Homelessness

According to whichever source you believe, the homeless population in America at present, is somewhere between 1 and 3 million. Every town of any size has the problem. Most are able to handle this problem with the use of shelters. But all cannot fit into the shelters. And, some prefer not to stay in a shelter. They have a pet. They have been thrown out of too many shelters for perversions or addictions. There are just many problems involved in this national catastrophe.

I was walking down the street in NYC with a female friend and when we passed a homeless woman, pushing all her worldly belongings in a grocery cart, my friend said, “She has a small dog in her cart. She needs something to love and something to love her. The dog acts as if she is the greatest thing in his world.”

Walking in Greenwich Village, early one evening, there was much confusion, many blinking lights. One homeless woman was giving birth on a park bench. Oprah upset the homeless community by bringing attention to problems in Sacramento, California, where there was a large, homeless tent city. The shelters, such as St. Francis, were all overrun by the homeless. So, one by one, they settled in, until there were over 1000 pitched tents in a vacant, privately owned area. At first, Social Services provided toilet and washing facilities, hauled off the trash; but since they felt that this was only increasing the population, this public health feature ceased. The whole place became a smelly, dirty mess. This is when Oprah called in the cameras from all over the world. In my city, I understand there are homeless on the streets, particularly in a local park, around a lake. They go to feeding kitchens, but bring their food back to the lake to eat and share it with the ducks and other animals there. It has become a real problem; because instead of using the public restrooms which are dangerous, they use the bushes.

The word home, has been a source of nostalgia and memorable material throughout the history of man. Recent artists such as Elvis Presley, Randy Travis and Michael Buble have all sung about home. They all came up with the same sentence in their lyrics, “There's no place like home.” Even children who have been moved around the world always centered their thoughts on one favorite spot which they called home. The tragedy of foster children, the tragedy of children from broken homes, is their inability to have the established fondness for a home. Many college students learn for the first time in their life, what it is to be homesick. Many boys and girls in the military, who thought they wanted to get away from home, learn early in their military experience the attractiveness of home. In WWII, one of my uncles who had never been away from home, told me that he thought he would die of homesickness. He went to his commanding officer and told him that he just had to go home. He could not live otherwise. He had been sent from a tobacco farm in eastern NC to the frozen coast of the Aleutian islands. The officer told him as this writer, a former army medical officer, had to tell several people, “You will just have to get your mind on something else. We will all go home as soon as possible.”

One of the greatest experiences of the country church is homecoming. In the large, wonderful country church in which I grew up, it was a mystery to me that on homecoming Sunday, so many visitors would walk into the church and cry during the singing. Now I understand their emotions. Their emotions are tied up with childhood, family, memories of everything good that happened there. In a world they have faced uncertainty and abuse. Many attend high school and college homecomings, some for the memory of it all, some to revitalize friendships, some to actually boast about accomplishments and some to agonize over the failures of others.

I will never forget a prominent school teacher who came to me for contact lenses. She said, I'm going to my college homecoming. I have not been to one in 25 years. And those girls will not see me old and wearing bifocals.

This writer was reared in a very poor, humble home. But from college, from the military, from every era of my life, I always rejoiced and was relieved, to know I had a home, and that the great oak trees, the barns, the pastures, and the scent from my mother's kitchen, next to the splendor of heaven itself, was the greatest solace God has prepared for a mere mortal. I pity those who have no good memories. One young man, who worked for me years ago, said he could hardly wait to leave home. He had saved up his money, and was on the bus, escaping to the “big city.” The thought occurred to him that he had left the only “safety net” he had ever known and that “probably” his folks had always done the best they knew.

One time, I had a young man working for me; and as always, I asked him about his life. I knew he had run away from home. I said, “How long has it been since you have called your mother?” He said, “It has been several months since I have contacted her. I don't care to talk to my family.” My telephone hanging on the kitchen wall, was within my arm's length. I said, “What is the phone number at your home?” I dialed the number and wonder of wonders, his mother answered the phone. I introduced myself; and I said, “Donald is doing some work for me. I want you to know he is in good health and I am going to take him to McDonald's for us to get some food. Donald wants to say hello to you.” He spoke to his mother for a few minutes. Then I said to her, “Don't worry about Donald. He will be alright.” She thanked me over and over. Then, I said to him, “Your mother is the best friend you will ever have. Don't forget that.” The tragedy of homelessness, with all the facets of mental health, VA ineptness, parental disparity, addiction with all it's hellish results, will never be encapsulated unless and until we practice the great commandment of Christ to love one another as ourselves.