Mobile Loaves & Fishes Blog

Street Retreat 2010: Reflections from Steven Hebbard, Day 2

More of Steven's thoughts as he goes deeper into the wonderful journey of the street retreat.

 

Day 2- Morning

After a later than expected wake up call by the security guard at the church we slept at last night, I spent an hour or so hanging out with my three new friends at the gazebo at Woolrich Park.  It was a great chance to hear Ronnie’s story in more detail.  Ronnie is a 24 year old African American with three years towards a Forensic’s major at Texas A&M.  He seems the most grounded of all the people I have met so far.  This could be due to the relatively short period that he has been homeless.   He isn’t addicted to drugs and didn’t so much as light a cigarette in the 16 or so hours I spent with him.  His friends say he doesn’t even drink.  This is in marked contrast to Angelo who lights up, on average, every ten minutes.

Ronnie is the first veteran of the Iraqi war I have ever met.  He served on a medical surgeon team in Fallujah where he participated in several s operations, mostly involving soldiers who lost limbs in battle.  Unlike the cadavers that he worked with at A&M, cutting into these living bodies, writhing with emotion did not sit well with him.  But when his term ended he nevertheless reenlisted because, where else was he going to go?  Toward the end of his term, he developed a thyroid condition that caused him to lose about 65 pounds.  The Army thought this was the result of PT at first, but when testing made it clear that he had a medical abnormality, he was prevented from staying in Iraq.

Upon returning home, he did not have the option of staying at any relative’s homes.  His greatest ambition is to finish college and become a forensic scientist, determining the cause of death of homicides.  The problem is, though he is qualified for the GI Bill, the military will not release any money or grants to him unless he can show proof of permanent address.  Without access to family, or friends, Ronnie became homeless.  He joined forces with Angelo and Jennifer about 4 months ago, determining that they would work together toward housing and success – a set-up probably similar to the kind of team-oriented unit he experienced in the military; certainly the living conditions could not be any more Spartan.   This unit is strong and motivated but even after four months of looking, Ronnie has not been able to get a lasting job, the first step toward his goal.

After saying goodbye to these new friends (giving them my number so that we might meet again in the future), a few of the other retreaters and I headed Eastward toward Angel House, a Baptist Church that serves as one of the only permanent coffee sources for the men like me who are addicted to the stuff.  Though the supply is abundant the window is short (30 minutes) and we arrived just after they ran out.   This was because, on the way, our gang ran into a pleasant distraction.  A couple of young dred-lock laden bohemians were dancing on Congress Avenue at 6th street to beats on one of the guys’ laptops.  It was an open-invitation dance party that was too much fun to pass by.  After a couple of jigs, we began to talk.  These guys first met at the Rainbow Festival which was last held in a National Forrest of New Mexico.  After meeting there, each felt individually called by God to come to Austin.  They rediscovered each other when they arrived.  Together, they dance for God as a witness to the “goodness of their Lord and Savior”.  One of them was miraculously freed from a drug addiction 8 months ago and told us his testimony.  Before we left for breakfast, we held hands at the intersection and prayed a prayer of blessing on our new friend’s ministry.  It would have been fun to dance off down the street but, alas, the batteries had run out on the laptop.

Day 2- Afternoon

After the sadness descended on us from the lack of coffee in our immediate future, our hearts were immediately brightened as several of the other homeless hanging out at Angel House gave us pastries that they had wrapped up for later.  As an aside, if I haven’t mentioned it before, the generosity of men and women on the street is truly awe inspiring.  It seems evident to me that the less you have, the easier it is to give some away.

We stuck nearby to the house and also lunched on the property (being sure to get there in plenty of time to get some this time).  Afterward, our group split up and I met up with Alan while meandering north on an aimless time-killing jaunt.  We shared stories of the morning and the evening before, and I moved on in search of God.

The afternoon was full of walking for me.  Not sure what I was looking for, I walked most of the way from E. Caesar Chavez to 26th Street on the drag and then back down to near 11th.  It felt strangely good to stretch my legs and to experience life as an invisible person.  I was barely noticed by any but other homeless people who I tried to talk with as often as it seemed welcome.

