Many statistics say that veterans make up 23% of the population living outside; I believe that statistic is extremely conservative. Many of my veteran friends struggle with life long injuries; physical, mental and emotional as a result of their service to our country and when they are forced to live outside those injuries that exist as a result of the war are compounded with the injuries that living out side cause.

At HOMEpdx we have an incredible opportunity to love and be loved by these amazing men, we get to hear their stories, laugh with them, cry with them and live life together.  These men like everyone who lives outside deserve to be acknowledged.  These men deserve to have their basic needs met and shouldn’t they be acknowledged and honored for their bravery, loyalty and service to the United States?  I encourage anyone interested to listen to the stories of our veterans who are living outside.  I have found these friends of my to be some of the most sensitive insightful people I have ever met and I want to badly to make life different for them, I want for each of them to experience justice and equality.

When I saw him the first time, he was sitting with his back to us. It was our usual Thursday evening burrito/socks/toiletries/laugh a lot/tell stories (some of which are true)/hear stories (some of which are true) hang out in Pioneer Square time. He obviously didn’t know that we were there. Or didn’t care. Or…

INFP (Meiers/Briggs). Lots of feelings, some perceptions, a bit of intuitiveness. A near fatal dose of introversion… that’s me in a nutshell. So I’m looking at this guy. Raggedy, visibly dirty, scroungy backpack, tattered black garbage bags, hunched over with the telltale slouch of chronic low self-esteem. Just sitting, hoodie pulled up around his face. What to do? I could turn back to the safe, warm, familiar faces. Ignore him. I’d soon forget him. Guilt? Sure, but it would eventually seep away.

I grabbed a burrito, beef, one of our four varieties, and a pair of socks and slowly shuffled his direction, feeling as if I was stumbling to the gallows (a bit shy? Yeah). Sitting down, I stuck out my hand and quavered, “My name’s…” He jumped back about a foot. I jumped two. That’s when I saw the wires dangling from his ears. Earbuds. He pulled one out. It screamed hardcore as it dangled lifelessly from his chest. He took the burrito and socks, muttered his thanks, replaced the earbud and hung his head.

That went on weekly for six months or so. Each week would bring a slight thaw. Replies always one word or less. His name was Bernard. Portland native. My mind would blank out at each encounter after about thirty seconds. “God, throw me a bone. I’m dying here.” No bone, week in and week out. Two paralyzed waifs, side by side, sitting on the brick staircase, in silence. Then one Thursday evening… Bernard smiled. A broad, rotted tooth, lumpy faced smile that revealed a flicker of joy in this grief stricken twenty-something’s life.

Now, a year and a half later, he comes near when we arrive, leans his elbows on a planter and stays until we leave. One of us, though a silent one. His future? God knows…but, for now he’s one of us…with a beautiful smile.

There are no quick fixes on the streets of downtown Portland, Oregon. Change comes, if at all, glacially. Measured in months, often years. Measuring each life against itself.

Why then do we do what we do?

For me, some folks loved me when I was dying of my own life-grief about forty years ago. I haven’t forgotten.

You’ll have to ask the others.

We ordained her as a pastor because her (our) community spoke.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9wyJgxOdqO0

Anabeth Moseley

Today at church I listened to a man in his 30s tell me about a girl he is concerned about- someone who is in their early 20s and living on the street. She’s been constantly bothered by men who want to use her for porn films and prostitution. He is concerned about her but doesn’t want to get too involved because of the girl’s ‘boyfriend’ who sounds more like a pimp… He wanted me to see what I could do to help her. He told me that I look a little bit like her. I feel helpless because I don’t know what to do. I listened to him, told him thank you for telling me, and that I don’t know what to do to help… I feel bad for her and the situation. He repeats his story in earnest- talking in circles s if he’s on a drug or has a mental disability. He seems so honest and concerned and just like he needed someone to talk to.
What can I do? I feel a little helpless. All that I can do is listen. I need some more education on resources…

Why do people tell me that I look like someone they know on the street? How and why am I in the position that I am in life- why did God place me in the position I am in- why do I take things for granted?

