoop of green beans and a scoop of rice and gravy. It was actually not bad. The rice was basically mush, but hey if you're hungry? So, I pull up a chair and dine with my friend Pete. I kind of know Pete from our Sundays, but this is an opportunity to chat one on one and get to know him a little better. Pete is just here because the food is better here than at the other shelter. Tells me I should go to the other shelter for the night. Better food here, but better accommodations at the other place. I told him next time. There will be a next time. One shelter at a time.
So after dinner, I'm just loitering in the lobby and chatting with some of the guys I already know. Meeting a few people I don't yet know. Just stuff. Then in come Bill and Frank. Feeling no pain. Again, Bill and Frank were the first two guys we met in the "Office" on our first Sunday. So here I am in their world. And what a world it is. As the night progresses, I stand out in front of the shelter and watch them break rule after rule. Whatever. They seem to know what they can get away with. But, this is a dry shelter. Meaning, I think, that you are not even supposed to be intoxicated on the premises. I have no idea how you could ever enforce that with these fellows. I'm talking Mad Dog 20/20. Budweiser tall boys. And the topper? Dope. Weed. Reefer. Right in front of the shelter. There's an office/glass cubicle right in the front, middle part of the shelter that is occupied by a staff member almost constantly. These guys were plying their wares about 10 feet from the office window. In plain sight. They said no one could do anything about it? Now understand these are just my observations. No judgments or anything like that. Just what I saw. This went on over the course of the evening. But wait…it gets better. More on that later.
So at 7:15, chapel service starts. Now, I've been on the other side of the chapel service before. A couple or three times. We attended a local church here in town and our church did the chapel service the first or third Monday of the month. Can't remember which, and it's not important. Basically, various local churches come in every night of the week and put on a chapel service. And for the most part, they seem to be fairly well received. The thing I get from the guys who sit on the receiving end? It's the same thing over and over. Again, just another observation. I'm not sure what could be done differently and maybe it doesn't need to be done differently. Last night, the message was the death and resurrection of our Savior. I tried to listen intently to the words of the message. You know how sometimes with the delivery of the message, it just isn't working for you? Well, besides the fact that Bill was sitting beside me, being somewhat distracting and belligerent, I just wasn't getting it. For whatever reason. The message was clear. But the delivery was lacking. Probably just me. Anyway, at one point something a little humorous happened. Another fellow I know, Turbo, shows up and sits down for a minute. Now this is during the message. So maybe there were simply too many distractions. He shakes my hand and I have to tell you…this guy has the most haggard hands of anyone I've ever met. Just rough and calloused. Anyway, he hands me a small bag. Says it's for me. I look at him, not really understanding why he is giving me this bag? I open it and it is a small train and a wooden base. He says since I work at Union Pacific, you know the train company, maybe I'd like this train. It's a 1931 #400E Blue Comet by Lionel. Model train. Ok. Cool. Thanks Turbo. Then he proceeds to whisper to me that he just got back from the hospital. I ask him why? In his words and after I've just shaken hands with him…"I woke up this morning with the runs. Been throwing up all day". Nooooooooo!!!! I did not want to go there. Not at the mission. I'm guessing that is not the place to be if the stomach flu is flying around. Not good. So, he leaves to go back and lay down and to leave me thinking I'm now tainted. Then, I have the bag sitting on top of my backpack and I accidentally knock it off on the floor. Makes a noise like it might be glass or something. Well, that got Pastor Leonard's attention right smartly. He was on me like a duck on a junebug. Wanted to know what was in the bag. This happened during the service, mind you. Pastor Leonard, I believe, runs the place at night. I feel like a kid who just got caught with contraband in high school. Not that I know what that feels like? So I show Pastor Leonard my Lionel Blue Comet. No harm…no foul. Now Pastor Leonard doesn't know me from Adam. But I would suggest he not worry so much about the new guy and look to some of his veterans? I guess he thought I had a bottle or something. Nope. Not for 17 years. By the grace of God. Just a Blue Comet.
The chapel service ends and no one is saved tonight. I know it does happen, because I've seen it happen. But not tonight. As soon as the service ends, there is a mad scramble to put the chairs away so that everyone can line up to wait for a mat. This whole process takes about 20 minutes. So the magic door finally opens and we are shuffled through to get our sleeping gear. They check off names, because they receive federal grants. Apparently, it is a big deal to have an exact head count. Gotta get the grant money, ya know. I cannot imagine what it takes to run a place like this. I mean, when you boil it down, it is really like babysitting adults in a way. At least that is how it comes off.
We get our mats and Bill and Frank make sure, loudly, that I'm taken care of. Did I mention loudly? So we all have our spot on the floor, which a couple of hours ago served as the "dining hall". Now they have a bunk area, but you have to be working and what not to have a "permanent" bunk. I'd guess around 40-50 bunks? As the night wore on, I counted probably 70 or so guys sleeping on mats. On the floor. Of the dining hall. Look, I'll be 44 this year. Served time in the army. Been in some places I'm not real proud of. But this was just something else. I could not even begin to describe the feelings that permeate this place. I mean, it's as clean as they can keep it. But man…it was depressing. For me, I had the back up plan. For most of these guys, this is the plan. Some of these guys have "lived" here for years. Years. I can't imagine. There was dirt…DIRT… on the shower floors. I don't mean a dirt floor. I mean dirt and trash in the shower area. Not that I took a shower. No. But I walked around and tried to just do a cursory rundown of the place. I cannot stress enough what a great job they do in running this place. But man, have we as a society let these guys down. Now, there are lots of issues at play here and some of these guys just need to get to work or whatever, but I just don't think people should have to live like this. Some choose to. Others, not so much. Circumstances.
So here at the dry shelter, my friends Bill and Frank are consuming their tall Buds right there in the sleeping area. Smoking pot right outside the front door. And they tell me this was a tame night? And really, it was. Other than their loud drunken behavior, it was pretty tame. Didn't sleep much. Prayed a lot. For them. For myself. For lots of things. For Bill and Frank. All the guys there. For the mission. Not just the physical building we were in, but the bigger mission. That of helping the least of those. Of God's mission for us. For Robin and the kids. Christian, Nicky, and my little sweetheart Erin. I pray that they never have to experience anything like this from the inside. I have no idea what kind of circumstances could lead to that. But I'm not naïve enough to believe that it could never happen. I can't see it happening. But it could. To any of us. I know no answers. I do have lots of questions.
5:00 a.m. wakeup. Lots of guys head into town to try for temp work. Me? I'm going home. Besides freezing my butt off (temp has dropped here recently…it is Nebraska…it happens) I catch the first van back into town. The van drops me off at the library, right across the street from our corner. It's cold. Probably about 20 degrees. High in the mid 30s today. Windy. Suppose to warm back up next week. Then spring will be here, officially. So, I walk a few blocks to my car and head home. What a night. What a world we live in. Where I can experience all that in one evening. And then back to suburbia the very next morning. Bizarro. And no stomach flu. Thanks Turbo!! Now? Time for a shower. Don't want to come home with the "smell". Otherwise, Robin might give me the "look"…
Peace and have a great and blessed week.
..."it matters to that one"... :)
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