At 3pm our group rejoined together and talked through our first full day on the streets.  I loved  hearing everyone’s stories.  Afterward, Stubbs BBQ and Mobile Loaves’ partnered at Woolrich Park in serving the first leg of the “Feed the World” tour to raise awareness about hunger and poverty in America.  The park was packed with people waiting to get their Stubbs sandwich.   While awaiting the truck’s disbursement, a fellow on the team and I sat down and talked with Jerry, who, it turns out, was the third person I met who had recently contemplated or attempted suicide.  At near 50 years of age, Jerry lives alone in a camp so remote in the Texas Hill Country that in three years, it has never been disrupted in any way.  He is trained in multiple specialist trades but also has several felony charges against him, most from a mentally unstable wife that has come in and out of his life for the last five years.  As such, he can’t get a job.  Talking with Jerry made me feel ashamed of a recent bout of depression I felt only a few days before.  Here is a guy who is being aged out of the career market, has no body for manual labor, and who is completely alone, though coping with thousands of others in similar circumstances.  Together they form a silent, heavily burdened horde, who has ambition but no clear sense of direction; seemingly living in the ‘day to day’ so that the’ week to week’ is not too overwhelming.

Day 2- Evening

After the dinner feast, I decided it was time to truly cut ties with everyone.  I alerted Alan that I was going on a walkabout and would see him tomorrow.  My gut said to travel South so, after a brief restroom stop at the downtown library, I headed for Congress and the pedestrian river to South Austin.  Near Congress and 5th, with the intention of catching a bus down SoCo in pursuit of what God wanted me to experience for the night, I felt the distinct call to turn back.  One of the guys with us on the trip owned a tract of land on Congress and suggested that it might make a good location for a Downtown community garden.  I knew I should go and check this property out before the sun went down.  And so I headed north.  The empty, grass-covered, lot looks on 11 Street with a clear view of the Capital grounds.  It is not large and doesn’t get good sun, but would be a beautiful garden location.  Walking around the area, I noticed two men sitting down in the shade.  One country-western looking young man was playing a guitar and an old man I who looked homeless was listening.  I walked around and pondered the garden’s potential, squeezing the dirt as an impromptu soil test in my hand.  All the while, I listened to the music.  While pondering one of the historical markers I heard the singer proclaim, “and this is a song about Jesus.”  Listening closely at this point, I knew where I was meant to spend my evening.

After the song was concluded, I asked if it was ok to join their group.  Upon closer inspection, I recognized the older man.  With a thick long gray beard and a soft but commanding voice, he reminded me of John Muir or some prophet out of the Old Testament.  As many times as I had seen him, he always seemed to look at me with a “knowing” look.  The singer could not have been any more different.  He looked young, childish even.  He wore the sort of country western wear that spoke of the discount section of a small town western store.  Jake was the singer and Josiah was the older fellow.

Jake played ballads, hymns, and folk songs from Woodie Guthrie, to Cash, to several that he had written himself.  After a few minutes, I thought I was witnessing an old musical Tent Revival with an audience of one man.   Jake had his Bible out and would talk through what he liked about a song and then cut to a Biblical passage that echoed his thought.   Josiah would tune in with a correction or to echo Jake’s thought, adding his own rumination.  After several songs, it became apparent I wasn’t watching an old school revival but the theological reflections through music of two old friends.  The two men had met nine years before through their mutual acquaintances with Duane Severance, known to most as Austin’s Pastor to the Homeless.  Duane earned his place in Austin sparring musically with Lesley on the corner of 6^th and Congress.  Lesley would throw accusations and Duane would return with a song and quiet word from the Bible.   Duane passed away a few weeks ago from a car accident- way too young.  Lesley was also in an accident recently and barely survived.  Josiah observed how ironic it was that God would choose to take one and leave the other.  Perhaps it was injustice he noted, or perhaps God’s mercy in giving Lesley a chance to get right before his time to face his maker truly does come.

