(Hopefully.)
Today felt like a new normal. Like the moment when the "seat belts" light goes off, and you are free to move about the cabin.
My "street ministry" days have found a new shape, post-Encampment. The property has been officially and finally sold, and the old fence removed. A new fence has taken its place, although I haven't had reason to drive out that end of town to see it. I've just been told.
I've been able to maintain relationships and contact with about a dozen people I met over the past year, and have met a few more who are, at best, "precariously housed." The folks I connect with week to week are living in motels or privately owned rooming houses. One has been in hospital for the last 2 weeks.
Today I sat down at the Anglican church's soup lunch with a man who had been told (for some ineffible reason) that I would be able to help him find an apartment. That I'd helped other people with housing. He had the idea that our church might have a place in the building where he could live. He's desperate (and I mean exactly that) to get out of the boarding house where he's currently sheltered, and I don't blame him. I've visited friends who live there.
But I had to sit across the table from this man I'd only met today, look him in the eye, and tell him that I have no resources or contacts that will help him find something healthier. That no, he can't live in the church. (Yes, he actually asked.) That no, he can't have a room in my house. (Yes, he actually asked.) He's already on the waiting list with the County. That's pretty much the only game in town but it's up to a 10 year wait.
Conversations like that suck. Hard. It hurts - really actually hurts - to have to say no to someone who is desperate. Even when 'no' is the only possible answer. Somebody gave this man an unfounded, uninformed, unfulfillable hope, and I had to sit in a church gym and--over chicken noodle soup and a bologna sandwich--take it away. Somebody made him a promise that they had no power to keep and therefore no business making.
He thanked me for talking to him. That didn't help.
I walked out of there feeling like dirt, fairly angry, and a little sick to my stomach. I have his number and I'll check in with him again next week. He's been added to my list of people to deliver lunches to.
On the plus side, ... ... ... sorry. I paused there for a minute. Had to think about it.
There is a good side.
The sandwiches I shared today were made by a family in my church, using bread rolls donated by a local family bakery, via one of my fellow 'volunteers' in the community. Little things like that lift my spirits. Each of those sandwiches was--in one way or another--given by at least 6 people to whoever received it. I love that. I love how our community works together to meet needs.
We function outside the systems, without the constraint of official organizations, without the support of government. We're the 'do-gooders' who just tick along on the fringes, doing good. Being neighbours. Some people prefer to call us 'enabling leftist wackos.' That's a t-shirt I'd wear with pride.
For me, these days, the 'do-gooding' that's coming into focus is (somewhat oddly to my surprise) is doing pastoring. Some people (both among the unhoused and the volunteers) have found me to be someone they can talk to. I'm humbled and honoured to be trusted with some of these conversations. Sometimes it's just venting about their frustrations and disillusionment with the system. More often now, it's more personal.
Like people whose relationships with their husband or wife is hitting a bumpy patch. I'm not aware of a manual for doing marriage counselling among homeless populations. But I can't imagine my husband and I living the trauma of becoming unsheltered, being moved against our will, waking up every day in a grey motel room with no TV, patchy wifi, and only one cell phone between us, that we can't afford to buy time on. I think we'd probably hit some potholes, too.
Today I talked to a person whose partner was recently killed in an accident. I let them steer the conversation, which was a bit awkward and lumpy until we started talking about our kids: how proud we are of them, how smart they are, how much we learn from them. That was what they wanted to talk about today. We didn't talk about their grief, but they went next to lunch at a local diner with some motel-dwelling mutual friends. So I knew they were in good hands.
So they happen in my car, as we drive from one place to another.
They also happen over a meal. Since I'm no longer buying cartons of coffee to share at the Encampment, I can use that $20 per week to buy lunch (often on the condition that, "next time it's on me").
Part of the new normal. Flying at cruising altitude.
Meanwhile, I'm not forgetting that, when the seatbelt light goes off, the cabin crew usually recommend that you keep buckled up regardless. Turbulence happens.
Looking forward to Christmas, my church is putting together 'Santa socks' for me to share on the 24th, with a mix of practical and fun items. I bought a dozen stockings at a charity shop in town. That was fun. My church is also having a turkey dinner on Christmas Day, and invitations have been passed around.
To you and yours, I convey my Christmas wish: May God bless you, so that you can bless others.
Merry. Peace.
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