Then I go and talk w/ my friend who I will call George. He is in his fifties. George has been coming to HOMEpdx off and on for almost three years. When I first met him, he lived in a dumpster. Now he lives in a field. He told me that a week or so ago it was raining and so he moved his gear under a tree to try to get out of the rain. He said he woke up in the middle of the night to find large rats crawling on him, eating his bread that he was going to be eating the next day…. He tried to make light of the situation when he was telling me the story… trying to crack a joke about it… I just listened and attempted a smile when he told the joke. I just kept interacting with him, trying to show him through my facial expressions that I care and that he matters. He told me that he missed me last week. I told him I was camping and hiking. He told me that he camps every day. He asked me how I’ve been since we had talked last and I told him that I had found an apartment and how that was a stress relief for me. He said, “That’s a stress relief for me too. I was afraid that you weren’t going to find anything and that you were gonna become homeless too. Being homeless is just awful.”
…
How and why can/do my friends who live outdoors worry about me? My friend Ray has told me before that I give him hope and that HOMEpdx gives him hope to continue on in life. How can my friends worry about me when they have things like rats to think about eating their bread??? I suppose having to live in a field is a better place than living in a dumpster. I don’t have to worry about these things. I don’t have to worry about my survival. I sit here typing on my boyfriends laptop. Crying because I can’t believe the words in the story are real. Crying for my friends situation. My boyfriend is watching football. I want to throw the TV. I can live in comfort while my friends live in squalor. Why is this?
No one should have to worry about rats crawling on them while they sleep. And yet that is how so many in this world live.

I continue to go to HOMEpdx because somehow in the messiness of it all, I find beauty, I find life. HOMEpdx is my church. HOMEpdx is like my family. I go and I listen and I try to love with all of my energy. That’s all I feel like I can do sometimes. I don’t like feeling helpless and powerless in the face of the problems my friends face. That is why I go to City Hall, to advocate for my friends so that maybe one day they won’t have to worry about where they are going to sleep. Maybe one day they won’t have to worry about rats crawling on them, or police moving them constantly along. It is a shame that my friends in this city are treated like it is illegal to be living on the street. I am grateful for the help that is available, but I want to see services that affirm people’s dignity, offer unconditional love and hope, and services that don’t assist the continuation of the cycle of poverty.
I want to see my friend George, and those like him, permanently off the street. And I want to see my friends not have to worry about sleeping outdoors this winter.

I don’t know what else to say. Thank you for listening to my thoughts.

A few weeks ago Ken and I spent four days at a Christian music festival. We were there in the hopes that we could share with young people about HOMEpdx and give them opportunities to get involved in what we are doing downtown. Needless to say we met all sorts of different people some whom did not understand at all why we were doing HOMepdx and others who wanted to help or were doing something in their cities already. We met an amazing couple from southern California who are actively involved in the lives of their neighbors who live outside. It was so encouraging to share ideas and stories with them. We also had many opportunities to spread the message of community and tell folks about our beautiful friends.

Toward the end of our first day out at the festival our friend Sam who has his own record label (plug for Sam) gave us the idea of collecting cans and water bottles, because there was no onsite recycling and that way we could take them down town and give them to our friends to cash in. Sam’s idea was a hit and folks brought us tons of bottles and cans (each one is worth a nickel and nickels add up).

There was one young woman in particular who made the festival worth it. On our third day as Ken and I sat at the HOMEpdx table attempting to engage folks in conversation she showed up energetic and excited holding two very large hefty trash bags full of bottles and cans. She had heard way we were collecting cans and made it her mission to collect as many cans and bottles as she could. She told us how the experience changed her because she had never gone through trashcans before and the previous night she spent going through every trashcan she could find pulling out all the bottles and cans for our friends downtown. She talked about how amazed she was that people everyday search for bottles and cans and how most of us who live inside don’t realize how difficult and often humiliating it is to go through a trashcan or walk up to individuals and ask for their bottles and cans. She shared with us about how she was changed by this experience and how much more differently she saw things as a result of “canning”.

I think Ken and I were moved as much as this young woman was. It is wonderful when people are interested in HOMEpdx, when they give money or resources we are always incredibly grateful, but I have never had an experience like the this one, where, when an individual doesn’t have money or resources they do something that scares them, makes them feel uncomfortable, challenges their world view and do what our friends who live outside do to survive.

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF JOE MIDDLE-CLASS REPUBLICAN

By John Gray Cincinnati, Ohio

Joe gets up at 6:00am to prepare his morning coffee. He fills his pot full of good clean drinking water because some liberal fought for minimum water quality standards. He takes his daily medication with his first swallow of coffee. His medications are safe to take because some liberal fought to insure their safety and work as advertised.

All but $10.00 of his medications are paid for by his employers medical plan because some liberal union workers fought their employers for paid medical insurance, now Joe gets it too. He prepares his morning breakfast, bacon and eggs this day. Joe’s bacon is safe to eat because some liberal fought for laws to regulate the meat packing industry.

Joe takes his morning shower reaching for his shampoo; His bottle is properly labeled with every ingredient and the amount of its contents because some liberal fought for his right to know what he was putting on his body and how much it contained. Joe dresses, walks outside and takes a deep breath. The air he breathes is clean because some tree hugging liberal fought for laws to stop industries from polluting our air. He walks to the subway station for his government subsidized ride to work; it saves him considerable money in parking and transportation fees. You see, some liberal fought for affordable public transportation, which gives everyone the opportunity to be a contributor.