Nearly two hours elapsed over songs, scripture, edification, and correction.  I left well blessed and received much encouragement to pursue the community garden at the sight.  God prepared a church for me tonight, made of body, heart, and memory.  It was a beautiful time of grace and peace.

I left to wander south.  I pondered some of the Bible scriptures that Jake tossed out at Jo’s Coffee, where I was generously provided with a bit sustenance for my breakfast, free of charge.  Walking a bit, I found an abandoned church nearby that seems a safe and quiet place for me to make my bed.  I gathered some cardboard from behind a few local businesses so the cold ground will not wake me.  A plywood board will guard my bed from the street’s view.   I think I will sleep in deep rest tonight.

*note: names have been changed

Street Retreat 2010: Reflections from Steven Hebbard, Day 1

Steven, the Mobile Loaves & Fishes KP Programs Director, has been on a street retreat for a few days.  Here are his thoughts.

Day  1

I spent the afternoon and evening of our first day getting to know a tight knit group of young survivers at Woolrich Park.  It’s 10:30 pm as I write this.  James and I have just returned from a Johnny Sac run to the dumpster near the downtown youth correctional facility.  The story he tells me is that when you are admitted to the jail, anything you have on your person that might be questionable is seized by the guards.  Since the city can’t keep this on city property, the seized material is placed in the grabage where an underground economy has developed in the distribution of reacquired goods.  James is seen by some as a veritable Robin Hood, but he called himself a Ghetto Santa Claus .  He doesn’t sell his goods but distributes them freely to friends and strangers alike.  He’s been living on the streets off and on for the last 12 years, since he was 18.  He used to get Social Securtity for Bio-polar, ADHD, mild retardation (his words) and scholiosis of the back, a condition that makes him abnormally sensitive to the cold.  He walks with a serious limp from a car collision that resulted from his evident lack of concern for oncoming cars during the downtown nightime hours.

He has the city schedule down and knows precisely what trash cans contain what and at what times they will hold the good stuff.  He walks me a few blocks over where we fill up water bottles for the group, past a collection of cops that he tells me go to this intersection to hang out and talk rather than look for trouble.  The dumpsters he will be inspecting with me are ten feet tall.  The city began to lock up the sides after too many people were taking out garbage and leaving a mess all around.  The only way in now is from the top.  He has to dive down, a nasty little duty evident from the wet shorts he bears upon the completion of his task.  We return with three quarters of a 20 ounce soda bottle and one large sac of garbage that he says bears all the Johnny Sacs that we’ll need for the night.  Upon returning, mostly young people from upstairs and down the street come, looking for food.  Sometime, James trades for cigarattes but usually he gives his treasure away freely.  While others collect their food, James explains that he is a Christian, “like everybody else” in that he belives he ought to do right by others.  When I ask if he believes in Jesus, he replies, “A Higher Power yes; Jesus, no.”  He is actually a wiccan.  He worships the moon and can tell the time by its orbit.  This explains why he is so comfortable in the night time hours.

The leader of the pack I’m with is named Angelo.  When James and I return Angelo and wife Jennifer are already sleeping, but promply wake up to dig through the bag and put away whatever items might be useful for the next day.  Sadly the bag only contains food, no cigarettes!  The Johnnny Sacs from the previous afternoon were the only dinner that this troupe gets as the Food Not Bombs vegetarian dinner (that I enjoyed immensely)  was not their cup of tea.  Angelo and Jennifer have a little more dinner as they sit nestled in a single queen sized comforter entangled in each other.  They smoke and talk for a bit with Ronnie, the third member of the troupe.   Angelo is 20 years old.  Jennifer is 19 and Ronnie is 24.  Angelo has been in CPS since the age of 2 and has been in most foster care facilities in the state.  He spent a brief bit of time in the army and some time in prison.  His hair is in a million tightly bound knots so that it will grow out faster and denies to Jennifer that he is trying to grow dreds.  He is earnest about finding a job, as are all three of them.  They have developed a plan to go in together on a place when they get the money.  All seem smart enough to do anything.  Angelo, Jennifer, and I played Rummy to pass the hours while Ronnie was reclaiming a hit of his stashed stuff.  He beat me heartily.

