What does it mean to be homeless in this little city that never sleeps?
What if being homeless brings you closer to what you were searching for?
When I walked through the crowds yesterday, it felt going away, being disowned from what I called my spiritual family in the midst of them chasing saving the homeless felt liberating yet deeply hurting.
Not everyone understands.
When one of the Directors of New Hope came to me asking me for a million dollars. My colleague harmlessly asked "don't you have support from any other organisation? A church perhaps?" A straight "No" , plus further elaboration on how underfunded they were was the reply. I asked again. Again it was the same.
I went to my church council, telling them what the Charity had said. I explained my views of the lies that seemed to perpetuate their dealings with the church. I was ignored. They told me she was the wrong person to be representing New Hope. Now I know I was the wrong person to be asking. Since that episode, I was then ostracised and insulted by various others as the tide swung against me. I explained the commercial nature of what New Hope was doing and sought to verify it. I entrusted information with key individuals. At the end of the day, they all turned on me. I was no one in this family.
My own family turned on me too. I don't have to explain it further. Perhaps between the spiritual and physical families, we are all the same. In the foyers of the halls of home, they criticised but in the open they fell at the feet of their earthly masters. There were some who egged me on to pursue righteousness, for righting the wrongs, but they too left once the going was tough. I was playing a chess game, but the rules were against me. They werent playing by the rules, but they always decided the rules. I was undoubtedly alone and surely it is easier to lose that to win.
I know I won nothing. And I lost mostly all.
So what family do I have left?
What does family even mean to me?
As I walked through the crowds yesterday in the midst of growing money for the homeless. I never felt more like a stranger.
I know I'm not worth much and surely there are some people happy to clear me away for the Minister to arrive. I know one of them tried to correct their tone thereafter, which I appreciate, but I know to him I'm probably a criminal. For those who I tried to say hi to, and was mostly ignored. I am the same, I am human and even as one of them said hi to me, I couldn't help but ignore him too. And I ignored many that day. Just as many ignored me.
Why not?
I am an outsider here. A homeless to the people with a home. A stranger to a place I called family. I found new families, even if they were darker, even if they were drugged, even if they were invisible. God showed me a home with the homeless, and showed me that he was still with us, even if we are disdained and utterly meaningless to our own families.
You know, that day at the carnival. I found...
A hug, from someone who missed me.
A word of support to rise up, from someone retiring.
A prayer and a charge, from someone in tune with God's spirit.
A smile, from someone I used to smile to.
A child, oblivious to the politics around who wanted me there.
A minister, oblivious to the spiritual battles and a crowd, waiting earnestly for their Minister.
Life is strange. It hurts yet its warm. It's cold yet its hot. It's crowded yet so empty. I felt like a stranger yet connected. I felt disdained yet accepted. I felt homeless, yet with a home. I felt strong yet so weak. I felt lied to, yet also a liar. I felt lost, and still finding my way.
I am who I am.
Even if I'm nobody to you. I am my mother's child.
And even when no one else gives me a home, my God gave me a mother. And my mother watches over me from heaven, with her spiritual family. I'm homeless but they're waiting for me to return home.
And somehow I found a home with the homeless. It still feels warm inside. Even if it's cold outside.
Tears stream, down my face.
Let's try to fix me.
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