Joe begins his work day; he has a good job with excellent pay, medicals benefits, retirement, paid holidays and vacation because some liberal union members fought and died for these working standards. Joe’s employer pays these standards because Joe’s employer doesn’t want his employees to call the union. If Joe is hurt on the job or becomes unemployed he’ll get a worker compensation or unemployment check because some liberal didn’t think he should loose his home because of his temporary misfortune.

Its noon time, Joe needs to make a Bank Deposit so he can pay some bills. Joe’s deposit is federally insured by the FSLIC because some liberal wanted to protect Joe’s money from unscrupulous bankers who ruined the banking system before the depression.

Joe has to pay his Fannie Mae underwritten Mortgage and his below market federal student loan because some stupid liberal decided that Joe and the government would be better off if he was educated and earned more money over his life-time.

Joe is home from work, he plans to visit his father this evening at his farm home in the country. He gets in his car for the drive to dads; his car is among the safest in the world because some liberal fought for car safety standards. He arrives at his boyhood home. He was the third generation to live in the house financed by Farmers Home Administration because bankers didn’t want to make rural loans. The house didn’t have electric until some big government liberal stuck his nose where it didn’t belong and demanded rural electrification. (Those rural Republican’s would still be sitting in the dark)

He is happy to see his dad who is now retired. His dad lives on Social Security and his union pension because some liberal made sure he could take care of himself so Joe wouldn’t have to.

After his visit with dad he gets back in his car for the ride home. He turns on a radio talk show, the host’s keeps saying that liberals are bad and conservatives are good. (He doesn’t tell Joe that his beloved Republicans have fought against every protection and benefit Joe enjoys throughout his day) Joe agrees, “We don’t need those big government liberals ruining our lives; after all, I’m a self made man who believes everyone should take care of themselves, just like I have”.

Liberal/conservative are just labels. The self made man/woman is a myth peculiar to America. Caring is what counts…

Throughout my life I have felt a challenge to defend my safety and myself.  We women often times get pushed around by society, the church, men or each other.  We often feel the need to prove that we are strong enough or smart enough; that we are capable and deserve to be taken seriously and treated as equals.  It is often a struggle for women to feel safe and heard and this struggle can beat a person up and wear them down.

As much as I have experienced this struggle as a woman, my life has never had to depend on my toughness, tenacity, or strength, yes all of those adjectives have come in handy and served as useful tools but I have never needed them to rescue me.
It is very different outside.  I have never met stronger women than the women I know who are a part of HOMEpdx.  I have never seen more authentic strength then the strength I see in these women and unfortunately I am often not paying close enough attention and I miss moments with them.  I am trying to look closer and listen better, to sit on steps and in the grass and listen to their stories and laugh and love them.  I want to pay closer attention as they live out their life, because these women are teaching me and mothering me and I often take for granted the gift that I have been given in them.

It would be arrogant to believe that our place of residence changes who we are.  As women we are no different from each other.  We all struggle to feel safe and accepted.  We worry about the silly superficial things, many of the women I know who live outside have raised families and some still are, whether it be children they have birthed or orphaned kids living outside. I believe that the moment I begin to think I am different is the moment when I give arrogance and apathy a place to plant themselves deep in me.  And those two poisons will grow into a monster and keep me from ever learning and growing and changing.

These women I get to spend time with downtown are strong and generous.  I want to sit at their feet and know what they know.  I want to give them what little I have.

Jessica

(First Response: To Friend One; a Female)

I was going to call you but I am calmer now. I would still like the spiritual support that I have heard you mention that you are comfortable with.

Tonight, while I was in Pioneer Square after we served all of the burritos, I was watching the bags while Jess and Chloe went to get someone a sandwich.

I was sitting on a bench with Ken’s bag, the friend’s bag, the burrito Ikea bag, and Jess’s purse. I was wearing my long dress, which you saw, and my usual old lady straw hat.

After a few moments, a man who looked like your average Portland business guy- black shoes, slacks, black jacket with toggles for buttons, wearing a tie and nice sunglasses, short cropped hair- business guy appearance- he was walking by and looked my way. He asked “Excuse me, are you from Portland?” I got up, now thinking he was a tourist, and said “”Yes.”

Man: “Do you know of any camping places nearby”

Me: “What do you mean? What kind of camping?” “In the city, or, in the woods?”

Man: “I’m looking for the kind of camps where homeless youth stay. Are there any places in the city?”

Me: “That’s being worked on right now, but currently, it’s illegal to camp in the city. There are some places, like Dignity Village by the airport that are permanent as of now.”

Man: “Dignity Village? Where’s that; how do you get there?”