Angelo and Jennifer are both bi-sexuals, a not-so-uncommon thing, I found out, among the young on the street.  Angelo was homeless since the age of 15.  He met Jennifer last year before her mom died of a rare illness. The two fell in love.  When Angelo introduced Jennifer to his “Street Dad”, he asked her to call him Dad, but she refused saying that she couldn’t unless he was really family.  Ten minutes later, Angelo proposed and they have been married for severeal months now.

The time is now past 11 and I am going to attempt to get some shut eye. More soon.

Posted in Steven | 1 Comment »
Tags: dinner, homeless, Mobile Loaves and Fishes, Street Retreat
Just a glimpse of beauty on a Friday morning.
March 25, 2010

For my (Jen’s) mom, hospitality seems to naturally surround her. Upon entering my parent’s home, you will promptly be invited to have a seat and make your self at home, and would you like anything to drink? My mom remembers people’s favorite drink and makes sure to have that beverage available the next time you should happen to stop by. For me, that usually means there’s a gallon of McAlister’s Sweet Tea in the fridge with my name on it when I come to  a visit.

I have learned to take after my mom and it has almost become natural for me. I have enjoyed serving people in this way at our weekly Stone Soup Breakfasts. I believe it creates a sense of belonging when someone hands you your coffee with the somehow necessary 5 packs of sugar, or when someone know that you prefer orange juice.

Last Friday, I was blessed by this sense of belonging. I was listening to one of our residents’ fascinating story of how he ended up on the streets when I heard my name being called from across the trailer. Well, sort of my name! It sounded a little more like “Jan” and a little less like “Jen” and always makes me smile. Jimmy is a 65 year old man with a kind heart and a playful sense of humor that makes me laugh so hard I can barely breathe sometimes. He wanted to know if I would like a coffee refill. I wish I had the words to better paint the picture of beauty that this simple act meant to me. I felt so cared for. Jimmy is learning that our community is a place of service and lovingly played his part.

It’s these hundreds of little unnoticed moments: at the Stone Soup Breakfast, at a workday, at the booth at the Farmer’s Market that make me realize how so incredibly blessed I am to be part of this loving and healing community.

Did I Wash the Feet of a Saint? Duane Severance Pastor to the #Homeless

On January 7th Duane Severance was killed in a single car single occupant accident. His untimely death provoked within the Austin community a lot of emotions.  Duane is married to Brandy and they have three children and another on the way due February 14th.  Duane was the pastor to the homeless on the streets of Austin, Texas. After reflecting on his death for some time I offer the following thoughts.

 Duane and I began to be aware of each other probably in 1999 or 2000 when Church Under the Bridge was getting started and my parish was contemplating taking on adopting CUB for one week per month.  That never came to fruition but as we were building Mobile Loaves & Fishes we frequently encountered Church Under the Bridge on our Sunday runs.  It was wonderful to watch such a diverse group of people all gather to worship the Lord; black, white, brown, male, female, rich, poor, homeless, mentally ill, addicts, disabled, trans gendered, gay you name it and it was there mostly in harmony.  Truly amazing to watch.  At the helm was Duane Severance, Pastor to these brothers and sisters each made in His image.  Makes me think of Acts 2:42 and on when the church was just getting off the ground after the death of Christ.

But it was in May of 2003 when I REALLY met Duane.  I had organized Mobile Loaves & Fishes' first Street Retreat (www.mlfnow.org/streetretreat). This retreat was 72 hours and is a one on one retreat between the retreatant and God with our retreat center being the wall-less streets of downtown Austin.  We had heard while out on the streets that there was a bible study held in East Austin on Tuesday nights where one could grab a meal and a place to sleep while also entering into some powerful praise and worship.  When asked where this place was no one knew; all they could tell us is that if you go to the corner of Congress Avenue and 7th street at around 5:30 a little pickup truck would come and pick you up.  Several of us decided to go.  Standing on the corner kind of felt like Pinocchio waiting to go to Pleasure Island.

The evening was phenomenal to say the least!  I will never forget it.  The music, the bible study, the teaching, the fellowship and the community of broken brothers and sisters all worshiping together.  It was transforming to say the least.  Duane and I grew in solidarity to our missions but clearly on differing paths.  There was a mutual respect for each other.

Since that time I have facilitated a whole bunch of Street Retreats.  Nearly 200 people have participated and now we always do our 72 hour retreat beginning at 5:00 on Palm Sunday and ending on Wednesday.  Almost always we end up at the Tuesday night bible study which since its inception has been moved to the New York Avenue Christian Center near 12th and Chicon.  As of about six months ago because Duane needed a change of pace and moved to West Texas the bible studies ended.

Well, a few years ago one of our veteran retreatants Judy Knotts (read this article in the American Statesman) had the idea that we should wash the feet of the homeless while at the Tuesday night bible study.  Since we are out during Holy Week it makes sense to do this.  In the Catholic Church we celebrate Holy Thursday and the institution of the priesthood.  This institution begins with Jesus' washing the feet of the disciples.  Very powerful!  Now Judy wants to bring this celebration to the homeless.  Quietly, I am reluctant as I try not have any "agenda" while out on the streets; only doing what God calls us to do at any given time.  I am glad I was quiet on this; not normal for me.

So here we are at the New York Avenue Christian Center on a Tuesday evening of Holy Week praising the Lord and the time came for the ceremonial washing of the feet.  The crowd was stunned that we wanted to do this and some were ashamed.  Ashamed because the condition of their feet was something that we did not anticipate.  Our feet for the most part were nice and soft and free of callouses and crevices.  We could afford quality foot care; a fresh clean pair of socks everyday; a bath everyday.  Heck some of us (women particularly) could afford regular pedicures. Not the homeless.  No siree! As anyone involved in going out on a Mobile Loaves & Fishes truck knows socks are the single most popular item on the trucks.

It is hard to describe the condition of these feet.  Some were so injured that you questioned the sanity of even touching them.  But here we were girding ourselves as Jesus did and committing to something that we had to fulfill.  For all of us this was a powerful moment.  People were weeping and crying.  The presence of the Holy Spirit in that room that night was palpable.  Emotions were running on high.

The plan was to wash the feet of those who were homeless; to let them know that we were, as Jesus, there to serve them. We did not understand that it would be important for them to wash our feet but that is precisely what happened.  More weeping and crying!

What was remarkable and providential was that I was about to wash the feet of Duane's and he mine.  At the time I weighed nearly 330 pounds so getting down much less back up was difficult.  As I went down on a knee I gently needed to support myself by leaning onto his knee.  As I came closer to the ground his feet began to come into focus.  Now understand that Duane rarely was seen wearing anything but flip flops; no socks and no supportive shoes.  I on the other hand always wore socks and I am disciplined about having a high quality supportive tennis shoe.  I, because of my weight, battled diabetes.  Foot care was essential.  My feet were soft and without callouses. Duane's feet on the other hand were the feet of a true servant; the feet of someone who lived simply and with profound Gospel focused purpose.  Duane's feet were heavily calloused with crevices running through the callouses as the Grand Canyon slices through the landscape.  Was I holding in my hands the feet of a Saint?  The feet of Jesus?  I hearkened back to Jesus washing the feet of the disciples.  Knowing that their feet too had many unprotected miles of servant love embedded deep in their landscapes.

As I reflect on the death of Duane I am always drawn to this moment in our ministries where we had the opportunity to wash each others feet.  I am drawn back to the servant life he lived.  I am drawn to his feet.  I am drawn to the landscape of the good servant who girded himself with a towel and washed their feet everyday. 

I believe I washed the feet of a Saint!