Me: “It’s kind of a tent city by the airport. You can take 84 to 205.”

Man: “I’m kind of down on my luck and I’m working for this celebrity in Las Vegas that wants me to shoot adult portraits to send down to Mexico. You’re 18?”

Me: “Over.”

Man: “Ok. Good. I’m looking for girls in these camps where the homeless youth are to make some videos- you’re not a street kid are you?”

Me: “No.”

Man: “Ok. You’re not a church girl are you?”

Me: “That doesn’t really exist up here.”

Man: “Good, because one of the questions I need to ask- Do you, do you fuck out?”

Me: “No, I don’t.”

Man:”Ok. Do you smoke any bud?”

Me:”No, I don’t, but I’m sure you can find someone around who does.”

Man: “Ok.” we shake hands “What was your name?”

Me :”Beth.” I was still in an out of body state before I thought ‘don’t say anything-or- get his name or card.’

Man: “Beth, ok, have a good night.”

He walked off going north away from the square. A few moments later, Jess and the other two came back. I was still in disbelief and slowly beginning to process my encounter while I told them what happened like a joke.

It did not take very long for me to become angry, fearful, anxious, about this man and his plans. I walked to where I saw a uniform. It ended up being a Square patrol (not a cop), so I told him I was solicited and gave him a description.

On the drive to drop off the bags at Ken’s, my rage and fury painted every bit of me.. I was very happy to give you a small hug when we made it there.

I called the police on my way home and left them a voicemail with a brief detail of the occurrence and a description.

The anxiety kept building along with my anger. What if I can’t be safe when we go to the Square anymore? What about all of those girls and women this man and others like him get to before the police catch him? I shook his hand and was patient with him, while he endeavored to enslave me.  I was alone. I’m small. I’m not physically strong. It is awful to be stuck in this physical state.  I was alone. He could find me.  I am mad for having to worry about these things. Jesus loves him. I have God’s love and mercy for him. I showed him love. But, I want him to go to prison. There are men and women like this man who are wrangling women and boys and men into sexual slavery. And, I want to help them be clean in their hearts. And, I am helpless.

I am working through a lot of things in my heart and mind about the experience. This guy is still out there. I am supposed to be Jesus to him. I am furious and anxiety ridden for me and women and men; and sad for this man.

I am in a state of philosophical, theological, physiological, spiritual, everything-ogical chaos. But not chaos, at the same time; all twisting and clawing at my being.

I am watching TV episodes online until I pass out. I am also self-medicating with sugary gum. It’s a great Novocain..

God is teaching me something, whatever the fuck it is.

So, lift me up to God, please. I need assistance.

Necesito ayudas, Jesus.

(Second Response: To Fearful Loved One, after reading the above)

When he said adult portraits, the first thing that came into my mind was portraits of adults who are homeless; like charity work or political activism.

The rest of what he said happened so fast that I could not think; I had no previous construct in my mind to know what to immediately say. I was out of my body. It took me the entire drive home to process that it actually occurred.

Please understand me. It did not sink in until after it was over. When it did sink in, I went to the first uniform I saw. I called the police and left a report as soon as I got home.

I thought he was a businessman walking by, then I thought he was a lost tourist, then I thought he was an activist photographer, then he just sprung those questions on me before I could fully comprehend what was happening; then he left. I told the Square patrol and have reported it to the police.

Please understand me. He was in a middle-class, public place; in middle-class business attire. I was in a frumpy straw hat and floor length summer dress. I had no framework in my mind that it would go where it did. I had no response or wherewithal to get his information and call the police immediately- because it was an outrageous setting for this man to be doing this.

I did my best. Please understand that I did my best.

It is over. I did my best. I always do my best. I will always do my best.

(Third Response: To Friend 2; a Male- Ken, after reading all of the above)

What I want you aware of is that, even though I am resolved to love and give mercy in the event of my demise at the hands of another, I am still mortally fearful in my human self.  I may not be going to Thursday nights if you or Jordan or another guy from Home is not there; at least for awhile.  I am not tall and physically strong like Jessica. I am not smart nor am I quick witted if this were to happen again like Chloe. I am fragile-bodied whether I like it or not. So, I do have a moderate level of anxiety for my safety in the Square, for now.  This makes me angry with myself for not being there for Home when just the girls go to Thursday.  I believe I will recover from my anxiety and I know it is ok that I need to only go when the guys are there for now.

I need you to know that I am afraid of that man coming back to the Square or finding me; which has a 50-50 chance of leaning towards the irrational.  I will get over the latter.

Thank you for whatever will be what God is in you for this. And thanks for letting me be a part of Home.

Love,

Beth

Our town is often dangerous and unkind. That’s one of the reasons we spend our time here…to love and watch out for our friends without houses.