-Alan

Susan Kirr on the Street Retreat

We were dropped off at Woolridge Park on Friday afternoon, a downtown gathering spot for the homeless, and a nightly stop for the Mobile Loaves and Fishes truck, which delivers sandwiches, eggs, fruit and snacks for the homeless daily. We visited with some folks, got our sandwiches, ate and then walked to Guadalupe. A church there allows the homeless to sleep in the parking lot on Friday nights only, and serves breakfast in the morning. We scrounged a piece of cardboard from a dumpster to lay down on the pavement and slept there with about 30 other people. It was a pretty rowdy scene. Lots of talking, a little yelling and fighting, that went on till about 4 in the morning. It was quiet from 4-6 am, then people started getting up. I tossed and turned all night. Fortunately it didn't rain and it wasn't that cold (60 degrees) but it was a sleepless night. This is considered a safe place, on Friday nights at least. One of the hardest things for homeless people has to be finding where to sleep each night. Some of them have a hidden spot, where they can keep their stuff, keep their bedroll, go every night and be hidden away from cops and other homeless. Many of them just find a different place each night, a place that’s not on private property, where the cops and security guards won’t hassle you, and hopefully where other homeless will not find you and steal your shoes or other stuff, or worse, beat you up or hurt you while you’re asleep.
 
The homeless in general are not violent people, but they have to have an edge just to survive on the street, and occasionally this anger, bitterness, and violence comes out. They have to be able to put out a tough demeanor, when necessary, just to protect themselves on the street.
 
Saturday morning we went into the church for the free breakfast. I’d say there were around 100 homeless who came for the breakfast. Here we heard so many stories…..J, a talented musician who turned down a chance to play in the band with the Black Crowes and is now on the street after a bad accident and the onset of MS  rendered him unable to work or even play much music. He did play on the piano in the church, but his hands, stiff, from MS, failed him. E, who is a computer programmer and computer fix-it man, is educated and well-spoken, obviously quite intelligent. He cannot get work because he has a drug conviction. J, who looks like a well-off college student, prides himself on not appearing homeless (he takes a shower every day at the Austin Resource Center for the Homeless, keeps all his stuff in a locker there, and works 2-3 days a week). Some of these people, you have to ask, why are they homeless?
 
The stories are haunting, but as you listen, you realize there is a level of lying inside many of the stories.  One man said to me that those on the street are there because something went wrong (lost a job, foreclosed on their house, got divorced) and then they missed an opportunity to fix it. There is a lot of mental illness for sure, but there is also a lot of addiction to drugs and alcohol. Most of them are battling this at some level, but they don’t talk about this to us, except in wry, oblique, passing references. I asked one man who was panhandling, “Are you getting what you need today?” and he said “Somehow every day I get what I need. I don’t always get what I want, but what I want isn’t good for me.” There is much truth to their stories, but they are also very good at sugarcoating things, omitting the ugly details, and expert at garnering sympathy. This does not necessarily reduce our sympathy, but it is important to know that things are not always as simple as they might appear, and there are deep-seated problems simmering below the surface. Truthfulness is not a highly prized commodity on the street, history is fluid, when you are roaming and wandering, who is to question you and say what is or is not true? Truthfulness is not actually necessary for survival.
 
After breakfast we walked to the east side of Austin, to attend the Homeless Resource Fair (formerly called Stand Down). They were giving out free T-shirts, and one woman kept going back to get more free shirts, maybe 20 or 30 in total. She says she will share them with other homeless. Or will she sell them? It doesn’t matter……..it’s about survival. One thing you will find is that the homeless can be quite generous with each other. A homeless woman we didn’t know saw the bags we were carrying and identified us as homeless and offered us some of her extra sandwiches. There is a network of sharing and looking out for each other that we always don’t see in “normal” society. There is also instant recognition among the homeless, a community of people, that is, if they can ID you as homeless, they will immediately come up to you and start talking to you. You are one of us, therefore you are ok.
 
At the fair we met M, who went on the street in January. He has a really nice bike, nice clothes, and a very optimistic and unbelievably happy attitude. He says when he went on the street he randomly opened the Bible and came upon the verse where it says the Lord will provide (for the birds, for the flowers, for you – I can’t quote the verse). He says he has never hungered, he always has found enough to eat. A lady at the church asked him to paint her empty house, and he was able to live there for a few months. Why is this man homeless??? He has a tattooed tear under his eye, so we know he was in prison. He tells us he has a drug conviction, so he can’t be hired for a job, unless it is in cash, under the table. Are these people permanently barred from working? What is the matter with our system?
 
Walk back to the park to meet the MLF truck. It’s a lovely day, many homeless are lounging in the park, visiting, napping, sharing some food, reading the newspaper, playing dominoes. This is the best part of the day. When it is warm and sunny and you see the camaraderie. We see V, whom we have known for years on the MLF runs. He is a very small Mexican man, quite educated, he speaks Spanish, English and Greek. Every time I have seen him, he is so neat and clean, and his plaid cotton shirt is always miraculously pressed. He reads the newspaper every day and has vocal opinions about Obama, health care, immigration, and various other policies. We have heard bits of his story over the years. He worked in restaurants in the US for years, until he got laid off. He is a legal alien, and has a green card. He is homeless, but has a friend who drives him to San Marcos every day where he works in a convenience store from 9 pm-3 am. He had a place to live, but gave it up, he doesn’t want to pay rent and instead wants to save his money. He needs $10,000 to go home to Mexico and open a grocery there. I say to him, just go home, your family will help you. He says no. Surely there is much to the story I don’t know, but there is also pride, he is the one who came to America and succeeded, and he will go home with cash in his pocket and start the business and in turn employ his family.
 
We get our food from the MLF truck. Someone asked Alan Graham, our fearless leader and founder of Mobile Loaves and Fishes, if feeding the homeless like this is enabling them. Alan is a very peaceful person, but this is the closest to angry I have ever seen him. He says that is a perversion of the word “enabling.” Food is fundamental to survival. Food is at least one thing the homeless in Austin do not have to worry about.
 
The sun is setting and it is time to find another piece of cardboard and a place to sleep for the night. J invited us to sleep in a church parking lot he sleeps in, but we have mistaken the address and cannot find it. We scout along San Antonio street. There are little dark alleys and nooks, these seem like good places, but will rats or raccoons or possums come out of the darkness? We find what we think is a clever spot, a hidden ledge in a parking garage. The garage is for a law office and it is Saturday night, so it is completely deserted. We are quite hidden, but about 9 pm, a security guard pulls into the garage and asks us to leave. He is on the rounds and surely we are not the first people to find this spot. Good we didn’t get arrested, because that can happen too. Despite its friendliness to homeless, Austin has a no-camping ordinance.
 
So we leave and go to another church parking lot we have heard about. There we find C, who has been on the street for 21 years. He is Lakota Indian and “loco” as he says (he translates this as “nutjob”) which allows him to get disability every month and puts cash in his pocket. He has a Blackberry and is permanently wired and tapping away at it nonstop. He is a little guy with a big attitude. Actually a very sweet guy, but the attitude is clearly necessary to protect himself on the street. We run into him several times, and he acts like a big brother to us, gives us tips – for example, never ever take your shoes off, even when you are sleeping, or someone will steal them. And where would you be with no shoes? In deep trouble. He has a son and a wife in Kansas. He says he will go there to live with them in December. I pray I don’t see him on the MLF run in December and that he actually makes it to Kansas.
 
We sleep in the church parking lot, another restless night. My husband, Rusty, tells me later that a homeless man walked up to where we were sleeping in the middle of the night and stood there. I was asleep. Rusty wondered if he would try to take something or try to harm us. But he merely stood there and then walked away. This is the risk. The utter lack of security when you are sleeping on the street. You have to sleep, but how can you possibly protect yourself?
 
C rouses us as 5 am, because it is Sunday and soon people will be arriving at the church. The homeless respect these parameters (don’t pee near the church, leave at 5 am, take away the cardboard when you wake up) because this protects the place for future sleeping. They know if they abuse the privilege, the church will take it away.
 
So we wander. It is 5 am and still dark. We sit on a park bench downtown. The sheriff’s dept is having a shift change and about 10 sheriff dept employees pull out of the parking lot and pass by us. They regard us from the safety of their cars. I am nervous here, I don’t know if one of them will just stop and decide to harass us. Is it illegal to sit on a park bench at 5 am? I don’t know what the law is about loitering, which is clearly what we’re doing. Probably it is illegal, but not enforced. No one bothers us this morning.
 
I think the thing that would sap you most is the boredom. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, no work, no purpose. Now the homeless do have to devote a certain part of each day to getting food, seeing their caseworker, finding a bathroom, finding clothing, seeking shelter for the night. That takes some time. But much of their day is vacant. This ennui will run anyone straight into the ground I think. The anger and depression will inevitably lead to alcohol and drugs for many, to soothe the pain. It is an endless, vicious cycle for some. Some retreat to the library and read all day long. These are the guys on the street who will quote Descartes to you. But these guys are few and far between.
 
Alan says we can help, but there is no solution to homelessness. We are not going to end homelessness, it’s not possible. But you will meet some people whom you believe really can get off the street. They will not get off the street until they are ready to. They have to take the initiative and do it. But when they are ready, with our help and the help of other organizations, it is possible and some of them will actually do it.

 

Video Chronicles of a Street Retreat with the #Homeless

Be The Changer or Be The Changed: One Man Takes To The Streets of Boston

Nate, a Rhode Island School of Design graduate who invented a "street pack" designed for (and with) individuals experiencing homelessness, wanted to test out his product.  So, he took to the streets and has shared his amazing experiences online with all of us. 

Although he knows he isn't "experiencing homelessness," he is getting a lot closer to the people, places, and problems faced by the thousands of people that are homeless in the United States.

Do yourself a favor and check out Nate's story here , and be sure to click around the blog's latest posts, too!

There are people underneath the crushing facade of poverty and homelessness; we're always grateful and appreciative when somebody does something to bring their stories and faces into the light. 

Keep it up, Nate!  We can't wait to hear more about your adventures.

Monday Video Blog Musings on this Past Weekends Powerful Street Retreat #homeless

Excerpts from an email I received from my good friend Mike one of the Street Retreat participants. Also enjoy the video blogs from below as we close out this powerful Street Retreat.  If you want to learn more about street retreats in general go to www.mlfnow.org/streetretreat.

 

-Alan

 

"I want to thank you for a magical experience.  I have such a different healthy perspective for our brothers and sisters on the street than before.  They are such a beautiful, loving, caring and sharing family. I was so moved by Jeff's talent on the piano that Ginger and I are going to try to keep up with him and help him out when and where it seems appropriate.  He's getting a new bridge Monday so that he can begin performing again.  It is such a small thing but it made him happy and we are blessed to be able to help. I feel such a connection to those people at the park and will do my best to remain a friend to them. Again, thank you for this God-blessed opportunity!"

 

 

Dumpster Diving & Things on Street Retreat...Cardboard is King #homeless

A few short videos of our first night on the streets.  Dumpster diving for cardboard...our encounter with the PoPo and waking up in the AM on our asphalt pillowtop.

-Alan

Meet Those Going on the Street Retreat Video Blog #homeless

Alan Graham Video Blogs on Today's Start of the Street Retreat #homeless

Today at 5:00 PM several of us will begin a first ever summer Street Retreat here in Austin, Texas.  A Street Retreat (www.mlfnow.org/streetretreat) is a one on one retreat between the retreatant and God and our retreat center are the wallless streets of downtown Austin.  We have been doing Street Retreats now for over six years.  Very powerful and transforming.  Only agenda is that we will start in Wooldridge Park at 5:00.  From there it is up to God to direct us where He wants us to go.  We hope to introduce you to some of the beautiful brothers and sisters we encounter on the streets of Austin.

Follow us on Twitter (mlfnow) or Facebook (www.facebook.com/mlfnow).  We will be live streaming video peridoically as well as pushing updates throughout the retreat through Twitter and Facebook.  Hope to see you on the streets!

-Alan